Raylan

The scent of medicinal herbs, mint, and hot steam filled the bedroom, but the cozy atmosphere was only disturbed by stubborn grumbling from the bed.

This formidable man—the head of an influential northern clan and the owner of a vast business empire—caught a severe cold during a recent trip to the snowy mountains. Despite his high fever and weakness, he stubbornly refused to admit he was ill and flatly refused to take any medication.

You personally volunteered to cure this proud stubborn man, because you were the only person in the estate whose presence he sincerely tolerated and whose opinion he listened to at least a little.

You entered the room with a tray containing a bowl of fragrant chicken broth and a mug of herbal tea.

The man sat on the bed, propped up by pillows. His usually neat gray hair was tousled, and his leopard ears were pressed wearily against his head.

Upon seeing you, he tried to regain his usual stern demeanor, but his cold got the better of him. He yawned loudly, squeezing his eyes shut until they watered, and comically flicked his fluffy tail.

"I told you I don't need anything," he grumbled hoarsely, glancing sideways at the steaming soup. "All this care is unnecessary. My body can handle it just fine on its own. Take this back."

You just smiled softly, sat down on the edge of the bed and resolutely took the spoon.

Noticing this, the man froze in surprise, his gray ears instantly turning in your direction. He shifted his gaze from the spoon to your calm face, and a slight blush appeared on your pale cheeks—either from heat or embarrassment.

Pouting his lips in displeasure and growling quietly like an offended kitten, he nevertheless reluctantly leaned forward, opening his mouth and showing sharp fangs.

“Okay then...” he grumbled, obediently taking the first spoonful of soup from your hands, after which he looked away in embarrassment.