Chapter 6 Chapter 6 Bathtub, Bubbles, and Us

At the same time, Tristan glanced at his phone-it had been over half an hour since Megan went into the bathroom, and there hadn't been a single sound.

He started pacing, clearly uneasy, then walked to the door to listen closely.

"Megan?"

"Megan?"

Hearing his voice, Megan suddenly snapped her eyes open-only to realize her whole body had already slipped underwater.

She once nearly drowned at a swimming pool when she was eight, saved by someone she's never been able to find since. All she remembers is a hazy image of a teenage boy's face. She's always wanted to find him-not just to say thanks, but to meet the guy who unintentionally stole her first kiss during CPR.

But too bad all the cameras at the pool were down that day, including the street cams. There was no way to check.

The moment she went under, fear kicked in from deep inside.

She slapped the surface of the water, making splashes loud enough to attract attention.

Tristan rushed in the instant he heard noise. In three quick strides, he reached the round tub-about three meters wide-and pulled her out of the water.

*Cough cough*...

Megan gasped and coughed violently, then drew in huge gulps of air.

"Seriously? Bathtub drowning? Am I gonna have to supervise every single bath from now on?"

His tone was both helpless and exasperated.

"I was just... thinking too hard, okay?" She looked up at him, only to suddenly remember-she was totally naked.

Her cheeks flushed instantly. "Y-you... please get out. I'm not done yet."

Tristan didn't seem in a hurry to let go of her soft, slippery skin, but he finally turned around. "I'll wash your hair."

Cuddled at one end of the tub, Megan quickly replied, "No need, I got it."

"I swear, I won't peek."

And with that, he reached for the flower basket filled with rose petals from the sink and scattered them all into the tub.

Then he poured in a bit of bubble bath liquid, and soon, the tub was filled with thick foamy bubbles.

He sat down on the step. "Just turn around and tilt your head back."

Seeing her body mostly hidden under the foam and petals, Megan obediently followed his instructions.

Tristan squeezed some white truffle shampoo into his palm, worked it into a lather, and gently massaged it into her dark wavy hair.

Then he rinsed her hair thoroughly and wrapped it in a dry towel.

Megan turned, resting her arms on the edge of the tub and letting her small chin lie on them. With those wet, glistening eyes, she gazed up at him.

"Tristan, you're so sweet."

"Wait- are you... up to something?"

Ugh. Was she that obvious?

He was always overthinking and ridiculously sharp.

If she brought up wanting more space now, he'd definitely think she was planning another escape.

She cleared her throat, a little guilty. "Of course not. I'm just really touched that you skipped meals with me."

"So? Wanna pay me back?" His face leaned in dangerously close.

They were practically nose to nose, warm breath mingling.

Megan blinked nervously, heart racing like crazy. "I... I figured I could cook something for you."

Tristan straightened up, his lips curling with that mischievous smile. "I thought you were gonna offer something spicier."

She coughed lightly, "Well... let's save that for a better time. I'm not exactly in top form right now."

"Yeah, better time," he repeated, drawing out that last word with a special emphasis.

Her face turned beet red in an instant. "Jeez! You're impossible!"

Tristan laughed out loud, then walked to the towel rack, grabbed a robe, and placed it on the sink. "Hurry up. I'm getting impatient."

Watching him walk out, Megan finally snapped back to her senses.

Wait a second... why did that sound so wrong?

When he helped her out of the bathroom, Tristan was already by the vanity, testing the heat from the hair dryer.Seeing who it was, he stepped forward and gently took her hand, leading her to sit down at the vanity.

He tested the temperature of the hairdryer and started to blow-dry her hair.

His long fingers worked through her dark waves, moving like rippling waves on the sea.

In no time, her hair was dry and fluffy.

Tristan pulled her into his arms from the chair. "Come on, feed me."

Megan lowered her eyes, lashes slightly trembling. "I feel like I'm not ready yet. though I do want to." But in this life, I want it to happen at just the right moment.

Tristan pinched her chin playfully. "What's on your mind? Weren't you about to cook for me?"

"Ah, haha, yeah," Megan smiled awkwardly, biting her lip.

God, why is my brain full of R-rated content right now?

Pleased with her response, Tristan held her hand and led her out of the room.

They walked down the zigzag staircase and entered the kitchen.

Mrs. Jones saw them hand in hand and couldn't help but smile. "Young master, young madam, you're here. Just say the word and I'll whip something up right away."

Megan smiled warmly. "No need, Mrs. Jones. I'll do the cooking."

Mrs. Jones replied, "Then I'll help you out."

"I want to make lemon herb roasted chicken. Tristan hasn't really had much to eat these past few days, roasted chicken should be perfect."

Mrs. Jones quickly fetched a whole chicken from the fridge, with fresh lemons, rosemary, and thyme already laid out on the counter.

Megan expertly seasoned the bird, rubbing it with herbs and garlic before nestling lemon wedges inside its cavity. She placed it in the preheated oven, where golden skin soon began to crisp.

Standing by the oven, she peered through the glass door, adjusting the temperature to keep it from drying.

Tristan, who had been sitting silently, stood up and wandered over.

Mrs. Jones quietly slipped out of the kitchen, closing the door behind her.

The herb-infused aroma made Megan smile contentedly-then suddenly, two strong hands wrapped around her waist.

Tristan hugged her from behind, resting his chin gently in the crook of her neck.

His warm breath brushed against her skin, turning the swan-like curve of her neck a soft pink.

"Smells amazing."

Megan grinned proudly. "Of course. This is my signature dish."

"I meant you."

His words made her lip curl up unconsciously.

She never expected this man to be so smooth with his sweet talk.

Tristan straightened up and placed his hand over hers, guiding the spoon together.

"My heart, don't ever leave me, okay?"

She tilted her head up to look at the tall man-at 6'3", he made her 5'7" frame look extra petite.

"Tristan, I won't leave you. Not unless you stop wanting me."

He lifted his other hand to gently touch her fair, delicate face and kissed her lightly.

Ding!

"Oven's beeping! "

Megan pulled open the oven door as herb-scented steam billowed out. "Perfect timing-the roasted chicken smells divine."

Tristan looked at her with fondness. "When did you learn to cook?"

Her knuckles whitened around the spatula. The question had dragged up memories of damp concrete and Molly's mocking voice echoing in that basement: "Even a stray dog would refuse this slop." Back then, her "meals" were scraps tossed on the floor.

Later, Molly had drugged her water with muscle relaxants and sleeping pills. When she woke up, she was already in the prison cell.

Her limbs were chained, completely immobilized.

She watched Molly chop off her arms with a machete and then strip the flesh with a boning knife.

Her face had been mutilated. Her lips sewn shut. She had endured hell.

Even now, the pain was vivid in her mind and wouldn't go away.

Megan smiled brightly. "Back in our dorm days, my roommates and I would occasionally throw together meals."

Tristan noticed the look in her eyes earlier and guessed she had remembered something painful.

Gently, he asked, "Megan, do you want to go back to school for a bit?"