Chapter 54
Catherine wasted no time, her soft, cool hand gently grasping Cecil's wrist. "You're hurt!" she exclaimed.
Her elegant eyebrows furrowed, concern written all over her beautiful face. "This happened when you subdued Terrence, didn't it? God, that man was absolutely insane! His long nails must be harboring all sorts of bacteria!"
She leaned in slightly, bringing her face closer to examine the wound on his hand, her warm breath caressing his injured skin.
Cecil's body tensed imperceptibly!
He hadn't expected her to touch him so boldly!
Even more surprising was the concern she showed for him?
An odd warmth immediately rushed through him.
Whenever he and Charlotte fought and got hurt, apart from perfunctory first aid from the servants, no one had ever shown genuine concern.
Though she misunderstood the cause of his injury.
"I'm fine," he replied, his voice unexpectedly hoarse. He forgot to pull his hand away.
Catherine's eyes were filled with worry. "Who knows what viruses you might catch from that madman?"
Cecil's gaze slowly drifted from her concerned eyes to her full, tempting lips.
Their pink softness reminded him of dew-covered rose petals.
He chuckled, leaning forward abruptly, completely closing the distance between them!
His warm breath, carrying a hint of alcohol, enveloped her entirely.
He lowered his head, his burning breath full of suggestion and challenge, "Then Catherine, would you like to disinfect it for me personally?"
Catherine's heart raced wildly—partly from the excitement of a predator seeing prey walk into a trap, partly from instinctive disgust for her enemy!
She could barely maintain the concerned expression on her face.
Before she could respond, applause erupted around them. Following the sound, she saw Charlotte in an exquisite burgundy gown, arm-in-arm with James, making a grand entrance under the spotlight.
Catherine smiled bitterly, these wealthy elites, built their fortunes on the suffering and sacrifice of the Winters family!
Fighting back the hatred in her heart, she silently vowed that one day, Charlotte would pay for her crimes in blood!
As guests rose to applaud, camera flashes continuously flickered.
Charlotte, basking in everyone's attention, bowed slightly. "Thank you all for coming. To express my gratitude, I'd like to perform a modern dance adaptation of 'The Nutcracker.'"
Another round of applause followed, with anticipation filling the guests' eyes.
Cecil watched Charlotte's performance coldly, finding it both fake and dull.
He turned his attention to Catherine's focused profile beside him, gently tugging at her evening gown, and asked in a low voice. "Catherine, aren't you going to treat my wound?"
Catherine snapped back to reality, forcefully suppressing the intense hatred in her heart, and asked softly, "Where's the first aid kit?"
Cecil gripped Catherine's wrist tightly, his palm burning hot. "Come with me."
Without waiting for her response, he pulled her away from the noisy venue.
By the fountain, the gentle sound of water was refreshing.
The air was filled with cool moisture, mixed with the rich scent of night-blooming jasmine wafting from the garden.
They sat on a bench not far from the fountain.
The butler respectfully handed over a first aid kit, then discreetly withdrew.
Cecil took the box and passed it to Catherine, then removed his jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing his well-defined forearm, and several deep scratches extending from the back of his hand to his wrist.
The wounds looked serious.
Catherine paused as she opened the first aid kit.
So deep!
In the dimly lit ballroom, she couldn't see clearly, but now under the bright light, it was obvious these were marks left by a woman's long nails!
Charlotte! It must be her!
Only she would dare inflict such vicious injuries on Cecil!
Sibling rivalry?
This was perfect!
Catherine fought back her churning emotions, displaying a sympathetic expression. "My God! It's worse than I imagined! It must be very painful!"
Cecil watched her concerned demeanor and couldn't help but smile.
Interesting.
How much of this concern was genuine?
Catherine took out a cotton swab soaked in iodine and began skillfully disinfecting the wound.
As she carefully wiped the scratches, she observed Cecil's expression from the corner of her eye.
Such deep wounds would make ordinary people wince in pain.
Yet he showed no reaction?
Cecil's tolerance for pain impressed her, but also made her uneasy.
This seemingly fragile man was actually a formidable force in the business world, capable of rivaling Philip.
This twenty-two-year-old president of the Wilson Group couldn't possibly be an ordinary person.
He was testing her, while she intended to use him.
But the performance had to continue.
So, her concern doubled on her face, her movements becoming more gentle, "Bear with me a little longer, I'm being as gentle as I can, it'll be over soon."
Cecil's gaze lowered slightly, landing perfectly on her downcast eyelashes.
Those long, curled lashes fluttered slightly with her focused movements.
His gaze unconsciously drifted downward. Her nose was perfect, her lips full and sweet. Her skin was delicate, radiating a luminous glow.
This Catherine was truly stunning!
Like a poppy—beautiful yet dangerous, irresistibly captivating.
Unfortunately, even the most beautiful flower couldn't compete with the allure of power!
Inside the ballroom, the noise of the party was blocked by heavy doors.
Philip had long tired of such artificial scenes.
He came only at Elizabeth's request, to watch over his troublesome nephew James.
Seeing James and Charlotte harmoniously interacting in front of cameras, he felt his duty was fulfilled.
He extended his hand to Emma, who sat quietly on the sofa, saying flatly, "Let's go."
Though Emma enjoyed being the center of attention, she obediently replied, "Alright."
They walked through the brightly lit corridor toward the exit.
As they passed large floor-to-ceiling windows, an unexpectedly intimate scene caught their eye.
Catherine, head lowered, her profile soft and beautiful, tenderly tending to Cecil's injured hand.
Cecil leaned slightly toward her, his gaze fixed intently on her face.
The colorful fountain water cast ethereal light around them, creating a dreamy, intimate atmosphere that isolated them from the world.
Emma, arm-in-arm with Philip, saw this and scoffed, "Philip, you were right, Miss Levin's standards are certainly high. She has no interest in that idiot from the Wheeler family, yet she's quick to attach herself to the towering tree of the Wilson family. She's quite capable."
Philip didn't respond.
He stood frozen, staring at the couple by the fountain.
Catherine was indeed capable, Philip inwardly mocked.
After a long moment, he turned to Emma. "When did you become so familiar with Catherine? Are you good friends now?"
His pronunciation of "good friends" was filled with sarcasm.
Emma's arm still linked with his, she tightened her grip slightly, trying to discern something from his expression, but to no avail.
Suppressing the bitterness swelling in her heart, she laughed softly, "I'm not familiar with Ms. Levin. But you seem quite acquainted with her."
Philip looked at Catherine again, his tone calm and natural. "Whatever existed between us is over. Tonight is the last time I'll help her. From now on, there will be no more entanglements between us."
He admitted that a lingering sense of responsibility drove him to save her, but nothing more.
The sweet, obedient Emily was long buried in the dust of the past.
The Catherine now was no longer the pure, kind-hearted Emily he once knew.
Emma didn't believe him in her heart, but she acquiesced, "Fine, I'll believe you this time."
"Can we leave now?" Philip's voice carried a hint of irritation.
Emma nodded.
The black Rolls-Royce Phantom silently glided into Brighton's glittering night.
Emma rested her chin on her hand, gazing at the rapidly receding lights outside, her mind completely occupied with the man beside her.
"Philip," she broke the silence, "Catherine was once James's mistress, wasn't she? He was actually jealous over her just now. Will he really marry Charlotte?"