Chapter 76 The Consequences of Donovan’s Forcible Entry
Terror and uncontrollable rage consumed him as he glared at Donovan, trying to etch his face into his memory.
The afternoon sunlight was blinding, and the street had been deserted for quite some time.
Amos could feel life rapidly ebbing away from the wound on his neck. Warm blood flowed down his neck in streams, soaking his collar.
The heavy, metallic scent of blood stung his nostrils.
His consciousness began to fade and scatter. Amos rolled his eyes back helplessly as his body started to convulse.
Only then did Donovan stop what he was doing.
He pressed the blade against Amos’ shoulder and wiped the remaining blood off the blade with the fabric of his hoodie.
He sheathed the knife.
Donovan looked down at Amos, who was lying on the ground, barely clinging to life.
Blood flowed unceasingly from the wound on his neck. Amos convulsed as he raised his hand to cover the wound, but blood continued to gush through his fingers.
The man spoke indifferently,
"Remember, your grandfather’s name can only save you once. Harrison, take him back.”
“Yes.”
Iris was startled awake by a series of violent knocks on the door.
She scrambled out of bed and rushed to the entryway in a few quick strides.
“Iris, open the door.”
It was Donovan.
Iris instinctively stopped in her tracks.
She had changed the combination lock and added a security chain precisely to avoid seeing Donovan again.
She realized this man was far too dangerous. She felt like prey that he had locked onto and was leading deeper and deeper into the trap he had set.
Holding hands, kissing, hugging, caressing, falling asleep in his arms... Donovan was like a master chess player, calmly orchestrating it all.
He invaded her world, breaking down her defenses and luring her in until he had her completely in his grasp.
She was terrified of this feeling.
As these thoughts raced through her mind, several deafening gunshots rang out from outside the door.
Donovan wasn’t Harrison. He had the skills to pick a combination lock but clearly lacked the patience.
He chose the most direct and brutal method.
He blasted the lock right off with his pistol.
Seemingly holding back his rage, the man kicked the door with all his might, making it buzz. However, the security chain inside was exceptionally sturdy.
The door didn’t budge.
Donovan had no intention of kicking it a second time.
He knew Iris was inside. With all that commotion, there was no way she could have slept through it.
Iris had deliberately locked him out!
Just because he held her in his arms all night last night?
After all the time and effort he’d spent nurturing her, he never expected that she would still be the same—untouchable, easily riled, and quick to anger.
She was throwing another tantrum at him!
Donovan’s icy gaze swept over the tightly shut door. He suppressed his surging emotions and spoke in a calm yet menacing tone. “Iris, I have plenty of ways to get in. But the consequences...you’d better think them through.”
The door swung open the next second.
Iris walked out with her head down. She stopped in front of Donovan and apologized softly,
"I'm sorry. I fell asleep. I didn't hear you."
She knew Donovan wouldn’t believe her. Who changed the combination lock while asleep?
She didn’t want to see him, but she couldn’t face the consequences of letting him break in.
Iris had no idea how furious Donovan was at that moment. She didn’t have the courage to look up at him. She simply stood quietly, waiting for him to vent his anger.
Suddenly, Donovan pulled her into his arms.
He held her with restrained tenderness, his chin resting against the top of her head. He was motionless and silent.
Iris instinctively raised her hand to push him away, but Donovan tightened his grip, pulling her closer.
In a hoarse voice with a barely perceptible tremor, he said, “Don’t move. Just let me hold you for a moment.”
His deep voice had lost its usual calm and certainty, and each word struck Iris' heart, sending ripples through her.
Was he angry or sad?
Perhaps it was because this embrace held no aggression. It felt more like a pitiful, silent plea for comfort.
Iris stopped struggling, and the hand she’d just raised dropped to her side.
She let Donovan hold her tightly.
Then, it seemed, a warm, wet drop slid down his jawline and sank into her hair.
It tickled a little.
Oh my God...
Was he crying?
Just because she locked the door and wouldn't let him in?
But this man was Donovan!
He had been locked out by her, yet he wasn’t angry. He didn’t fly into a rage. He didn’t choke her. He didn’t point a gun at her. Instead, he was holding her and crying.
Iris' heart was in turmoil. She shifted slightly, wanting to lift her head and take a look.
Suddenly, his large hand pressed her head down, forcing her face against his firm, warm chest.
A sharp, commanding scent washed over her, and she nearly choked on the sudden pressure.
She frantically turned her face away and took a deep breath against his shirt.
She could hear Donovan’s strong, rapid heartbeat; she was pressed right against the spot closest to it.
They remained like this for what felt like an eternity—long enough for the blisters on Iris' feet to begin throbbing—before Donovan finally released her.
Iris looked up.
The man’s expression was unchanged. His striking eyes appeared lazy and indifferent, showing no hint of anything unusual.
How could a man as violent and cold as Donovan possibly feel sad?
And how could he possibly cry?
Iris felt foolish and ridiculous for being taken advantage of by this man once again.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a new wound on Donovan’s forehead, hidden beneath his tousled hair. It wasn’t long, but its edges were crusted with dark red blood.
Iris blurted out, “Donovan, what’s wrong with your head? I’ll get the first-aid kit.”
Without waiting for Donovan’s reply, she turned and ran into the house, her slender legs moving swiftly.
She wasn’t sure if she was concerned for him or simply fleeing in panic.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Donovan’s lips. He closed the door and followed her in at a leisurely pace, settling back comfortably on the living room sofa.
Iris stood before Donovan with the first-aid kit and held out the alcohol, ointment, and cotton swabs.
“Here you go.”
Donovan didn’t take them.
He rested his arms on the back of the sofa, tilted his head back to look at her, and gave her a lazy, nonchalant gaze. Yet the intent in his eyes was unmistakable.
He didn't want to treat the wound himself.
After locking eyes for a few seconds, Iris chose to comply.
She bent down, dipped a cotton swab in alcohol, and cleaned his wound carefully.
She was still wearing the pale pink pajamas that she hadn't had time to change out of. Perhaps because she hadn't slept well, she looked completely drained.
Donovan stared at Iris' beautiful, wary eyes for a long time.
It was his cat, after all—gentle and affectionate with everyone else yet cowering in fear the moment it saw him.
Even now, as she tended to his wound with such tenderness, the fear in her eyes far outweighed any other emotion.
"Iris," Donovan finally said after a long silence. "Why are you afraid of me?"
Iris, who had been applying the ointment, paused slightly.
"I...I'm not afraid."
Not afraid?
Then why had she locked him out?
Donovan wrapped his arms around her waist, lifted her effortlessly, and forced her to kneel with her legs spread apart on the sofa, straddling his lap.
Iris pushed against his chest instinctively.
“Donovan!”
“Apply the ointment,” Donovan ordered coldly.
Fine, she’d apply the ointment, but this position was just too... Iris looked down and saw where their bodies were pressed tightly together. She froze for a moment and her face flushed all the way to her ears.
She shifted uncomfortably.
The hands gripping her waist tightened, and Donovan stopped her movement. He gave her back a light yet firm tap as if in punishment.
“Don’t move.”
Iris couldn't break free, so she had no choice but to stay in this position while applying the ointment.
Perhaps because they were so close, the man’s hot breath brushed against her face occasionally.
Shortly after, Iris sensed a clear change in Donovan’s body.
It was distinct and overwhelming.
She could probably guess what it meant, and her hand began to tremble uncontrollably as she applied the ointment.
“Iris.”
Donovan called her name again.