It bloomed like a plum blossom, its crimson color instantly stinging Evelyn Grant's eyes. Her gaze seemed to lock onto it, able to focus only on the back of his injured hand.
The tip of her nose tingled as she fought back tears. Ignoring his warning glance, she took another step forward. Preston Keaton's brow furrowed instantly. He crossed the room in a few long strides, swept her up with one arm, carried her to a safe spot, and chided her in a low voice.
"Didn't I tell you not to come over? What if you step on the glass without any shoes on? Can't you just listen for once?"
Evelyn Grant's gaze kept drifting to his injured hand. A thick sob caught in her throat, and hot tears fell like pearls from a broken string. "But you're bleeding."
Preston Keaton glanced down at it coolly, unconcerned.
Butler Shaw rushed over with the maids and hurried to clean up. He saw the blood dripping on the floor and said softly and cautiously, "I'll call a doctor to bandage that for you."
