When Gwenda awoke early that morning, she felt a severe headache. Her nose and throat were congested, making her extremely uncomfortable. In a daze, she checked her schedule on her phone, then sighed and called Hattie.

"Hattie, I'm leaving everything to you today. I think I have a fever and can't get up," Gwenda said weakly.

Concerned, Hattie asked, "Gwenda, do you need me to take you to the hospital?"

"No, I'll just rest," Gwenda replied.

"Call if you need anything. Don't overexert yourself," Hattie said before Gwenda hung up, still dazed. She lay down, overcome by dizziness, and slept through the morning.

Her phone rang. With difficulty, she rolled over, groping for it. Unable to open her eyes, she answered blearily, "Hello?"

"Are you at the studio?" a mellow voice asked.

Gwenda groaned, "Home."

Olivier, sensing something was wrong, asked, "What happened?"

Gwenda, finding even speaking laborious, didn't answer immediately.

"Are you sick?" Olivier asked, his tone worried.

Gwenda frowned. "Yes, I'm too weak to talk. Bye." She hung up. Soon, she slipped into unconsciousness.

Later, the doorbell woke her. Though unable to open her eyes, she sensed someone entering her bedroom and standing at her bedside, his body blocking the window and casting her in shadow. She forced her eyes open, and before she could focus, a cool hand gently touched her forehead.

"You have a fever," a low, mellow voice said.

The coolness felt soothing; Gwenda instinctively leaned into it. Seeing this, Olivier, crouching beside the bed, smiled. "I'll take you to the hospital, okay?"

Gwenda grunted in response, her fevered mind muddled. Olivier sighed, removed the blanket, scooped her into his arms, and carried her to the hospital.

The doctor checked her temperature and administered IV fluids. By evening, she was back home, considerably improved. As they exited the elevator, she turned to say, "Thank you for today, Mr. Petit."

Olivier raised an eyebrow, his gaze briefly flickering to the apartment door. He smiled. "You're not going to invite me in?"

Gwenda's cheeks flushed. "It's almost night… it's not a good idea."

"You're ill; I'm worried." He leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers. Their breaths mingled, and Gwenda's heart skipped a beat.

"Look, your fever hasn't broken," Olivier said.

"It has! The doctor said so," Gwenda retorted. Her temperature had indeed returned to normal.

Unconvinced, Olivier raised an eyebrow. "Really? Then why is your face so red?"

Gwenda froze, her eyes meeting his teasing gaze. Her face burned even brighter. "Is… is it?"

"Come on, I've lived here before. Why are you so concerned?" Patting her head, he took her hand, confidently opening her apartment door. Once inside, Olivier burst out laughing.