Chapter 201

"I asked Max to prepare some medicine. I’m going downstairs to get it," Oscar said, finally standing to leave the bedside.

He left behind a lingering silence and a phrase Hannah couldn't quite decipher. What did he mean by saying she tortured him? She had simply wanted his company after the nightmare she’d just escaped. How could needing him be a form of torture?

Oscar returned a few minutes later, the steam from a bowl of herbal soup rising into the dim light of the room. He set the soup on the nightstand and bent down, his movements practiced and gentle as he helped her sit up against the pillows. He uncapped a small bottle of medicine and held it to her lips.

"Open up," he murmured.

Hannah found herself becoming uncharacteristically obedient. She was a woman who prided herself on her independence—she could have easily taken the medicine herself—yet she found it impossible to refuse him. There was a magnetic authority in his care that she couldn't fight.

As the liquid hit her tongue, her face wrinkled like a withered leaf. "It tastes terrible."

"It’s effective," Oscar countered simply.

"But it’s too bitter." Hannah pulled back, refusing a second swallow.

"Finish it, and you can have a candy."

"Can't you just put the sugar in the medicine?"

"No," Oscar said, his tone final.

Hannah stared at him, her eyes wide with a mock grievance that felt surprisingly real.

"It’s a specialized formula researched by my father’s company," Oscar explained, his voice softening. "I was injured often as a child. Every time I drank this, I recovered almost instantly."

Hannah looked at him in amazement. "You were hurt often? But... you were born into the Wells family. Weren't you well-tended?"

"Drink the medicine first, and I’ll tell you." He saw the spark of curiosity in her eyes and used it as leverage.

Hannah hesitated only a second. She had to admit, she was desperate to know what kind of life had forged the man standing before her. She gritted her teeth and drained the bottle. The bitterness was so intense it made her entire mouth feel numb.

As promised, Oscar held a creamy candy in his hand. He peeled back the wrapper with slow, deliberate fingers and held the sweet near her lips. Hannah opened her mouth, eager for the relief of the sugar—but it didn't come.

"Hmm..."

Oscar didn't drop the candy into her mouth. Instead, he placed it in his own and leaned down, capturing her lips with his.

The shock lasted only a heartbeat before the sweetness of the candy and the warmth of Oscar’s mouth overwhelmed her. This was what a kiss was supposed to feel like—not a claim or a conquest, but a surrender to tenderness. In the quiet of the room, they embraced tightly, the only sound the soft, rhythmic contact of their lips. When Oscar finally pulled away, Hannah’s lips were red and slightly swollen, and her heart felt dangerously full.

Oscar’s eyes remained fixed on her mouth, his expression calm but his gaze burning with a different kind of fire.

"Still bitter?" he asked, his voice low.

Hannah’s face flushed. The flavor of the cream was everywhere. "Do you want another one?" Oscar teased.

For the first time, Hannah felt truly spoiled, like a protected child. "No," she whispered. She wasn't usually a fan of sweets, but she found herself wondering if she’d ever be able to taste cream candy again without thinking of him.

"Well, good night. It’s late." Oscar started to pull back, but Hannah’s hand shot out to stop him.

"Do you... want to sleep here? Together?"

Oscar paused, his expression turning serious. "Hannah, the word 'sleep' carries a lot of different meanings."

She knew he was flirting, but the usual spike of irritation didn't come. Instead, she felt a strange pull toward him. "I want to talk to you."

Oscar swallowed hard, as if he knew exactly where this conversation was heading. He nodded and sat on the edge of the bed. "Go ahead."

Despite the exhaustion of the night’s trauma, sleep felt miles away. Hannah took a deep breath, looking into his handsome, shadowed face. "Oscar, do you care about my body?"

"Of course," he said swiftly.

"Would you care... if I weren't a virgin?"

"Yes." His face went somber.

The answer caught Hannah off guard. She had expected a "gentleman’s" response—something about only caring for her heart. She stared at him, momentarily baffled, until a small smile played on his lips.

"If I love a woman," Oscar said, his voice ringing with sincerity, "I care about everything. I care if even a single strand of her hair is touched by another man. It’s not about judgment, Hannah. It’s about possession."

"But it doesn't mean I would despise her," he continued, sensing her unease. "I told you once, and I meant it: I will never despise you."

Hannah felt a lump form in her throat. Oscar had a way of cutting through her defenses with a honesty that was more moving than any poem.

"So no matter what happens, or what you lose," he whispered, "I won't give you up."

The words felt like a sacred oath. Hannah realized in that moment that her feelings had shifted irrevocably during the assault earlier that night. When she was in danger, her mind hadn't gone to Charles Sawyer—the man she had spent a lifetime believing she loved. It had gone to Oscar. She had wanted to save herself for him.

She tried to keep her voice steady. "Oscar... did you just say you love me?"

He had said that if he loved someone, he would care about their every detail. Oscar was far more straightforward than she was.

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked.

"But when?" Hannah pressed. "When did you even start having feelings for me? We were strangers before this."

Oscar let out a soft, confident huff. "And when did you fall in love with me?"

Hannah was stunned into silence. Why is he so certain I love him? She wasn't even sure of it herself, yet his confidence was so absolute it made her own heart begin to question its denials.