After dealing with the group of hoodlums, George noticed Gavin and Liza standing silently near the door, their gazes briefly meeting. Unsure how to break the silence, he ventured cautiously, “President, should we head to a restaurant to celebrate your birthday? Perhaps Young Madam has some plans for the occasion?” His hint couldn’t have been more obvious, but to his dismay, Liza remained utterly unfazed. She yawned openly, clearly uninterested. Exhaustion weighed on her after staying up all night to finish Westbrook’s birthday gift. All she wanted now was to crawl into bed and sleep for hours. “I’m not going out to eat,” she said flatly, stretching her arms. “You two can go. I need to head back and rest.” As she walked past Gavin, still yawning, he reached out and grabbed her arm. “I’m not going either,” he declared. “There’s nothing worth eating. Let’s just go home together.” He could already guess what her night had been like—her messy work desk covered in scattered drafts and tools said enough. It was clear she hadn’t slept at all. Without waiting for her response, he guided her out of the building, leaving George behind to process the abrupt change of plans. In the car, Liza leaned back against her seat, eyes closed, hoping to catch a moment of rest. Gavin, seated on the opposite side, stared out of the window, his expression unreadable. There was a noticeable gap between them, yet it didn’t last long. As George stole glances at the rearview mirror, he watched in growing disbelief as Gavin subtly shifted closer to Liza. By the time he stopped, there was only a small gap—a mere fist’s distance—between them. The proximity jolted Liza out of her light doze. Sensing his presence so near, her sleepiness evaporated instantly. Rubbing her temples, she turned to him with a puzzled look. “What’s wrong?” Gavin held up his phone, the screen displaying a familiar animation of a figure waving a lightstick. “You made this?” Liza nodded casually. “Yeah, I thought it was cute, so I sent it to you. Seemed like a good birthday gift. What, you don’t like it?” For a moment, Gavin was quiet. His fingers tapped lightly against his knee as he mulled over her words. Like it? The gift itself was hardly thoughtful compared to the intricately designed cufflinks she had made for Westbrook. Anyone could see this was a quick, impersonal gesture. But on the other hand, the familiar animation had led him to uncover a deeper connection with her—a shared history he hadn’t realized existed. “It’s… not bad,” he finally said, his tone ambiguous. Liza nodded, satisfied with the vague response, and didn’t push the matter further. From the driver’s seat, George silently pieced things together. So that’s why the president has been in such a good mood—he got Young Madam’s gift long before today! Gavin slipped his phone back into his pocket, ignoring his assistant’s curious glances. He leaned back in his seat with an air of lazy ease, striking up light conversation with Liza as though to pass the time. When they finally arrived at the villa, Liza let out a quiet sigh of relief. Something about Gavin’s behavior today felt… unusual. He was talkative, almost playful, and far more relaxed than his typical demeanor. Was it simply because it was his birthday? Lost in her thoughts, she changed her shoes and headed upstairs. Once in her room, she suddenly remembered that she hadn’t confirmed whether Westbrook had received his gift. Quickly pulling out her phone, she sent him a message. Downstairs, Gavin happened to glance at her screen before she left the living room. A faint chuckle escaped his lips as he read the message she had sent. She still doesn’t know the truth, he thought, amusement flickering in his eyes. Should I tell her? He decided against it. For now, he preferred to let her remain in the dark. Moments later, her phone buzzed with a reply.[I received it. Thank you. I really like the gift.] Upon seeing Westbrook’s reply, Liza finally relaxed. A small smile played on her lips as she casually reached for the cup on the coffee table, assuming it was water, and took a sip. However, the taste was off—rich and biting. Her brows furrowed as she stared at the cup in confusion. Wine? Her mind raced. Why is there wine in my room? Before she could piece it together, her legs gave out beneath her. The cup slipped from her grasp and hit the floor with a soft thud as she collapsed. Gavin, who was on his way to the study on the second floor, stopped abruptly when he heard a dull noise echo from the third floor. His sharp instincts kicked in, and his expression darkened. “Liza?” he called out, his voice carrying a note of concern. There was no response. His frown deepened as he climbed the stairs two at a time, stopping in front of her door. Knocking firmly, he called again, “Liza? Are you alright?” Still nothing. “If you don’t answer, I’m coming in,” he warned. When silence persisted, Gavin turned the handle and pushed the door open. The sight that greeted him sent a chill down his spine. Liza, now barely conscious, could vaguely register Gavin’s voice calling her name, though it sounded distant and distorted. She wanted to respond, to reassure him that she was fine, but her body refused to cooperate. Her vision blurred, and the spinning sensation in her head grew worse. She could just make out the figure of Gavin rushing toward her, his movements quick and panicked. She wanted to tell him she was only drunk, but her lips refused to move. She felt his trembling hands lift her off the floor. His usually composed demeanor was gone, replaced by raw urgency. “Get the doctor! Now!” Gavin barked as he carried her out of the room.When Gavin had first opened the door, his heart nearly stopped. Liza lay crumpled on the floor, completely still, with a shattered cup nearby. The faint scent of wine mixed with the sharp tang of fear in the air. A small stain marked the carpet where the liquid had spilled. His mind immediately went to the worst-case scenario: poisoning. The thought tore through him like a blade. His steps faltered for a moment as he reached her, his heart pounding in his chest. Without hesitation, he scooped her up and bolted out the door. The family doctor arrived swiftly, performing a thorough examination while Gavin hovered nearby, tension rolling off him in waves. His jaw clenched, his eyes never leaving Liza’s pale face. After finishing the check-up, the doctor hesitated, his brows furrowing as he reviewed the results. He opened his mouth, then glanced at Gavin’s intense gaze before looking back at the report. “She’s… drunk.” Gavin blinked. “Drunk?” His voice carried a mixture of confusion and disbelief. “Yes, there’s no sign of poisoning or any other issues. It seems she simply drank too much wine,” the doctor confirmed. For a moment, Gavin just stared at the doctor, as though trying to process the words. The panic that had gripped him loosened its hold slightly, replaced by a mix of relief and irritation. Liza, still unconscious, remained blissfully unaware of the chaos her unintended misstep had caused. Meanwhile, Gavin sat by her side, his expression unreadable. Though relieved that she was fine, he couldn't help but feel a lingering frustration—and a strange sense of helplessness—that this woman could throw him into such disarray so effortlessly. With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair, muttering under his breath, “Troublemaker…”