My Beloved Has Risen from Death’s Embrace

Chapter 172

Xanthea dashed into the storage room, rifling through each shelf in search of a thermometer. As she reached the bottom shelf, she caught a glimpse of a safe, adomed with a delicate blue iris flower, dried to perfection.

She couldn’t help but touch it, and immediately, the digital display lit up with a prompt–Please enter her birthday; it startled her enough to quickly withdraw her hand,

Please enter her birthday? Her? A woman?

It struck her as childish that Orion, the illustrious Crestwood tycoon, would use a woman’s birthday as the safe’s password. Wasn’t he afraid of thieves? Or perhaps this woman was exceptionally important to him?

He didn’t have a girlfriend. Could it be his mother’s birthday? Or maybe it was the birthday of some muse he dreamed about?

Pondering this, she opened another compartment marked with a cross. Inside, there was not only a thermometer but also a first aid kit, filled with unopened medications for colds, fevers, burns, and more.

Drion, despite having all sorts of medicine at home, stubbomly refused to take any, deliberately neglecting his health. If she were a family member, she would definitely scold him! Nôvel/Dr(a)ma.Org - Content owner.

“Orion, I found it.”

Carrying the medicine kit, Xanthea came out to see Orion thoughtfully sipping the soup she had made

She smiled as she approached, resting her arms on the dining table, and playfully watching him with her sparkling eyes, “How is it? This is my first time making soup. Does it taste okay?”

“Mmm, it’s delicious.”

Orion’s clear, appreciative tone didn’t try to hide his praise, “Ms. Nightshade, you excel at everything you do.”

If anyone else had said that, she might have taken it as flattery, but coming from him, it felt incredibly sincere, making her heart swell with joy.

“Really? Getting a compliment from a ‘six–star‘ chef like you isn’t easy.”

Catching the tease in her words, Orion had his lips curved slightly, “Ms. Nightshade, you flatter me.”

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“Oh come on, drop the formalities. We’ve known each other for years. Just call me by my nickname. My friends and my families me Xan, if you don’t mind,” Xanthea looked at him, arching her brow playfully, “You could call me ‘Xan” too?”

At that, he froze.

As their eyes met, his gaze locked onto her twinkling eyes as if sucked into a profound vortex, almost as if her reflection was clearly mirrored in his pupils.

E F

The air filled with a subtle yet intense tension, vibrating and sparking as if the atmosphere itself heated up.

Noticing his unusual expression, Xanthea felt inwardly panicked.

She had accidentally blurted out the nickname he used for her in a past life. Except for that time at Glory Building when he saved her from drowning, he had never called her Xan. Now, by suggesting it herself, he must be puzzled, perhaps even overthinking.

“Right!”

She suddenly straightened, cleverly changing the subject, “I found the thermometer. Let’s check your temperature.”

Considering that he had just drunk the soup, it might not be accurate to measure his oral temperature. So, she opted for his armpit instead.

She pulled out the thermometer and, as she was about to tuck it under his arm, he swiftly grasped her wrist, the excessive warmth of his palm sent a chill through her