Perhaps because she was dreaming about the past,
Molly began to hallucinate.
In her hazy state, she seemed to see that person she disliked so much.
The man sat by her bedside, using a damp towel to wipe her forehead, cheeks, and neck, holding her burning hand, his gaze gentle and worried.
Was she still dreaming, or had her fever caused hallucinations?
Either way, it couldn’t be real.
She had already driven him away, and in such a harsh tone.
Without her permission, even the butler and maids wouldn’t enter her room—let alone him, whom she had personally sent away.
Could it be that, because she treated him so coldly, he had finally begun to hate her and would never come to see her again?
…Ugh.
Her chest hurt.
It felt as though her heart were being torn apart.
She could hardly breathe.
But wasn’t that exactly what she wanted—to make him hate her, to never see him again?
After all, he already had a fiancée. He was someone about to get married.
If they continued this ambiguous relationship, wouldn’t it make her seem like the kind of woman who interferes in someone else’s relationship?
She didn’t want that. If it continued, even she would come to despise herself.
And besides, she was in such a miserable state now.
Their positions had reversed—he had become someone of far greater power and status, while she was merely a newly appointed family head who knew nothing.
If she kept entangling herself with him, wouldn’t she become the kind of woman who would do anything for power?
People would surely look at her with disgust and contempt.
No matter how hard she worked in the future, in others’ eyes she would only be a parasitic vine clinging to the Vongola, her achievements never truly her own.
Molly didn’t want that.
She had pride, ambition, and goals she wanted to achieve—but in her life plan, there was no place for love or being loved.
Until she restored her own strength and the Phoenix family’s glory, she had no right to love or be loved.
So… so…
Please, don’t come to see her anymore.
Don’t shake her resolve again.
Don’t give her another chance to hurt him.
Even though her reason told her this, and she had already decided to push him away with coldness from now on—
When he appeared again in her dream, tears still welled uncontrollably in her eyes.
Had her longing and desire already reached this point?
Please… spare her…
So when the him in her dream reached out again to wipe her tears, Molly finally couldn’t hold back. She grabbed his hand.
She pressed her tear-streaked, burning cheek into his palm.
Her eyes tightly shut, her brows and lashes trembling, tears escaping uncontrollably from the corners of her eyes.
A faint plea struggled out from her throat.
“Don’t…”
“Don’t go…”
She was so lonely.
Always alone—past and present. Only during that brief time she had been with him did she feel truly fulfilled and happy.
The person whose hand she held froze.
Then, in the dream, he took a sharp breath, pulled his hand free, and wrapped both arms around her, holding her tightly.
The distance between their hearts closed instantly.
Their warmth, breath, and heartbeats intertwined.
She heard his voice by her ear—low and irresistibly familiar.
“Molly, I’m not going anywhere.”
…
Molly said nothing more.
She had heard that things in dreams reflected one’s subconscious.
So she must have missed him so much that she dreamed of him constantly—and longed so deeply for his embrace and for him to stay—
That even in her dream, she made him say such things, do such things.
Even in the dream, Molly kept her eyes tightly shut. She wrapped her arms around his waist and back, curling into his embrace, burying her face in his chest.
Like an ostrich burying its head in the sand when threatened, she used this to deceive herself, hiding from her own feelings.
As if by closing her eyes, she could pretend that this embarrassing version of herself didn’t exist.
Of course, she knew the ostrich story was a myth—but didn’t that make her even more similar?
She embraced him in a false dream with her eyes closed, just like the ostrich in a false story hiding its head in the sand.
It was all fake—how wonderful.
Because if it were real, she would never have the courage to do this. She would only push him further away with coldness.
The fever made her vision blur, her head spin, her thoughts sluggish.
It hurt—her heart, her breathing, her chest.
Surely, because she felt this pain in reality, it carried over into her dream.
Since it was only a dream, Molly gradually tightened her arms around him, greedily savoring his warmth, heartbeat, and scent.
In the dream, he carried a hint of cool night air.
His slightly calloused hands gently and tenderly stroked her forehead and cheeks.
Cooler than her burning temperature.
Yet it eased the tension in her tightly furrowed brow.
The pain in her chest gradually calmed.
