kClick!

The room is brightly lit as a palm presses against the light switch. A large, warm hand rests atop hers, rough calluses brushing her skin, leaving a tingling sensation.

"You..." Isabella's mouth falls open in shock.

William tightens his grip on her hand slightly, observing her stunned expression. His laughter escapes—low and twisted.

"You were thinking why I hadn't died yet, weren't you?"

Isabella's gaze drops to his chest. His left hand clutches the spot where his white shirt is stained crimson with blood. Despite his injury, his laughter holds an unsettling charm.

Taken aback, Isabella stiffens. A sharp inhale sounds beside her. Ignoring the pain in her own hand, she instinctively tries to examine his wound, only to be halted by another hand.

The fingers are slender yet strong, joints defined, veins prominent beneath the skin—but it is not William's hand.

"Do you want to kill him?" A cold voice comes from above. Startled, Isabella turns to see a man with an icy expression gripping her arm. Edward's eyes are filled with disdain as he releases her hand with a dismissive flick.

Recognition dawns on her—she had seen this man before. He was one of the figures in the private box last night, even more aloof than William. Yet, the sight of him standing there in pajamas brought a bizarre sense of amusement.

"Come here, let me examine the wound," Edward says, leading William to the couch.

As he carefully lifts William’s shirt, Isabella feels a wave of guilt. She had been so ruthless, yet this man bore such a severe wound without a single complaint.

"Who did this?" Edward asks, his tone laced with suspicion. Isabella instinctively flinches, her guilt betraying her.

William notices and smirks. It seems this woman is not as heartless as she pretends.

However, his smile is short-lived as he draws a sharp breath.

"I'm injured, you know. Be gentler," he mutters.

Edward shakes his head, a faint trace of amusement in his eyes. The ability to joke, even while gravely wounded—what a remarkable man.

Only then does Isabella notice the medical box Edward had brought along. It contains various medications, most of which she does not recognize. His professional handling piques her curiosity.

Before she can ask anything, Edward beats her to it.

"Who did this to you?" His gaze shifts to Isabella. Since William refuses to answer, he turns to the other possible culprit.

The last time he had treated William was due to an accidental injury caused by someone he cared about. William was not an easy man to harm—ordinary people could hardly get close to him. This made Edward even more intrigued.

Examining the wound, Edward deduces it was a knife wound—likely from a fruit knife. His eyes flick toward Isabella’s hand, still faintly stained with blood. He pieces things together.

Isabella feels his gaze probing into her, making her uneasy.

Annoyed by Edward's scrutiny, William snorts coldly.

"If you can't treat it, get lost."

Isabella lowers her head. Does he already know? His attitude is so brash—won't Edward abandon him?

Surprisingly, Edward doesn't get angry. Instead, he chuckles softly.

"Bear with it. This will hurt."

His words make Isabella's cheeks flush. She recalls a man whispering similar words in her ear the previous night—the warmth of his breath still lingering in her memory. The huskiness of his voice had made her face burn then, and it did now.

William endures the treatment in silence. His composure while Edward cleans the wound makes Isabella wince. She had underestimated him—his resilience was admirable.

Her eyes drift to his bare chest. The defined muscles remind her of the wild night they had shared, causing her face to flush deeper.

She quickly shakes off the inappropriate thoughts.

"Why not go to the hospital?" she asks, concern creeping into her voice. His wound is still bleeding; she's afraid he'll lose too much blood.

"Do you want him on the front page of tomorrow's headlines?" Edward retorts, raising a brow.

He continues treating the wound as he explains,

"I rushed over when I got the call. I only brought basic supplies. After this, we'll need to go to my place."

Isabella blinks.

"Your place?"

Edward gives her a brief glance.

"I own a private hospital."

The revelation stuns her. Such a young man, yet he owns a hospital? His status and power must far exceed William’s. The thought unsettles her.

Would he kill her if he found out the truth? She had stabbed William—no man could forgive that.

Why had she come back? She had made a fatal mistake. She should have run far away after what she had done. Regret consumes her.

"Stay here. Don’t wander around!" Edward’s commanding voice jolts her from her thoughts.

His overwhelming presence presses her back against the wall. She instinctively retreats, eyes wide, but his gaze holds a hint of mockery. His hand rests heavily on her shoulder.

Her heart races. Her face burns red. She bites her lower lip, avoiding his eyes.

He had meant to tease her, but her reaction stirs something in him. Memories of her from the night before flash through his mind. His chest tightens.

Clearing his throat, he steps back, his tone reverting to cold indifference.

"If you’re not here when I return, you’ll bear the consequences."

Isabella is left speechless.

Seeing her dazed expression, Edward smirks but quickly masks it. His face hardens as he leaves, his steps quick and purposeful.

Once he’s gone, Isabella sinks into a chair. Yet, a nagging feeling creeps over her—why is she obeying him?

He tells her to wait, and she waits?

What did he take her for?

Yes, she was at fault, but wasn’t she the real victim here?

For a woman, her innocence is everything. Yet she had lost hers so inexplicably. Wasn’t it too unfair?

The more she thinks, the angrier she gets.

Wait patiently for him?

In his dreams!

A spark of defiance ignites in her eyes.

She thinks of someone.

Going to her would be the best choice.