Hannah's fever had subsided, but she still seemed to harbor resentment toward Oscar.

Oscar opened his door, instantly noticing the change in his room. He saw Hannah lying on the couch, staring at him. Caught off guard, his heart softened. He was dressed in a suit and tie, frozen in the doorway, clearly surprised by her presence.

They stared at each other for a long time. Finally, Oscar removed his shoes and approached Hannah in his socks. He only owned one pair of slippers, and they were on her feet—small and cute compared to his, a sight that warmed him.

He stood before her, observing her angry face. He knew she was upset about his late arrival.

"Why didn't you tell me you were here?" he asked, his voice betraying a hint of suppressed excitement.

Hannah looked away, refusing to answer.

"You wanted to surprise me?" Oscar smiled.

To Hannah, his smile felt mocking, as if he were laughing at her for waiting foolishly. She remained silent, simmering with anger.

Oscar gestured toward the candlelit dinner on the table. "Sorry," he apologized, guilt evident. "I had a dinner party tonight. I would have been back sooner if you'd called."

Hannah remained sulky.

"Are you hungry? Let's have dinner," Oscar said softly, showering her with affection despite her cold demeanor. He couldn't hide his excitement at finding her on the couch.

"I don't feel like eating," Hannah retorted angrily.

"Oh, you finally talk to me," Oscar said, his smile widening.

Hannah fought against his charm, but then his handsome face drew near her cheek.

"Oscar!" she exclaimed, covering his mouth. "What are you doing?"

Oscar's eyes lingered on her, filled with sexual passion, teasing her.

"Wearing that? Don't you want me to do something, Mrs. Wells?"

"No. I just want to look good."

"A girl will doll herself up for the man she loves."

"Come on, stop being so full of yourself..." His lips covered hers, pressing her onto the couch.

They clung together, their breathing mingling.

"Oscar, I haven't had dinner yet..."

"I've been waiting for you all night. I'm starving."

"I'll feed you. You'll be full of me."

...

It was 3:00 AM. Hannah, in Oscar's loose T-shirt, sat up in bed, examining her torn red slip dress. She'd only worn it once.

Oscar carried her to the dining table. "I have limited food," he said. "Your ordered food is probably cold, and reheating it will ruin it. Would you like some noodles?"

"I don't want your noodles," she flatly refused.

She was starving, but noodles weren't enough. She craved meat, a hearty meal.

"No food delivery at this hour," Oscar said, slightly bewildered, offering a softer tone. "How about noodles with eggs?"

Hannah looked away angrily, silently accepting her noodle fate.

He leaned close to her cheek; she stiffened, fearing his passionate nature. Then, he kissed her forehead. He went to the kitchen.

The open kitchen was part of the small apartment, directly visible from the dining table. Hannah watched him cook skillfully. She was surprised by his culinary expertise, impressed by his time management and wondering about his hidden talents.

He glanced at her occasionally, a bright, excited smile on his face—a smile she found endearingly foolish.

Ten minutes later, he placed the noodles before her. The fried egg was heart-shaped. Even this small detail softened her.

"Have a taste," Oscar said.

Hannah picked up her fork, but Oscar intercepted it. "Let me feed you."

"I can eat by myself," she protested, but still opened her mouth when he offered the noodles. She was accustomed to his guidance.

"Is it good?" he asked.

Hannah nodded, unsure if it was her low expectations or her hunger, but the noodles were delicious.

"I'm happy you like it," Oscar said, his smile charming.

He fed her mouthful by mouthful in the quiet room. Initially awkward, she soon enjoyed the intimate gesture, feeling deeply loved.

She finished the last noodle, shocked by the empty plate. She was a light eater, and had consumed far more than anticipated.

"Want more?" he asked.

"No, thanks," she replied, realizing she couldn't eat any more.

He touched her head gently, like a child, a gesture she didn't dislike. He wiped her mouth, then washed the dishes. He returned, lifting her into his arms. She naturally wrapped her arms around his neck, returning to bed intimately.

The bed was small and creaky.

"Is it uncomfortable?" he asked, holding her close.

The bed wasn't comfortable, but his presence made it perfect.