Jenna grabbed a towel and rushed into the kitchen, her trembling fingers wrapping around Ethan's bloodied hand. Warm crimson seeped through the fabric, staining her palm with a vivid red.

"You need the hospital!" Her voice shook with urgency.

Ethan glanced at his bandaged left hand, oddly pleased by the timing of this injury. The glistening tears in Jenna's eyes sent warmth through his chest, turning pain into sweet torment.

"It's really nothing—"

"Shut up!" She yanked him toward the door with surprising strength.

A rusty minivan waited at the alley's entrance, its door screeching in protest. Ethan hesitated—the battered vehicle stood in stark contrast to his usual Maybach.

"Get in!" Jenna revved the engine, black smoke puffing from the exhaust.

The moment his seatbelt clicked, the van lurched forward. Through the rearview mirror, he saw her biting her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. At that moment, he wouldn't mind dying in a crash.

Fluorescent lights glared in the ER. When the nurse peeled back the blood-soaked towel, Jenna gasped—a jagged wound spanned his entire palm, tiny porcelain shards embedded in the torn flesh.

"A bowl did this?" The doctor adjusted his glasses skeptically.

Antiseptic fumes filled the air, but Ethan only watched Jenna's white-knuckled grip on the chair. She trembled as if the injury were her own.

"Will it scar?" Her whisper barely carried over the suturing sounds.

The doctor didn't look up. "Depends on aftercare. But..." His gaze flicked to Ethan's elegant fingers. "Such beautiful hands. What a shame."

Suddenly Ethan clasped Jenna's hand with his bloody right one. "That painter you like—exhibition next month at the gallery." A pause. "Come with me?"

Her tears finally fell, mingling with drying blood on his skin.