I Married the President Chapter 36: You’re Injured Too?

As it turned out, the man wouldn’t listen to her at all.

After he finished cleaning her minor scrapes, Adrian Quincy suddenly froze. With a grim expression, he stared silently at the mix of new and old injuries on her legs—so were recent scrapes, while others were old, faded bruises.

It was clear she had often scraped her knees and shins in the past; there were even a few faint scars.

’So this foolish woman has always been this careless, getting herself hurt all the ti.’

Seeing him staring blankly at her leg, Claire Sinclair snapped, "Mr. Quincy, are you done looking?"

The mont she spoke, the man lifted his gaze and locked eyes with her.

But he said nothing, rely lowering his head again as his gaze fell upon her most serious injury.

The worst wound was on her outer left thigh. Sothing had gouged a gash about eight centiters long. The blood was still fresh, and it was impossible to tell how deep it was—a mangled, ghastly sight.

The bloodstain on her pant leg was from this wound.

As the wound on her thigh was suddenly exposed to the air, Claire Sinclair sucked in a sharp breath. "HSSS... That hurts!"

"If it hurts so much, then watch where you’re going next ti. Your eyes aren’t just for show."

"I didn’t fall on purpose! This is killing !"

In truth, the man was already being as gentle as possible, but he couldn’t avoid causing her pain.

"It really hurts!"

"It’s killing ... It hurts so much, please stop..."

WHIMPER... Finally, the girl stopped speaking, simply biting her lip and letting out muffled sounds of pain.

The man suddenly stopped and looked up at her.

"Your sister used to just grit her teeth and endure injuries like this. She never cried out in pain, no matter how bad it was. You’d have a much easier ti if you were a little tougher."

’So he’s saying I’m not just not tough, I’m a complete weakling, is that it?’

Claire Sinclair shot back, "I’m not my sister! You can’t hold to your standards. That’s completely unfair to —OW!!!"

Her retort was cut short as the man’s movents sent another jolt of pain through her.

Claire Sinclair glared at him, her eyes full of resentnt, and said through gritted teeth, "I hope *you* never get injured!"

The mont she spoke, the man’s hand paused. He abruptly set down the disinfectant and began to unbutton his white shirt.

’He’s taking off his clothes!’

Claire Sinclair was horrified. "Wh-what are you doing? Let tell you, I can’t move my legs right now! If you dare try anything, I’ll... I’ll report you..."

Her voice trailed off as her gaze was drawn to the bandages wrapped around the man’s torso.

Thick bandages were wrapped around his torso, and a patch on them was stained red, likely from a wound that had reopened.

Looking elsewhere on his body, she saw countless minor, untreated cuts and scrapes in various stages of healing: so had already closed, so were still inflad, and others were just faded scars where scabs had fallen off.

’Oh my god, when did he get all these injuries? This is horrifying!’

"See it now?" the man interrupted in a cold voice.