Evan Lee's POV
I stare at Arem through the reflection in the glass wall.
The rage that had been burning inside me moments ago slowly fades, replaced by something quieter… a strange curiosity, maybe even guilt.
Why is he crying?
Did I say something terrible again? Or was it my outburst?
I turn around, facing him fully. "Arem," I say, my voice softer now, "what's wrong?"
He looks up, his lashes trembling, eyes glistening. "Sir…" He hesitates, then glances down. Only then do I notice the slow, steady drops of red falling to the floor.
"Sir, you're bleeding," he whispers. "Please, let me bandage your hand."
I inhale deeply, my chest tightening with regret. I shouldn't have lost control like that—not in front of him, not in front of anyone.
"I'm fine," I mutter, walking toward the sofa. "Just bring the first aid kit."
