Venomous Love

Warming His Cold Soul

Meanwhile, Dior unlocked her apartment door, the familiar scent of home enveloping her as she stepped inside. She tossed her keys and bag onto the console table, her mind still preoccupied with thoughts of Leander. A pang of guilt twisted in her chest as she recalled their heated argument earlier that day. She kicked off her heels and sank onto her couch, massaging her temples. The cold words she'd spoken to him echoed in her mind - 'You're a monster' - and she regretted every one. Dior wrapped her arms around herself, hugging her knees to her chest. She thought about Leander lying wounded in his bed, probably stewing in anger and pain. She remembered the times he'd been kind, the moments when he wasn't the ruthless mafia boss everyone feared. Dior sniffled and wiped away her tears. She stood up and paced around her living room, trying to figure out how to make things right. An idea sparked in her mind—she could bring Leander something to eat. Even cold-hearted mafia bosses needed to eat, right? She nodded determinedly, deciding she would go first thing tomorrow morning. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn't eaten since breakfast. She made herself a simple dinner, unable to focus fully on anything else. Throughout the night, sleep was elusive as thoughts of Leander's wellbeing haunted her.

The next morning. The sun streamed through the window, Dior's body was stiff from sleep. She stretched lazily, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She looked at her clock - it was only 7 AM. "Too early," she muttered, throwing off her blanket. She dragged herself out of bed, her feet padding softly on the floor. She headed to the bathroom, turning on the shower and stepping in. The hot water soothed her muscles as she washed her hair and body. "Mmm..." She hummed softly, lost in thought.

After finishing her shower, she wrapped herself in a fluffy robe and moved to the kitchen, humming a tune while making herself a cup of coffee. As the aroma filled the room, she leaned against the counter, taking a sip. The memory of last night suddenly flooded back, making her almost choke on her coffee. Leander, stabbed and bleeding... She quickly set her cup down, a determined look in her eyes. She couldn't just leave him alone, not after what happened. "I'll make him some soup,” She rushed to the pantry, gathering ingredients - chicken broth, vegetables, some herbs from her small garden on the balcony. The clock ticked away as she chopped and cooked, her mind racing with memories of his injured state. "That bastard better eat it all...," she muttered under her breath. The chicken soup simmered gently on the stove, filling the apartment with a comforting aroma. Dior carefully ladled the steaming broth into a thermos, packing it into a bag along with some crackers and a small jar of honey. "Time to visit the patient,”

She grabbed her keys and rushed out, hailing a cab to Leander's penthouse. She barged in without knocking, finding Leander sitting on the couch, his face pale and his shirt stained with dried blood around the bandages on his side. "You look like s**t," She bluntly stated, setting the bag down on the coffee table. Her expression was stern, but there was concern in her eyes as she approached him. "Let me take a look at that wound. And don't even think about refusing, I made soup just for you,” Leander raised an eyebrow at her, a small smirk playing on his lips despite his obvious pain. "Always so charming, Dior." He shifted slightly, allowing her to get a better look at his wound. She carefully peeled back the bandages, inspecting the stitches and the surrounding area. As she tended to his wound, Leander's confusion grew. He remembered their last interaction before the attack - they had been cold, almost hostile towards each other. Yet here she was, being surprisingly gentle and caring. He watched her work with a furrowed brow. "Dior... what are you doing?” Dior paused for a moment, her hands still on his bandages. She didn't look up at him, focusing intently on her task. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm making sure you don't bleed to death," she snapped, but her voice lacked its usual bite. Leander's brow furrowed deeper, his eyes searching hers for any hint of her true feelings. He was silent for a moment before speaking softly. "You didn't have to do this, you know. We both know we weren't exactly on good terms before this happened." He gestured to his wound. Dior froze for a second before continuing to wipe around his wound carefully. "So?" She challenged. "Does it surprise you that I'm not completely heartless? I mean, you're not dead yet. Someone had to take care of that bloody hole in you." She shrugged, avoiding his gaze. He caught her wrist gently before she could finish, his touch surprising her. Their eyes met properly for the first time since she arrived. "Stop it," he murmured, his voice carrying a weight she hadn't heard before. "Stop treating this like you're just doing some random act of charity." Dior's breath hitched slightly at his intensity. For once, she couldn't maintain her usual cool demeanor. She swallowed hard, her hand still captured in his. "And what if I am? Are you going to make a big deal about someone actually giving a damn for once?” Leander glowered at her, his arm wrapped around his ribs protectively. "I said I'm fine, Dior. You can leave now," He snapped, trying to dismiss her. She ignored his order, instead sitting back down beside him and starting to clean his wound again. Dior's expression hardened, her voice steady and calm. "I didn't ask if you were fine. I can see you're not. Now shut up and let me clean this mess before it gets infected." She continued to tend to his wound, her movements precise and careful despite his protests. Leander sighed deeply, running a hand through his messy hair. "You're wasting your time. My doctor was here last night. My bandages are clean, and I have antibiotics. You can leave now," He watched her work, though, noticing the way she cared for him.

She finished dressing his wound, then turned to face him fully, her face unreadable. "So you've got your fancy doctor who probably made the best goddamn bandages money could buy..." She paused, meeting his gaze directly "...but who's going to bring you soup afterwards?” Leander blinked, taken aback by her sudden intensity. His expression softened somewhat, although he tried his best to hide it. "I don't need soup. I'm fine," He repeated, his voice slightly weaker this time. "Just go home, Dior.”

Leander watched as she stubbornly refused to leave, sitting beside him on the couch all day. He tried ignoring her, reading a book, watching TV, but her presence was overwhelming. As night fell, he found himself staring at the ceiling, Dior sitting silently beside him. As the rooms darkened and shadows crept in, Leander finally turned his head to look at Dior. Her silhouette was barely visible, but he could sense her quiet vigil. A pang of guilt hit him, realizing how horribly he'd treated her all day out of sheer stubborn pride. "Dammit…” He watched her unobtrusive behavior. She hadn't made a sound all evening. No complaints, no smart remarks, nothing. Just... quiet care. She grabbed another blanket from his closet when it got chilly, covering herself silently. His guilt deepened. "She's like a damn mouse…” She heard his mumble but didn't react. She was good at that - ignoring comments that could be offensive. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, making herself smaller on the couch. "He probably thinks I'm annoying," She thought softly. "He's right." She hid a small smile. Leander tossed and turned, his side hurting. He heard a small rustle. Next moment, the couch creaked as Dior got up silently. She disappeared into the kitchen. He heard the fridge open, then the microwave beep. She returned to the couch, her back to him again. As Dior settled back down on the couch, Leander's gaze drifted to her silhouette. The way she silently took care of him, the gentle way she moved... it was starting to chip away at his defenses. He sat up abruptly, his injured side protesting. Dior tensed, thinking he was finally getting up to yell at her or order her out. Instead, he moved closer, his hand balling into a fist on the blanket beside her. He looked at her profile, his mind made up. Without another moment's hesitation, Leander wrapped his arm around Dior's waist and pulled her into his lap. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling her scent deeply. He could feel her stiffen in shock. Dior's heart pounded wildly as she found herself suddenly in Leander's lap.