Molly just wanted to quietly enjoy this fleeting peace—but the him in her dream seemed to have other intentions.
“Molly,” he said, holding a glass of water to her lips, “I had someone bring medicine. Take it.”
What a joke—what use was taking medicine in a dream?
Unable to speak, Molly simply frowned and turned her head away, burying her face in his chest again.
“…Molly.”
She heard him sigh. “If you don’t take it, your fever won’t go down. What will you do tomorrow?”
She ignored him. Taking medicine meant yielding to illness—and she had never yielded to anyone, not even in a dream.
He coaxed her gently several times, but she refused to budge—until he suddenly fell silent.
Thinking he had finally given up, she relaxed unconsciously.
Just as her consciousness was about to drift away again, he suddenly turned her face—and something was pushed into her mouth.
Small, hard—and bitter! He actually forced the medicine into her mouth!
The bitterness brought fresh tears to her eyes. She glared at him angrily and pushed the pill out with her tongue.
“No. You can’t spit it out.”
His voice turned firm as he pushed the pill back into her throat with his finger.
Ugh! It tasted even more bitter after dissolving!
Then, the next moment, he drank the water in one gulp and leaned down toward her.
Her vision went dark.
She felt something warm press against her lips, and then warm water flowed into her mouth.
All she could do was tilt her head back and swallow, letting the water wash away the bitterness.
In the end, she swallowed the pill.
The bitterness faded, replaced by a faint trace of sweetness.
Strange.
The water was gone—so why hadn’t he stopped?
It felt like even the air had been taken from her, her nose filled only with his heated breath.
Her heart raced, her breathing grew more difficult.
Was this… a kiss?
No—they had no such relationship. How could they do something like this?
Trapped in his arms, his fingers threaded through her hair, holding her in place so she couldn’t move.
She tried to push him away, hitting him weakly—but in the dream, she had no strength. Her resistance was like a tickle, completely ineffective.
Tears welled again in her eyes. With no strength left, she could only wrap her arms around his neck to keep herself from slipping.
…Was this really her dream?
Why couldn’t she control how it unfolded?
Or… perhaps her conscious thoughts and her subconscious desires were not the same…
She lay on the bed as he leaned over her, deepening the kiss.
But as she wrapped her arms around his neck, the half-forced kiss gradually softened into something tender.
She stopped resisting—but when she did, he grew uneasy.
Was she angry?
Reluctantly, he pulled away slightly, their breaths still intertwined.
He looked at her—her flushed cheeks, half-closed eyes, steady breathing, silver hair spread like silk.
He couldn’t help wanting to kiss her again.
But this time, she turned her face, and he only brushed her soft, burning cheek.
“No,” Molly whispered, blocking his lips with the back of her hand. “Kissing is something only people in love can do.”
Even in a dream, she wouldn’t break that rule.
…
His presence turned dangerous at her words.
He remembered the night before—no matter how he pleased her, she always turned her face away to avoid his kisses. He had thought it was just shyness or stubbornness… but this was the reason?
His heart twisted painfully.
He wanted to question her—but swallowed the words.
She was still sick.
Only now did he notice the marks left on her body from the previous night.
They stood out starkly against her pale skin.
And her ankle was injured, too.
All his fault.
Tsuna sighed, sitting up, loosening his slightly tight tie, finally easing the tightness in his chest.
“I brought Vongola’s ointment for external injuries. Molly—do you want to use it?”
…
Molly didn’t respond.
Everything that had just happened had exhausted her.
Her thoughts sank once more into a dark, drifting sea.
She fell into an even deeper sleep.
Yet her brows remained tightly furrowed.
Her whole body ached, her ankle hurt, her body burned and weakened—the side effects of fever carried into her dream.
In her haze, she felt as if she were being roasted over fire.
Then something cool embraced her.
She instinctively moved closer.
The cool, gentle sensation spread across her body.
Cool… comfortable.
Her tightly furrowed brows slowly relaxed.
Even in her blurred awareness, she could sense where that coolness moved—and unconsciously leaned toward it.
From her neck downward, all the way to her ankle.
The flames consuming her were extinguished by that cooling touch.
At last, Molly fell into peaceful sleep.
A night without dreams.