I quickly placed another order, this time from an expensive restaurant that used its own delivery service. In the order notes, I wrote: Please help me call the police. The police never came. The restaurant staff didn't come up either. Instead, a waitress from the restaurant arrived.
She smiled sweetly. “Hello, I’m happy to be of service.”
She then knelt down, put on gloves, and began to expertly carve the meat. I was confused. The police station was nearby, so why was the response so slow? Did no one call for me?
I glanced at the bodyguards by the door, then leaned in and asked the waitress, “Can I use your phone for a minute? I’ll pay you three times your daily wage.”
The waitress’ smile never wavered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t bring my phone with me.”
She placed a slice of pork belly into the hot broth, her eyes frequently darting toward the room where Steven was working. “Mr. Lancaster is working so hard. Should I prepare a bowl for him?”
I saw right through her. “Give me your phone, and I’ll give you his number. I can even put in a good word for you. How about it?”
“Really?” The waitress' face lit up. Just as I thought I was getting somewhere, Steven suddenly emerged from the room. His handsome face was cold, his eyes devoid of warmth, exuding an intense pressure. “What are you eating?”
I looked at the untouched delivery bags on the table and said without blinking, “A bit of everything. It’s all delicious.”
Steven glanced at the food but didn't expose my lie.
The waitress flinched, quickly ladling soup for me. As she handed it to me, whether from distraction or nervousness, her hand slipped, and the scalding soup spilled all over my hand.
I gasped, a sharp, burning pain shooting through my skin.
Steven’s expression changed in an instant. His face was terrifying as he swept me into his arms and rushed to the sink, running cold water over my hand. A red patch immediately appeared on the back of my hand.
“Does it hurt badly?”
It hurt, but the cold water was helping. It wasn't unbearable.
I didn’t look up, so I couldn’t see the expression on his face. I simply pried his hand from my waist and stood on my own. “It’ll be fine after a minute.”
The waitress, pale with fear, had already found the first-aid kit and was holding a tube of burn cream. She hurried over, apologizing profusely.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to! This is burn cream, it’ll feel better if you put it on.”
The waitress started to move, but I frowned. “I said I’m fine. A little cream is all I need. Stop making a fuss.”
Steven stared into my eyes, the cold light in them swirling. Finally, he reached out and squeezed my cheek.
“You’re so stubborn, Zephyra.”
He shot a look at the waitress. “Get out.”
The waitress, as if granted a pardon, quickly cleaned up the table and fled. Steven took the burn cream from me. Once I was done rinsing my hand, he began to apply the ointment.
The entire time, his brow was tightly furrowed, his eyes swimming with undisguised concern.
I was uncomfortable. Deeply uncomfortable. Steven was acting so strangely. Ever since his accident, he was like a completely different person. Was that even possible?
“Steven, have you been possessed or something?” I thought about it seriously, then made a series of gestures, poking him randomly. “I don’t care what you are, get out of that bastard Steven’s body right now!”

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