Claire cast him a glance: "You process information pretty quickly."
Dean Dawson laughed: "If you’re not good at absorbing information, you can’t survive in our profession. I once handled a case involving a man who tangled with his uncle’s wife!"
Claire raised an eyebrow: "I thought you didn’t take marriage cases?"
"I was representing the uncle. After he found out about their relationship, he was furious and wanted to catch them red-handed. But in the altercation, he accidentally killed his own wife."
"..."
Dean Dawson finished speaking, then tilted his head to observe Claire’s expression, her eyes were flickering as if pondering sothing.
He paused and said, "Honestly, more than the fact that your husband is Tristan Lockwood, I’m more surprised that soone like you can tolerate him having an affair and still refuse to divorce."
Claire’s expression was indifferent: "Otherwise, what do you think I would do?"
"At least you should play so tricks to make things difficult for them," Dean Dawson suggested seriously, as if offering a strategy, "You’re a professional in marriage lawsuits; finding evidence to give Tristan Lockwood a hard ti shouldn’t be too difficult, right?"
She replied frankly, "I can’t compete with his family background."
"Then why not just divorce? Isn’t he keen on divorcing you?"
Claire put down the skewer and stated earnestly, "Why should I comply with his wishes?"
Dean Dawson was stunned.
He realized that Claire was stuck in a dead-end; her approach to her marriage was already extrely indifferent, yet she was stubbornly refusing to free herself from it.
And she herself hadn’t beco aware of it.
Dean Dawson thought of a possibility and, with a complex expression, asked, "Do you still have feelings for Tristan Lockwood?"
Claire was instantly stunned.
The sharp pain from having her skin pricked brought her to her senses.
She looked down, realizing the pointed end of the finished bamboo skewer had pierced into her flesh.
Dean Dawson observed her subconscious self-harm; he quickly helped her remove and discard the skewer.
Blood began to seep out profusely.
People beco numb in pain and despair, thus abandoning self-rescue.
Claire kept her eyes on the wound in her hand; the initial pain had completely faded, leaving only a sea of red in her eyes.
Dean Dawson went over to the crowd and asked Tina Hayes if they had a first aid kit, but everyone said that since they were only out for a day, they hadn’t prepared everything thoroughly.
Dean Dawson thought for a mont and looked towards Tristan Lockwood, who was alone outside the tent not far away.
He walked over and asked, "Dr. Lockwood, do you have a portable dical kit?"
Tristan Lockwood, while engrossed in reading the latest investnt news, absentmindedly asked: "Who’s it for?"
"Claire."
The long fingers paused in replying to the ssage. Tristan Lockwood put away his phone and climbed into the tent on the other side.
When he returned, he had a compact dical kit in his hand.
He strode over Dean Dawson and went to Claire, looking down at her faintly observing her bleeding palm, seemingly unaware of his presence.
Tristan Lockwood crouched down and took her hand.
Claire instinctively tried to withdraw her hand but he held her fingers tightly.
"Don’t move."
His voice was sowhat cold.
She refrained from moving and watched as he carefully disinfected her wound with lowered eyes.
His fingertip pressed gently against her palm, frowning deeply when he felt a small hard bump.
"There’s a splinter stuck in your flesh."
After making the assessnt, Tristan Lockwood took the tools from the dical kit and carefully removed the splinter. As it was pulled out, she finally felt the pain again and gasped softly.
"Bear with it." Tristan Lockwood’s voice was steady and reassuring.
Her eyebrows subtly relaxed.
Dean Dawson watched the interaction between the two silently. The question that Claire hadn’t answered suddenly beca clear in his mind.
After applying the dication, Tristan Lockwood prepared to stand, but having squatted for so long, he felt so numbness in his legs.
Claire subconsciously reached out her hand, wanting to support him.
Another strong arm extended, Dean Dawson peered at Tristan Lockwood and asked, "Need a hand?"
Tristan Lockwood glanced at him briefly, and after a mont, stood up himself.
"Avoid water these two days. I’ll change the bandages once we get ho tomorrow."
With that, he turned and headed back to his tent.
Dean Dawson, with a somber expression, walked alongside him and suddenly asked when they were a certain distance from Claire, "What are your intentions with Claire?"
Tristan Lockwood paused and glared at him coldly, "What qualifies you to interfere in our matters?"
His aura was icy, enough to make anyone retreat respectfully.
However, Dean Dawson was used to dealing with criminal cases and had encountered many psychopaths, so soone like Tristan Lockwood seed like a normal person with poor morals and difficult to get along with.
He spoke slowly, "You ntioned last ti you wanted to divorce your wife. If you’ve made up your mind, I could take the case. Wouldn’t that qualify?"
Tristan Lockwood didn’t want to beat around the bush and asked directly, "What exactly are you trying to say?"
Dean Dawson pointed towards Jade Sutton’s tent: "Are you serious about that girl?"
Tristan Lockwood: "That’s none of your business."
"If you are serious, I suggest you try to understand what Claire truly wants. Maybe if you give her what she truly desires, the divorce could go smoothly."
"What she wants is nothing more than money and power. What else could it be?"
Tristan Lockwood glared coldly at Dean Dawson.
"How long have you known her to think you know her so well? You don’t know what she’s been through or who she used to like, so what qualifies you to lecture here?"
"Doesn’t she like you?"
Dean Dawson looked at him strangely.
Tristan Lockwood’s expression darkened, "What did you say?"
Dean Dawson frowned slightly and changed his words on the spot, "Didn’t you say she persistently pursued you before, insisting it had to be you?"
Tristan Lockwood beca silent, scrutinizing him.
Dean Dawson was observant of people and the atmosphere.
Seeing Tristan Lockwood’s guarded stance, he realized that the other party had unilaterally decided to end the conversation.
He humorously said, "If her feelings for you don’t matter to you, that’s fine too. Claire seems to have lasting emotions."
Dean Dawson’s last sentence carried a deep aning.
Tristan Lockwood stared at him expressionlessly, ready to leave when Claire’s voice sounded behind him:
"You forgot your dical kit."
Claire ca to him and handed him the dical kit.
Tristan Lockwood’s expression was complex as he took it, looking down at her.
But without moonlight at night, her expression was almost indistinct.
Claire didn’t say much more; she took a step and headed to her own tent. Dean Dawson followed her back to find her wiping her face with a wet wipe.
Camping on the mountain doesn’t offer great conditions, they had to make do with everyday items like this.
However, Claire usually wore light makeup, so even without makeup, her skin was still enviably smooth.
While wiping her hands, her injured hand was inconvenient.
Dean Dawson approached and gentlemanly offered to help her.
Claire thought about it, since it was just a few seconds, she handed the wet wipe to him.
As he touched the tip of her fingers, he paused for a mont, and suddenly held her hand.
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