As he carried her, Leona Grant's hand paused on her knee, his gaze sharpening.
He stopped in his tracks and looked down.
Where his hand rested, the flesh was torn and bloody.
Annabelle Linton had left in a hurry yesterday, simply throwing on a knee-length shirt before running out.
She had accidentally fallen while running and scraped her knee. It wasn't a very serious injury, but it looked startling against her smooth, pale skin.
The atmosphere instantly grew cold.
The tenderness in Leona Grant's expression vanished, replaced by an intense, oppressive aura.
Frowning, he looked at her with simmering anger. "What happened?" he asked, his expression cold.
Annabelle Linton was confused by his sudden dark expression. Following his gaze, she saw the wound on her leg and understood. She nonchalantly pushed his hand away and said dismissively, "It's just a scratch. I'm fine."
Leona Grant looked at her, furious. He really wanted to shake some sense into her.
