A trace of smugness crossed Ethan's face. He tightened his arms around Jasmine, spoiled and unrestrained. "Then, fire him! I don't want to see him again!"

She frowned ever so slightly, like she was hesitant for a moment. Noticing that, he grabbed the cup of hot water from the desk, only to scream and splash it toward me in the next instant.

"Shit, it's hot! Jazz, look!"

The sight of his reddened fingertips—as if he was the one who had been hurt—angered Jasmine. She glared at me, ignoring the skin on my exposed arm that had already been scalded.

"Marcel, you've been with me for four years, and yet you can't even handle something this simple!" she barked at me. "Are you doing this on purpose to target Ethan?"

Before I could say anything, Jasmine summoned her secretary, Annie Lawson.

"Marcel's made a serious work mistake, and I'm going to deduct his salary and bonus for this month. Next week at the staff meeting, issue a company-wide public reprimand!"

Annie glanced at my disheveled state, then spoke carefully. "But Ms. Joyner, Mr. Gibson's already resigned…"

…

Hearing Annie's words, Ethan, for some reason, cried out again, "Jazz, if you're going to defend him like this, I'll leave! I'm never coming back again!"

Jasmine panicked. She didn't even care what Annie had said and pulled Ethan into her arms, desperate. "Don't do that, Ethan!"

Her piercing gaze sliced through me. "Marcel, if this happens again, you'd better drag your sorry ass back to Juton! Even if Yvonne comes begging, it won't change anything!"

The pain in my burned arm had already soaked me in cold sweat, yet my voice remained steady. "Rest assured that this won't happen again."

Jasmine seemed slightly taken aback, like she hadn't expected such an answer. Without another word, she grabbed Ethan's hand. "Let's go. To the hospital."

Her eyes finally flicked over my scalded skin, and her frown deepened. "You're coming, too."

Worried about my burns getting infected, I followed them in silence.

In the back seat of the car, my phone vibrated with two of Jasmine's texts.

"I overreacted earlier. It's just that I've already lost Ethan once, and I'm not losing him again.

"If you're mad, I'll make it up to you."

I stared at the words, then at the front seat where she was fussing over Ethan, and found it all laughable. With a single tap, I blocked her number.

The next second, a text popped up. It was from my arranged marriage partner, Winona Roberts. We had actually met once before.

I took a deep breath.

The car stopped at the hospital emergency entrance. The moment the door opened, another car suddenly sped in from the side.

Almost reflexively, Jasmine pulled Ethan tightly into her arms to shield him. Meanwhile, I lost my balance and stumbled, falling straight into a flower bed.

When I pushed myself back up, I saw her rushing into the emergency hall with Ethan, her expression tense and focused on the minor scrape on the back of his hand.

"Sir, your arm is bleeding. You should get that dressed right away…"

A kind stranger nearby handed me a clean handkerchief. I pressed it to the wound, thanked him briefly, and, without hesitation, walked to the roadside to flag down a cab.

"To the airport, please."

The cab started moving, heading toward a place where Jasmine couldn't touch.

…

At the same time, after settling Ethan in, Jasmine suddenly remembered I was injured, too. She went to the nurse's station and asked for a burn ointment.

"Hi. Where's the other man who came with me? Marcel Gibson—which room is he in?"

The nurse checked the records and shook her head. "I'm sorry, miss. There's no patient registered under that name."

Jasmine froze. She clenched her fist around the burn ointment.

Her phone rang. It was Yvonne.

The moment she answered, Yvonne's furious voice exploded through the line. "What the hell, Jasmine? Is this how you take care of my brother? He's injured all over, and you didn't even notice!"

Jasmine frowned. Almost instinctively, she assumed I had gone to Yvonne to complain. Her tone sank, clearly displeased. "Is he with you right now? Put him on the phone."

"Oh, shut up!"

Yvonne glanced at me, still stuck at the airport, and added with irritation, "If you want to make up for it, Marcel's getting married in two days. You'd better show up!"