The untamed woman

Dahlia gripped the jar tightly, her knuckles white, ready to use it if Sullivan didn't stop his erratic behavior. Her heart raced as she braced herself for the worst.

Sullivan, now drenched from head to toe, shook his head, the fog of intoxication lifting from his body. He threaded his fingers through his wet hair, resting his hand on the back of his head with a frustrated sigh.

"Are you alright?" Dahlia asked softly, her voice laced with concern.

"Yes," Sullivan replied curtly.

Dahlia, feeling a wave of relief, gently set the jar on the bedside table. She grabbed a scarf from the bed, intending to help. Without thinking twice, she leaned forward and began wiping the water from Sullivan's face.

He recoiled instantly, his expression shifting to irritation. "What are you doing?" he demanded in his sharp voice.

"Just wiping your face," Dahlia answered calmly.