Chapter 189

Chapter 189

Victoria watched William's focused profile, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

He was bent over, a few strands of hair falling across his forehead and casting delicate shadows in the lamplight. His lashes were long—when lowered, they left a faint veil of shadow across his eyelids. His movements were utterly focused, every motion gentle and deliberate.

Eight stitches, each one placed precisely where it needed to be. The spacing was even and meticulous, leaving the wound edges perfectly aligned.

He finished the last stitch, set down the needle holder, and picked up scissors to snip the thread. Then he wrapped her entire palm in gauze and tied it off with a neat, flat knot.

Dr. Harrison had watched the entire procedure from the side. William's technique was even more professional than his own. He suddenly felt tonight's trip had been rather pointless.

William peeled off his gloves and tossed them in the trash, then stood and turned to Dr. Harrison. "How often should the dressing be changed?"

"Every other day. Keep the wound dry. Remove the stitches in seven days." Dr. Harrison gave him all the necessary instructions, then added, "Will you need me to come back for follow-ups?"

He glanced at William's hands, still faintly smelling of antiseptic, and thought to himself—William could clearly handle the stitches himself. What did he need a doctor for?

William waved a hand dismissively.

"All right then. Just give me a call if you need anything." Dr. Harrison gathered his medical kit and quickly made his exit. At the doorway, he couldn't resist glancing back.

Victoria sat on the bed. William crouched beside it, leaning close to her ear—barely any space between them—murmuring something in a low voice.

One of William's hands rested on the edge of the bed, the other lightly draped over her gauze-wrapped wrist, his thumb unconsciously tracing slow circles along the inside of her wrist. Victoria tilted her head slightly, listening, a faint smile playing at her lips.

Dr. Harrison couldn't make out what they were saying, but he saw William's bowed head, the way his hair fell naturally forward, the way he lowered himself almost to the level of the mattress—so gentle and compliant it hardly seemed like William at all.

Dr. Harrison sighed inwardly and quietly closed the door.

Victoria leaned against the headboard, holding up her hand to admire the beautifully tied knot on her bandage. She examined it from different angles, then turned to William with a hint of curiosity in her eyes. "I didn't know you could do this."

William sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled the light blanket over her, tugging it up to her waist. His tone was casual, as if discussing something trivial. "I used to get hunted down a lot. If I didn't know how to do this, I probably would've died before help arrived."

He said it lightly, but Victoria knew—this level of skill came from countless injuries, from narrowly escaping death again and again. She'd seen the scars on his body: chest, back, arms, thighs. All kinds of knife wounds, gunshot wounds.

She didn't press him. She just hummed softly in acknowledgment, a flicker of heartache passing through her eyes. Then she glanced at the perfectly wrapped gauze and said simply, "You did a great job."

William pulled off his sterile gloves and tossed them in the trash. At her words, he looked up, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "That's pretty halfhearted praise."

"I mean it," Victoria said, her tone taking on a note of genuine emphasis.

Victoria looked up at him, their eyes meeting. Neither of them spoke, but something unspoken and intimate seemed to spread through the air between them.

The overhead light illuminated her face clearly—the fatigue etched into her features, the faint redness at the corners of her eyes, her lips paler than usual. The blood loss had stripped away some of her sharpness, leaving behind a softer, more vulnerable edge.

William leaned closer. Victoria instinctively closed her eyes.

A low chuckle sounded after a long moment. William only reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "What are you thinking? Go take a shower, then get some sleep."

Victoria opened her eyes. Her face flushed crimson.

She spent longer than usual in the bathroom. Her right hand was wrapped in gauze and couldn't get wet, so she wound several layers of plastic wrap around it, then used only her left hand to complete the entire shower routine.

When she emerged from the bathroom, she was wearing an oversized white bathrobe. Her hair was half-dry, falling softly over her shoulders.

William had already changed into pajamas and was leaning against the headboard, holding a tablet and reading some document. At the sound of the bathroom door opening, he turned off the screen and set the tablet on the nightstand.

Victoria was still annoyed that he'd teased her earlier. She lifted the blanket and climbed into bed, deliberately lying as far from him as possible. But the moment she settled in, his arm reached out and pulled her close.

William's arm slid beneath her neck, letting her rest on his shoulder. His other hand curved around her waist, resting lightly against her body, careful to avoid her injured right hand.

"Honey, go to sleep. You're exhausted." His voice came from above, carrying deep fatigue and warmth.

Victoria smiled faintly. All her irritation dissolved. She closed her eyes.

Just as she was drifting off, she faintly heard William say something. His voice was soft—like he was talking to himself, or maybe to her.

"Thank you."

Victoria's lips curved in the darkness. She didn't open her eyes, just murmured a sleepy response. Then she felt William's arm tighten slightly, pulling her even closer.

Outside the window, it had started to rain again—fine, soft droplets pattering against the glass in a gentle, rhythmic sound, like a natural white-noise lullaby. The room was quiet, filled only with the overlapping sound of their breathing, one deep and one shallow, gradually falling into sync.

4:40 a.m., Empire City Central Hospital Emergency Room.

Benjamin lay on a hospital bed in the ER while a doctor cleaned the wounds on his face. The knife wound on his neck had already been treated by paramedics on the way over. Now they were doing facial debridement and suturing—the bruising around his eye, the gash on his nose, the split on his forehead from a blunt object. Each wound was cleaned, disinfected, and stitched, one by one.

Throughout the entire process, Benjamin didn't make a sound. His mind was elsewhere.

Frank finished the admission paperwork and pushed open the ER door, carrying a bag of medications.

"Mr. Benjamin Howard, all set. You'll be under observation tonight. If everything looks good tomorrow, you can transfer to a regular room." Frank set the bag on the bedside table, the plastic crinkling. "Mr. William Howard said to rest up. He'll come see you tomorrow."

Benjamin nodded, a flicker of relief crossing his face. Then something occurred to him, and he asked quickly, "Is Victoria all right?"

Frank paused. He hadn't expected Benjamin to ask about Victoria. "With Mr. William Howard there, Mrs. Victoria Howard will be fine."