Love Burned, She Rose Unscathed



Owen stepped out, finding himself in an unavoidable collision course with the coat rack directly across from the bathroom door.

He was cradling a bundle of clothes, his hair still damp, droplets tracing distinct paths down his neck, soaking into the fabric of his t-shirt.

Moisture coated his neck and cheeks, blurring the lines between sweat and water.

The second he spotted Roseanne, it was like his brain had a total meltdown.

She was clad in a black tank top, the snug material accentuating her curves and leaving a small section of her waist bare, revealing a delicate navel.

Her slender arms, the pronounced collarbones, and the way her skin seemed to glow against the black fabric...Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.

She was the spitting image of the woman in his dreams.

Roseanne froze on the spot, her t-shirt in hand forgotten, as she stood rooted to the ground.

"Mr... Mr. Reynolds..."

Owen quickly turned his back, taking deep breaths to steady his voice, striving for calmness-

"Sorry for using your bathroom."

But only he knew how tight his throat felt, his voice barely concealing the turmoil inside.

Thump-thump-thump-thump-

Something in his chest was pounding wildly, threatening to burst out.

Owen had intended to head back to his own place for a shower.

Upon entering his bathroom, he was met with a scene of chaos: a group of technicians crowded inside.

The old building hadn't been designed with dedicated spots for air conditioning units, so they were typically mounted on the exterior walls.

And it just so happened that Owen's AC unit was being serviced, with technicians hanging outside his bathroom window, rendering the room unusable.

So, Owen ended up at Roseanne's place.

He had thought about informing her but hesitated at her bedroom door.

What if he disturbed her sleep?

Thinking he could quickly finish without any interruptions, he hadn't expected their paths to cross.

Roseanne hurriedly pulled on her t-shirt, stumbling over her words, "I-I thought you weren't home, so I just..."

It was an awkward moment.

Watching Owen's turned back, Roseanne felt her cheeks flush.

"Mr. Reynolds, it's okay now... you can turn around."

Owen faced her again.

Their eyes met, filling the air with a thick mix of embarrassment

t of something else... Soet

unspoken.

Roseanne averted her gaze first, retreating to her bedroom.

Leaning against the wardrobe, she took several deep breaths to calm herself though the blush on her cheeks lingered. Catching her reflection, her eyes sparkled her breath slightly uneven...

When she returned to the living room, she carried a dry towel, offering it to Owen as if nothing had happened. "Mr. Reynolds, it's clean. You might want to dry your hair."

"...Oh, sure!" He accepted, a beat too slow, standing up to take it.

Roseanne then pointed to the hairdryer, "...It's over there, you might want to use it."

"...Okay."

After she turned to head into the kitchen, Owen followed shortly.

His hair was now dry, a few soft strands falling across his forehead, softening his usually stern demeanor.

He offered, "Let me help."