Chapter 912:
Dylan stayed calm. He dipped a cotton swab into the balm and pulled Robin’s hand back. But this time, when he rubbed it in, he pressed harder.
“Agh—damn it!” Robin flinched, his face twisting in pain. “What the hell, Dylan? You trying to snap my fingers off?”
Robin tried to yank his hand away, but Dylan didn’t let go. “Sorry, I miscalculated the pressure. I’ll be gentler.”
There was the faintest twitch at the corner of Dylan’s lips, but no one caught it.
Robin wasn’t wrong—Dylan had done it on purpose.
“You liar!” Robin gritted out. “You’re doing this on purpose!”
“I swear I’m not,” Dylan replied smoothly, looking at Christina with wide, innocent eyes. “I’ve never done this before. Must’ve gotten the pressure wrong.” That look—half sheepish, half sweet—was eerily familiar. Christina blinked. It reminded her of Chloe’s puppy-dog face when she wanted something.
Robin’s eyes darted between the two of them, his jaw tightening. “You’re hurting me. Apologize to me, not flirt with her!” he snapped. How had cold, indifferent Dylan learned to feign innocence like that?
“It’s fine. You didn’t do it on purpose…” Christina said, hesitating as she reached toward Robin’s hand. “Maybe I should—”
Dylan instantly moved Robin’s hand out of her reach. “No need. I learn fast.”
“This! Isn’t! Something! You! Learn!” Robin gritted out, each word sharper than the last.
Dylan didn’t even flinch. His lips curved ever so slightly as he calmly applied more balm, this time with just enough pressure. Then, meeting Robin’s furious gaze, he asked coolly, “How’s this pressure?”
“Not bad, just so-so.” Robin refused to admit that the pressure was perfect. Eyes half-closed, he looked like a cat basking in the sun. Having Dylan—Lorbridge’s golden boy—at his service was a rare luxury. Even the matriarchs of those influential families never received such privilege.
𝗦𝗲𝗲 𝘁𝗿𝘂𝘁𝗵 𝗮𝘁 gⱯ𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀．ⅽ𝗈𝗺
Just as Robin was savoring the moment, Dylan’s hands pressed harder.
“Ah! Ouch!” Robin sucked in a sharp breath, his face twisting in pain. “What the hell, Dylan! You’re secretly getting back at me again!”
A flicker of calculated sheepishness crossed Dylan’s otherwise cool, unreadable face. “Sorry. Guess I got… a little distracted.”
Then, Dylan glanced—ever so innocently—at Christina. That glance alone made Robin’s temper spike.
“Don’t tell me you’re buying his crap?” Robin stared at Christina, daring her to say she actually believed Dylan’s excuse. Only an idiot would buy that lame explanation.
“Well, Dylan has no reason to mess with you,” Christina said gently. “Maybe he really was distracted. He’ll be careful. Besides, it’s almost done.”
Christina meant it. If Dylan wanted revenge, he wouldn’t waste time with little tricks. He’d go straight for the jugular, either through business or something far more decisive. Subtle, petty payback? That was Robin’s style.
“You silly woman!” Robin ground out each word, his voice tight with frustration. Before he could recover, Dylan’s hands pressed even harder, forcing another grimace out of him.
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