Chapter 246

Ethan Roscente's temple bore a gruesome wound, blood tracing the sharp contours of his face.

The doctor rushed forward, the sterile scent of antiseptic permeating the air.

Sophia Lowell stood by the examination bed, fingers digging into her palms. Her throat tightened as she stared at the jagged gash.

"Does it hurt?" Her voice trembled.

Ethan tilted his head back for treatment, lifting his eyelids at her question. Seeing her red-rimmed eyes, his lips curled into a taunting smirk.

"Worried about me?"

Sophia bristled instantly. "I just don't want you turning brain-damaged and blaming me!"

His low chuckle turned into a sharp hiss when the wound pulled. Sophia's face paled as she grabbed the doctor's coat. "Be gentler!"

The elderly doctor adjusted his glasses, giving her a knowing look. "Young lady, your boyfriend's built like an ox. This scratch won't kill him."

When the gauze peeled away, Sophia gasped. The bone-deep laceration snaked viciously through his hairline.

Words failed her. Her eyes burned.

Ethan seized the moment to clasp her ice-cold hand. This time, she didn't pull away.

Test results arrived quickly. The doctor tapped the CT scan. "Mild concussion. Hospital observation recommended."

"No." Ethan's refusal was absolute.

Sophia stamped her foot. "Are you insane? What if you have a brain hemorrhage tonight?"

"Then I'll die in your bed." He buttoned his shirt with deliberate slowness. "Since you clearly don't care."

The words stabbed her chest. Memories flooded back—her kidnapped aunt, the loan sharks' threats. Her grip on the backpack strap turned white-knuckled, nails nearly piercing the fabric.

"Zachary's waiting downstairs." She turned toward the door. "I have urgent business."

Ethan yanked her wrist, sending her stumbling. Dark tempests churned in his eyes. "Where are you running to this time?"

The examination room froze.

The doctor coughed awkwardly. "Perhaps... we should process the admission first?"

Sophia wrenched free and fled without looking back. The corridor's fluorescent lights cast a sickly pallor on her face.

Her phone screen lit up—thirteen missed calls. All from loan sharks.