Even now, Fennrick still liked going shirtless around the house.

Instead of getting flustered like before, all I ever worried about was whether he’d catch a cold. I kept nudging the AC warmer—one degree, then another.

He still jogged out the door in those gray running pants, and I just trailed after him with a towel, wiping the sweat off his neck and shoulders like some doting assistant.

Sometimes I even turned away girls who asked for his contact.

“Sorry, he’s mine.”

I swear that every time he heard that, his mood skyrocketed.

He still did his morning ab workouts on the balcony, but I wasn’t out there doing any core exercises anymore. Instead, I was in the kitchen, studying recipes like my life depended on it.

A god of wealth like him needed to be treated right.

“What do fox faes usually eat?” I muttered.

“Rabbit? Chicken? Probably not vegetables, right?”

But the chicken was so damn hard to chop. One wrong angle and I sliced my finger open.

I yelped.

Fennrick sprinted over instantly, grabbing my wrist.

I jerked back, wrenching free.

“I-It wasn’t me trying to touch you! You can’t-”

Before I could finish, he stepped in again and lifted my injured finger to his mouth.

And then he… licked the wound.

With that impossibly restrained, ethereal face of his.

A tingling rush shot straight through my limbs.

Even the pain disappeared.

My brain fizzed. Whether from shock or excitement, I couldn’t tell.

I reflexively pulled back, but he’d already reached for a band‑aid and pressed it over the cut with careful precision.

My pulse was out of control.

“Mr. Thorne,” I whispered, inhaling slowly, “are you trying to seduce me?”

He pushed me out of the kitchen with a cold expression.

“Our saliva speeds up healing. Don’t overthink it.”

I peeked under the band‑aid. The wound really was smaller.

It didn’t even hurt when pressed.

Could this be fae magic?

⸻

Later, Fennrick stood shirtless in my kitchen, cooking like he owned the place.

I forced myself not to look.

One more glance and I’d be tempted to commit a crime.

And honestly, the crime would be the least of my worries. The real disaster was if he stopped helping me make money.

I chugged a cold glass of water to calm down.

Then, cautiously, I asked, “Mr. Thorne… when’s the next time you’ll help me get rich?”

“In a month.”

That was… kind of long.

But alright, I’d happily wait.

The real problem was how to survive being around someone this dangerously attractive for thirty more days.

So I decided to avoid Fennrick altogether after work, and worked overtime.

Except… work made me sleepy. Without intending to, I drifted off to sleep.

I had a great dream, too.

In the dream, I lifted Fennrick shirt, hands sliding across his perfect abs. Sleek, firm, beautifully sculpted.

I caressed his abs like treasure.

That was until he caught my wrist, his voice low and amused as he muttered, “Are you done yet?”

My stomach dropped, and I snapped awake.

Fennrick was actually sitting right beside me… with his hand wrapped around my wrist?!

So that wasn’t a dream? I really touched him??

My brain lagged.

I shot upright, but my numb legs betrayed me and I pitched forward.

Fennrick caught me fast, but my chin still smacked the desk, leaving a bright red line across it.

I stared at my reflection in horror, then glared at the culprit.

“Why are you here?!”

“How else would I know that Miss Lockhart was craving my body?”

“It was a dream! Dreams mean the opposite!”

Seeing the cut on my chin, I shot him a look.

“See? This is all your fault.”

Fennrick’s eyes flicked to the cut on my chin, darkening with something unreadable.

“I can help,” he said quietly.

Images of Fennrick licking my finger flashed through my mind.

My heart jumped.

I pressed my lips together.

He let out a soft laugh. “What? Are you afraid?”

…Excuse me?

I wasn’t afraid of anything.