Seth Rowan seed to be utterly defeated as he listened to the last words Lachlan Wyatt spoke, filled with a harsh intent. It was as if his soul had been drained away; his sister’s actions shocked him, and he couldn’t comprehend how she, who seed so well-behaved on the surface, could have been doing such things behind the scenes...
To actually be capable of doing sothing like this.
With this revelation, perhaps Iris Crawford truly was innocent, and yet, because of Seth’s misunderstanding, Iris was now suffering intolerable pain, as if everything was collapsing...
Seth Rowan, always the graceful and elegant gentleman, had lost his head due to his love for his sister. Now that he’d co to his senses and understood everything, it was already too late.
The fact that Lachlan Wyatt could present the evidence so plainly showed the evidence was quite compelling. His sister’s actions were irrefutable; there was no need to check again—it would only be a repetitive humiliation.
Looking at Lachlan Wyatt standing before him, Seth felt a bone-chilling coldness throughout his body. He had ruined the relations between the Wyatts, the Crawfords, and the Rowans, and Iris had suffered so much because of it, leaving no room for reconciliation.
Lachlan noticed Seth’s hesitation and knew Seth was already wavering. Lachlan then stepped forward and knocked Seth aside fiercely, "When Iris wakes up, I’ll settle this with you properly, one thing at a ti. The heinous things your sister has done, I’ll make sure you face them all firsthand! Seth, even if your parents co to plead with today, I won’t let this matter go lightly!"
Iris, all alone, deliberately left Orion Crawford behind, not wanting him drawn into all this trouble. Since that’s the case, he must be the one to support Iris even more.
Too many tis, Iris had chosen to bear everything on her own.
She had walked alone for far too long.
Lachlan clenched his fingers, closing his eyes to the image of Iris lying in a pool of blood. Her life had always been flamboyant, and seeing her lifeless, Lachlan felt as if his own life had also been taken away.
Seth sat outside Peach’s dedicated operating room, his face white as a sheet, his hands entwined. Lachlan, however, remained standing, steadfast as if even if the sky were falling, he would still stand tall.
And when Evelyn Rowan, recovering at ho, learned that Skye Lockwood had co to cause trouble, she realized that her actions might be exposed. She imdiately called Jonas Kingsley, who was originally at her ho, and with a pleading look on her face, "Mr. J, you’re so resourceful, please help one more ti, just one more ti..."
Jonas squinted his eyes, looking at Evelyn’s face, "Before you provoked Iris, you should have considered this outco."
Iris isn’t soone who can be bullied easily.
Evelyn’s face was about to cry, "But I have to win Lachlan back! That’s why I consulted you; I followed all your advice completely, and now... now..."
"Alright."
Jonas thought of a way to kill two birds with one stone, "You’re not the only one who hates Iris to the bone; there are two other notable figures. Call them, and when the ti cos, bring them to your side. The Crawfords will find it quite a challenge to deal with."
Evelyn’s almost falling tears stopped, and two nas flashed through her mind. Her expression brightened imdiately, and a relieved smile appeared as she grasped Jonas’s hand. "Your hint made understand!"
Jonas curled his lips, as if praising Evelyn’s perceptiveness, yet truthfully, he felt cold and found it all laughable.
Whether it was Evelyn or Yvonne Jennings, all these n and won trying to climb by becoming a third party only bored him.
But Iris was different; only her blood was red and hot enough to pierce his eyes.
Others’ colors were gray and dull, while Iris’s was bright red.
Why was she so vividly red in his eyes?
Realizing this, Jonas suddenly paused, as if his heart stopped for a mont.
A strange feeling surged from his chest, and the usually unemotional Jonas suddenly felt a heaviness in his chest, as if he couldn’t breathe.
Using the excuse of getting so air, he left the Rowan house, standing in a daze at the front door. At that mont, the cold, calculating deanor, the scheming, the bloodiness—all were gone, leaving only bewildernt.
Bewildernt.
He thought he knew himself thoroughly, yet for the first ti, he felt bewildernt over this emotion.
When Iris’s face erged in his mind—
This swirling in his chest, what... what was it?
*******
Iris woke up in the late night on that day, and as she slowly opened her eyes, she felt like she had journeyed beyond the mortal realm and, upon opening her eyes again, experienced a lucid sense of another world.
The first person to rush up held a face she was extrely familiar with.
Lachlan.
Her heart, slowly waking from its slumber, skipped a heavy beat. The stubbornness, the resistance hadn’t yet returned to her body. In a hoarse voice, Iris called out, "Lachlan..."
In the past, whenever Lachlan heard Iris calling his na, it was always crisp and clear. But now, hearing this hoarse cry, his heart trembled, and he almost kneeled before her at that mont.
He imdiately helped Iris sit up from the bed. "How are you feeling now?"
Iris instinctively looked at her hands; her left hand still felt clear, but her right hand’s response was extrely slow. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t finish her words, "My hand..."
"Your right hand has been saved, but..." Lachlan gulped, forcing himself to finish, "it can’t do any heavy work anymore."
This was a very tactful way of saying it. The truth was that Iris’s right hand was considered crippled.
She could still write, perhaps, but when real strength was required, it might not be able to exert any power.
Iris’s face was pale; she shook uncontrollably, several tis Lachlan thought she was going to cry, but she didn’t.
Not a single tear.
Iris forced herself to hold them back, shock, pain, grievance.
Everything.
Her left hand was tensed to the point that veins were bulging, yet her right hand remained limp and weak, as if separated by a vast galaxy, impossibly distant.
"Don’t worry, I won’t let you suffer in vain..." Lachlan frowned, "Iris, perhaps with training your right hand can slowly rehabilitate, don’t be sad."
"I’m not sad."
The woman, with eyes red yet tearless, as if shedding tears would an surrender, she stared straight and repeated word by word, "I’m not sad."
Lachlan, at a loss for comforting words, filled with sorrow, could only reach out to touch Iris’s right hand.
Iris shuddered as if electrocuted, instinctively wanting to prevent anyone from touching her disabled right hand.
But realizing it was Lachlan, against her instincts, she endured.
Then she watched, wide-eyed, as Lachlan’s large hand covered hers, his bony fingers clasping tightly around her now useless right hand.
In that mont, he touched her hideous scar.
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