Gavin’s frustration bubbled over as the doctor remained silent. Taking a step closer, his voice was sharp with urgency. “Speak! What’s wrong with Liza?” Startled by Gavin’s intensity, the family doctor flinched before hurriedly handing over the diagnostic report. His hands trembled as he stammered, “Y-Young Madam is perfectly fine. She’s just… drunk. It appears she’s very sensitive to alcohol—even a small amount can overwhelm her system.” Drunk? Gavin stared blankly at the doctor, struggling to process the revelation. At that moment, the results from the analysis of the spilled liquid came in. It confirmed the doctor’s words—it was indeed alcohol. A wave of relief washed over Gavin, but it was quickly followed by irritation as he turned to the gathered servants. “Who brought alcohol into her room?”The staff exchanged nervous glances before a young maid hesitantly stepped forward. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry, Young Master. It was my mistake. I accidentally delivered it to Young Madam’s room instead of the intended location.” Gavin rubbed his temples, trying to suppress his frustration. “Handle this properly,” he ordered the butler, his tone sharp but controlled. After sending the doctor on his way, the butler quickly arranged for the kitchen to prepare a hangover remedy. Though the situation turned out to be a misunderstanding, the butler couldn’t help but reflect on what he had witnessed. Gavin’s visible panic earlier revealed just how much he cared for Liza. It seemed the young master’s feelings were far deeper than the distant facade he usually displayed. Returning to the third floor, Gavin entered the room and settled into a chair near the bed. He studied Liza, who was sound asleep. It was rare to see her this peaceful, her usual fiery energy replaced by a serene stillness. Her delicate features seemed even softer in repose, her brows relaxed. A faint pinkness lingered on her cheeks, likely from the alcohol, and her lips—rosy and slightly parted—seemed unusually captivating. They glistened like they were coated in syrup, almost inviting. Gavin quickly averted his gaze, forcing himself to focus on something else. That’s when he noticed the faint bruise on her forehead. It wasn’t severe, likely caused by her fall earlier when she’d hit the coffee table, but against her porcelain skin, the mark stood out starkly. His frown deepened. Picking up the ointment the doctor had left, he uncapped it and poured a small amount onto his palm. Rubbing it between his hands to warm it, he carefully applied the cream to her forehead. His fingers moved in slow, gentle circles, ensuring the ointment was absorbed into her skin. As he worked, a strange thought crossed his mind. When did I start doing things like this? Gavin was not the type to fuss over others, yet here he was, tending to Liza with more care than he’d shown anyone. She wouldn’t even remember any of this when she woke up. He let out a quiet sigh, half-amused and half-irritated with himself. What a thankless effort, he thought. Yet, even knowing that, his hands didn’t stop their careful movements. Gavin let out a quiet grunt as a thought crossed his mind. He gently tapped Liza’s forehead with his finger, which still had some ointment on it. His voice carried a mix of irritation and mockery as he muttered, “You silly woman, do you even know who I am? I’m your husband—your legally wedded husband. Do you remember that?” Though Liza was drunk, she wasn’t entirely unconscious. The cool touch of the ointment on her forehead had already begun pulling her back to awareness. However, the haze from the alcohol still clouded her mind, making her feel sluggish and heavy-eyed. When Gavin spoke again, the sound of his voice broke through her grogginess. She managed to pry her eyes open, albeit with effort, and suddenly grabbed his hand—the one that had been tapping her forehead. Startled, Gavin froze for a moment. “Y-You’re awake?” She didn’t answer, just stared at him with a hazy yet intense gaze. Feeling slightly unnerved by her silence, Gavin looked away for a split second. But just as quickly, he straightened up and adopted a defiant tone. “What? Did I say something wrong? I am your husband, and you can’t run away from that!” At that moment, Gavin reminded Liza of a cat she’d once raised in the countryside—aloof, stubborn, and utterly awkward. “Meow.” Without fully realizing it, Liza gave in to her instincts. The alcohol had eroded most of her inhibitions, and she suddenly reached out, wrapping her arms around Gavin’s neck. She nuzzled against his face, a soft hum of contentment escaping her lips. His hair felt stiff and coarse, not particularly pleasant, but for some reason, she still found it comforting.“Meow, meow?” she murmured, almost dreamily. Gavin stiffened, his teeth grinding audibly as he grabbed her hands to stop her from running them through his hair. His voice was low, laced with both exasperation and disbelief. “I see you as my wife, and you treat me like a… cat? Liza, do you have a death wish?” But Liza, emboldened by her drunkenness, wasn’t fazed. Instead, she smacked the top of his head lightly, her tone playful. “Stupid cat! How dare you talk back to your owner like that?” For a moment, Gavin was utterly speechless. He stared at her, his expression a mix of rage and incredulity. Damn it. This woman is going to drive me insane. Just then, the butler appeared at the door carrying the hangover soup. Hearing the commotion inside, he hesitated, unsure if he should interrupt. The muffled voices made his ears burn. Am I intruding on something? Do they actually enjoy this sort of… playful banter?“Y-Young Master, I’ve brought the hangover soup,” the butler stammered, standing at the threshold as though afraid to step in. Gavin, trying to regain some semblance of composure, raked a hand through his hair, which was now thoroughly disheveled thanks to Liza. He forced himself to respond casually, “Leave it here.” The butler nodded quickly, placing the tray on the table before retreating with a speed that suggested he wanted no part in whatever was going on. He even made sure to close the door behind him. Gavin turned his attention back to Liza, who had now buried herself into a pillow, clutching it like a lifeline. He tested the temperature of the hangover soup with the back of his hand. Satisfied that it was warm enough, he placed it on the bedside table and said firmly, “Drink this.” “No,” Liza mumbled, shaking her head so vigorously it looked like she was trying to dislodge the very idea from her mind. “It’s bitter!” Gavin opened his mouth to refute her but stopped short. He remembered the servants had sweetened the soup to counter its bitterness, but he also recalled her unique sensitivity to certain flavors. Pressing his lips together in frustration, he decided against arguing for now. His eyes softened slightly as he looked at her stubborn pout. This woman is impossible, he thought. Yet, even in her drunken defiance, she somehow managed to look endearing.