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 disy 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?


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    Pondering this, she opened anotherpartment 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!


    “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 yfully 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 ttery, buting from him, it felt incredibly


    sincere, making her heart swell with joy.


    “Really? Getting apliment 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 tter me.”


    sales call


    “Ohe 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


    yfully, “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 identally 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 urate 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