Chaos Girl Rewrites the Script novel Chapter 604

Vivienne spun around, yanking her pig tail out of his grip, and plopped herself heavily onto the bed.

"Give me your hand."

Cyril bounced slightly as the mattress dipped under her weight. His gaze turned somber as he slowly extended his arm.

He had incredibly striking hands—long, elegant fingers with beautifully defined knuckles. Even the angry red burn marring the back of his hand couldn't detract from how aesthetically pleasing they were.

The burn wasn't overly severe, and there was no blistering. Vivienne gave it a quick inspection, dipped a cotton swab into the burn ointment, and meticulously applied it over the reddened skin.

Neither of them spoke as she worked. Cyril just sat there, his eyes intensely focused on her.

Vivienne completely ignored his stare, expertly rolling the tiny cotton swab from the back of his hand down to his fingertips, and then carefully between his fingers.

Cyril's hand gave a subtle twitch.

"Hold still," she commanded, grabbing his wrist with obvious impatience.

Uncomfortable under her touch, Cyril turned his head away, opting to watch her out of the corner of his eye. Seeing how utterly focused she was on applying the medicine left him feeling a bizarre mix of frustration and amusement.

His hand no longer burned, but a completely different kind of heat was currently simmering elsewhere.

"You..." he started, clearing his throat. "Didn't you say you couldn't cook?"

Vivienne's fingers paused. She looked up at him. "I just randomly had a craving for steak."

She had originally planned to make a meal to emotionally move Cyril Bean, but since it had turned into an absolute joke, she was committed to taking that secret to her grave.

"What about you? What happened this morning? How did you manage to smash every single egg in the kitchen? Moira said you're terrified of fire. If that's true, why were you trying to boil eggs for me?"

Cyril froze, completely caught off guard by her bluntness. He looked down at the burn on his hand and offered a smooth lie. "I'm not afraid of fire. I just wasn't paying attention and dropped the eggs."

"Really?" Vivienne frowned. Was her intel wrong? She stared right into his eyes. "You're seriously not afraid?"

Cyril nodded firmly. "I'm not."

Vincent Montclair's vicious threats had forced him into a harsh realization: men with weaknesses didn't have the luxury of fear. Right now, Vivienne just wanted something as simple as a hot meal, and he couldn't even give her that. With so many enemies waiting in the dark, how could he possibly expect to win if he let a little flame paralyze him?

Before she could even finish the name, a sharp click echoed through the apartment. The breaker tripped, plunging the place into total darkness—until a sea of warm orange light flared to life in front of her.

Thud.

The sound of the front door gently closing quickly followed.

Moira bolted into the elevator, pressing her hands together in a desperate prayer. "Miss Lexton, I'm counting on you."

*

Vivienne stared at the excessively illuminated room, feeling as though she were standing directly in the path of a hurricane.

After Cyril had left the apartment earlier, she spent the entire morning frantically researching psychological trauma. It had only taken her three minutes to draft Project: Guiding the Little Stray from the Shadows.

Cyril Bean was terrified of fire, right? So, she figured the logical solution was to create a romantic, comforting memory associated with fire to heal his psychological scars.

To ensure the plan was absolutely foolproof, she had even pitched her rescue mission to Moira. Moira had hyped it up instantly, and they quickly split up to execute their brilliant strategy.