"I am not the scoundrel! You are!" Linsey retorted, her voice thick with drunken defiance.

Collin chuckled, finding her sudden bravado unexpectedly endearing. He reached out and playfully pinched her cheek, trying to bring her focus back. "Linsey, come back to reality. Don't you recognize your own husband?"

Linsey furrowed her brow, confusion clouding her features as she squinted at him. "My husband? Since when did I get married?" She swatted his hand away with a huff. "You're definitely not him. You’re too... much."

Collin's eyes narrowed slightly, his voice deepening with a hint of a warning. "Linsey, I’ve told you before—be careful with what you say, even when you’re like this."

Linsey's lower lip jutted out in a defiant pout, ready to fire back another retort.

"If you keep talking nonsense," he murmured, leaning in just close enough for her to catch the scent of his cologne, "I might have to find a way to silence you."

Linsey's eyes widened in alarm. She clapped both hands over her mouth as if to physically prevent any further trouble. "Scoundrel..." she mumbled behind her palms, shooting him a mock-venomous glare.

Collin leaned back with a short, amused snort. He couldn't quite decipher whether Linsey was genuinely intoxicated or merely letting her guard down under the influence. Even in this state, her natural cleverness seemed to flicker beneath the surface.

However, he didn't have the luxury to ponder her level of sobriety. Maintaining a neutral expression for the sake of his staff, he instructed the driver, "Take us home."

"Yes, Mr. Riley," the driver acknowledged.

Collin recalled the sheer chaos of Linsey's last drunken episode and felt a flicker of apprehension. He truly hoped she wouldn't cause a scene tonight. If they were alone, he wouldn't have minded her playful antics, but they currently had an audience to maintain appearances for.

Thankfully, the steady hum of the car seemed to soothe her. The effects of the single drink began to pull her into a heavy daze, and soon her head drooped to the side as she succumbed to sleep.

Noticing her head precariously close to the cold window, Collin gently reached out and guided her toward him, letting her rest comfortably against his shoulder. Sound asleep, Linsey instinctively snuggled closer, finding a warm position against his chest. A rare, genuine smile touched his lips as he draped a blanket over her, ensuring she stayed warm for the remainder of the drive.

Soon, the car arrived at Vista Villa. Seeing that the grounds were quiet and deserted, Collin took advantage of the privacy. He opted to leave his wheelchair in the vehicle and carefully lifted Linsey, carrying her in a steady, protective hold. He moved through the villa with practiced ease, heading straight for her room.

Linsey remained fast asleep, and he moved with utmost care, cautious not to disturb her peaceful slumber. Finally, he laid her gently on the bed and breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He carefully removed her coat and shoes, tucking the blanket securely around her.

He lingered by the bedside for a moment, watching the soft rise and fall of her breath. A warmth spread through him—a mixture of tenderness and a longing he wasn't yet ready to admit.

Suddenly, Linsey stirred, her brow furrowed in discomfort as she tugged restlessly at her collar. "It's so hot..." she mumbled in her sleep, her movements slightly disarraying the covers.

Collin’s gaze lingered on her flushed face. He exhaled a long, slow breath, fighting back the protective instinct that felt increasingly like something deeper. He leaned over once more, his hands steady as he adjusted her clothes and pulled the blanket back up to her chin.

"Stay still, Linsey," he whispered softly.

Linsey's eyes fluttered open, her gaze hazy and unfocused. She reached out, her small hand grasping his as he tried to pull away. "Don't go..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He froze, gazing intently at her. The room was silent, filled only with the faint, sweet scent of her presence.

"What did you say?" he asked, his voice a low, tender rumble, as if afraid that any louder sound might break the fragile magic of the moment.