Chapter 387

The door burst open with a bang.

She kept walking without turning around, only to be swept off her feet by a pair of strong arms.

"Put me down!" She struggled.

Ethan Roscente ignored her, kicking the door shut with his heel before gently depositing her onto the couch.

The familiar scent of home finally eased the tension in Sophia Lowell's nerves.

"Where's the first aid kit?" His voice was low, his palm smoothing over her hair in a soothing motion.

She pointed toward the TV cabinet.

He retrieved the kit quickly, then went to the kitchen to pour a glass of warm water.

"Drink." He handed it to her.

The warmth slid down her throat, and only then did she notice her hands trembling slightly.

Ethan took the empty glass and knelt before her on one knee.

His long fingers reached for her collar.

"What are you doing?" She jerked back, eyes wary.

"Treating your wound." He frowned. "The shirt has to come off."

"Just cut the sleeve," she insisted, clutching her collar protectively.

"It'll get infected." His tone brooked no argument. "Are you a doctor?"

Sophia fell silent.

She knew he was right, but beneath the shirt was only her bra. She tried to stand. "I'll do it myself."

"Don't move." He pressed a hand to her knee. "You'll reopen the wound."

"I won't die," she muttered stubbornly.

"Prefer to bleed out?" His laugh was cold.

As he reached for her again, she grabbed her collar in panic. "How do I know you won't—"

"If I wanted to do anything," he cut in, "could you stop me?"

One by one, the buttons came undone.

His fingertips occasionally brushed her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

The moment the shirt slipped off, the cold air made her shudder.

Ethan swiftly wrapped a thin blanket around her, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly.

The sharp scent of antiseptic filled the air.

Rolling up his sleeves, he revealed well-defined forearms. A cotton ball soaked in iodine dabbed gently at the wound.

"Tell me if it hurts." His brow was furrowed.

The gash stretched angrily across her pale arm, stark and glaring.

She bit her lower lip, nails digging into her palms.

"Still holding back?" He glanced up.

Sophia shook her head, beads of sweat forming at her temples.

His movements grew even lighter, as though handling something fragile and precious.