Jessica made her way back to the bedroom and, without stopping, entered the bathroom for a quick shower. She needed to rinse off the sweat that was already drying on her skin and beginning to stick to her.
With the water running down her body, she contemplated her actions, a sigh escaping her lips. She didn’t like it—she had never expected Davis to take over her emotions so easily.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had lost her temper like that, resorting to the sandbag just to bring herself back under control. It had always been one of her weakest points. When angry, she could raze down a building without remorse.
Because of that, she had always distanced herself from anything that could provoke her. It had taken not just days, but years, to develop ways of calming her temper.
"Davis, Davis... sorry, but I have to admit—you’re my wolfsbane," she muttered to herself.
Just as she stepped out of the bathroom, Davis pushed open the door. She glanced at him briefly. Having calmed down, she was now more composed.
She settled in front of the dressing table and picked up the hair dryer.
"Can I help you?" he asked tentatively, his voice low. He dared not provoke her again and risk facing the wrath of Ares.
Jessica’s hand paused briefly before she handed him the dryer and moved to a lower seat to allow him to dry her hair comfortably.
"Are you still angry?" he asked as his hands worked gently through her hair.
"It doesn’t matter," she replied.
Davis nodded slightly. "Maybe you can give me a chance to explain?"
Jessica remained silent. Davis took it as a cue to continue.
"I only thought it would be more beneficial to try out the leg movements in bits—to improve flexibility."
"I understand. But you overdid it. For crying out loud, it’s only been four months since the treatment began, and you’re already expecting it to heal completely," she said, her voice calmer but firm.
"I understand," he answered sincerely. He felt his heart settle after explaining. Maybe he had been too anxious, too eager, but her rule was clear: Don’t overexert. He would continue, but with caution.
Jessica sighed. She had already expended the energy she’d restored during the car ride.
A soft knock came at the door.
"Come in," Davis called out.
"Who is it?" Jessica asked.
"The maid—with our dinner," he replied. On his way back from the gym, he had stopped to request their meal be brought up, knowing how exhausted she might be to go down for dinner.
After changing into her nightwear, Jessica calmly arranged the dinner that had been brought in. They ate in silence, neither needing to speak, before retiring for the night.
Later, as Davis gathered her into his arms, he felt her restlessness—her uneven breathing and continuous sighs. An attitude she exhibited only when something troubled her deeply.
"What’s wrong? Why so restless?" he asked, his concern clear. He shifted slightly, resting his head against the headboard.
"The Santiagos," she muttered.
Davis’s brow furrowed. "What about them?"
Jessica took a deep breath before beginning to narrate her encounter at the hospital and the overwhelming feelings she had about their situation.
Davis fell into thought. It wasn’t the first time she had expressed concerns about them. Time and again, he’d seen her grow anxious over the Santiagos.
Still, he withheld judgment. Though he hadn’t met them personally, he had his suspicions.
"Do you remember when I once asked you about your mother’s family?" Davis asked gently.
Jessica nodded, her heart thumping. She recalled the items she had taken from the Browns before leaving with the Allen family members. Those relics bore insignias strikingly similar to the Santiagos’.
"The necklace?" she thought silently. Her mother had once said the necklace would guide her when the time came. But its uncanny resemblance to the Santiagos’ symbol made her tremble.
Sensing her unease, Davis gently caressed her arm. "Did you remember something?"
"Just some items I took from the Brown family," she murmured.
"Have you taken a close look at them? Do they suggest a connection to the Santiagos?" he asked softly.
"And what did you find?" he asked again.
"I... I suspect the relics are from them. And the emotions I feel every time I come across them... it’s terrifying," she admitted.
"How sure are you they’re from the Santiagos?" Davis asked carefully. While instincts mattered, solid proof was essential.
"I saw something very similar on Matilda’s hand," she replied, trying not to relive the flood of feelings she’d had.
"You don’t need to worry," Davis said soothingly. "Take it one step at a time. I’ll ask Ethan to investigate everything thoroughly before you make any decisions, okay?"
"And if the results turn out negative?" she asked quietly, uncertainty clouding her voice.
"Then you have nothing to worry about," Davis replied reassuringly.
"What if they’re positive?" Jessica asked, her voice trembling. She dreaded the answer. She didn’t know whether to be hopeful or fearful of the outcome.
"If they’re positive," Davis said, kissing her forehead gently, "then whatever decision you make, I’ll support you—completely."
No matter what life threw at them, he was ready to walk the path with her. As long as she gave him the chance.
"Thank you," Jessica murmured. She was truly grateful. At a time , having someone willing to walk with her meant more than she could express.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to keep walking this journey, hand in hand. She might not have the certainty of tomorrow, but having the grace of today—that was already a blessing.
"Davis, do you think we can withstand our trials?" she asked after a pause.
Her question left him momentarily speechless, pulling him into deep contemplation.
He might not be able to foresee tomorrow, but as far as he was concerned, what trial could possibly surpass the one they were facing now?
"Do you think there’s more coming?" he asked, his brow raised inquisitively.
"It’s not about what I think or wish," she replied softly. "It’s the law of nature—things must take their course, as long as we are human."
Davis sighed deeply, his gaze fixed on her face. "Then... can I make one request?"
"What request?" she asked, though she couldn’t help but wonder what kind of request he’d make when they were discussing something so serious.
"Can you not let go of my hand, no matter what happens? And... can you always remember me?" he asked, his voice low but sincere.