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After that accidental coffee spill encounter, Aria insisted on compensating Dean for ruining his shirt, but he refused again and again.

"I’m fine," he had told her, smiling awkwardly while wiping his sleeve with a napkin. "It was my own fault for not looking where I was going."

But Aria wouldn’t take no for an answer. She looked guilty.

"At least let pay for the dry cleaning," she said, tugging at her bag for her wallet. "Or buy you a new one."

"Really, don’t worry about it." Dean tried to shrink into himself. Aria’s insistence on paying him felt like they were strangers ready to go their own ways. Did she not recognise him? Was he so bland that he couldn’t even leave an impression on her at the hospital?

Dean wished he hadn’t set foot here today. Before he could even think of confessing or asking her out, it already felt like rejection. He stepped back, wanting to escape. But Aria reached out and grabbed his wrist before he could flee.

"Then give your number," she said firmly. "If you won’t take money, at least let treat you to coffee or dinner soti. My conscience won’t let rest otherwise."

Dean blinked at her, caught off guard by her grip. His skin burned under her touch. He quickly pulled his hand back. "Fine, fine. One coffee. That’s all."

He felt his ears were burning, giving him away.

Aria smiled, finally. She reached out and opened WeChat. "Give your WeChat userna then."

Dean handed his phone in a daze, watching as Aria sent a friend request and accepted herself on his phone.

Before he knew it, he was standing at the QC uni gate, staring at his phone screen showing Aria’s contact information.

And that was how it began.

The two t a couple of tis after that, usually after work or during weekends. Sotis at a cafe, sotis at a quiet restaurant tucked away in the corner of the city. Their conversation was casual, circling around work or trivial topics, weather, traffic, and the latest movie neither of them had ti to see.

Dean avoided anything related to family. He had almost slipped up once, ntioning Micah in passing and catching himself mid-sentence. The mory made his palm sweat even now. The Du Pont records were a disaster. First, Emile had gone to Ramsy’s mansion, claiming Micah had been beaten up for protecting him. Then, not long after, Micah had been kidnapped while he was with their uncle, Clyde.

And worst of all, their uncle was pursuing Micah, Aria’s little brother.

It was all topics that could destroy his fragile relationship with Aria.

And honestly, he didn’t know how much Aria knew about these things or how much she wanted to know, but bottom line, it wasn’t his place to talk about Micah or his uncle’s private life.

The na Micah felt like a curse. Saying it aloud would be like shooting himself in the foot. He would be finished.

She didn’t seem eager to talk about her family either. After their first eting, when he ntioned seeing her at the hospital, Aria shut down instantly. Dean didn’t dare to bring it up again after that.

At first, Aria seed cheerful and warm. But sotis her smile felt forced, the kind that trembled around the edges. As if she were trying to hide sothing heavy. Dean noticed the way she stirred her drink absentmindedly, eyes losing focus as if she were miles away.

He wanted to ask what was wrong. But every ti the words reached his lips, fear stopped him. Their relationship couldn’t even be called friendship. What right did he have to expect she would open up to him?

So instead, he tried to make her laugh. He told her about the ridiculous office gossip, about a coworker accidentally sending a love confession to the group company chat. Aria laughed, sotis softly, sotis genuinely. And every ti she did, the tightness in his chest eased a bit.

Everything was fine until that day he said the wrong thing.

They were sitting by the window of a quiet restaurant, eating lunch, when Aria asked about what he was going to do that afternoon.

Dean brought up the new drug, one La Riviere Pharmaceutical was about to launch.

"I’m supposed to et one of the board directors of AHPRA, discussing the release and distribution of the drug. It’s targeted autoimmune disease, especially MS," he said casually, sipping his water. "The research behind it is interesting..."

But Aria froze, her fingers tightening around her fork. "MS?" she repeated, her voice trembling slightly. "You an... Multiple Sclerosis?"

Dean blinked, suddenly rembering sothing. His mouth went dry. Crap! Hadn’t Micah visited the La Riviere for that drug before?

"Uh, yeah... why?"

She leaned closer. "Is it effective? When will it be available?"

Her tone was too urgent, too desperate. Dean hesitated, then answered, "It’s in a clinical trial. It won’t be long...I thought young master Micah knew about this ..."

Aria suddenly grasped his arm tightly. "What did you say? My brother knew?"

"Mm, I heard he t the main researcher for a consultation about it..."

He stopped himself, noticing the colour drawing from Aria’s face, but curiosity got the better of him. "Miss Aria... is soone in your family sick?"

Otherwise, why were the brother and sister so fixated on this drug?

For a mont, she just stared at him. Then her lips quivered, and tears welled in her eyes. "My..." She tried to speak but choked on the words.

Dean panicked. "Hey, hey, it’s okay," he said softly. "I’m sorry. I didn’t an to pry."

But Aria covered her face, sobbing quietly. People turned to look, and Dean quickly stood, moving to her side. He knelt beside her chair. "Let’s go to the car," he whispered, placing his jacket over her head.

She nodded and rose to her feet. They moved quickly to the car, but Aria’s tears didn’t stop. Dean couldn’t leave her like that. He stayed, awkwardly patting her back, fetching napkins, offering water until her tears slowed.

By the ti she cald down, one hour had passed. Dean checked his watch and felt his stomach twist. He was supposed to et them in fifteen minutes.

Aria caught on to his expression. "Sorry, I don’t know what ca over ..."

Dean assured her. "It’s fine. I still have plenty of ti."

He dropped her off first before rushing to the appointnt, only to arrive too late.

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