These past few days, she had been held in high esteem wherever she went, never having been publicly ridiculed before. Imdiately, her face color drained slightly, and her eyelashes drooped as if she were aggrieved, biting her lip, "I just think there’s no need to make such a big fuss..."
"The person who got hurt isn’t you, and you’re not a teacher at the school, so from whose position do you have so many misconceptions?"
Ghania Quinlan didn’t leave her any face, bluntly stating, "If you don’t want people to investigate thoroughly, it must be because you have a guilty conscience."
Jane Bailey hadn’t even had ti to argue back when she saw Ghania Quinlan turn her head away, not even sparing her a glance, and speak to Mr. Jones and others.
"There are surveillance caras on the stairs leading to the rooftop. If anyone tampered with anything, the caras would definitely have captured them."
Outside the crowd, Jane Bailey shuddered violently with fear upon hearing about the surveillance, nearly exclaiming without needing an investigation.
It was only after Ghania Quinlan pinched her hard that she cald down slightly, but her face was terribly pale, just short of having ’I am the culprit’ written across it.
...
Nathalie Quinlan was injured and definitely couldn’t attend her afternoon classes.
Nancy Sullivan, with a wave of her hand, approved her three-day leave, telling her to rest well at ho.
Jhovany Sullivan was also scared enough, and Justin Wafford took her to the hospital for a check-up.
As Nathalie Quinlan packed her school bag and was just stepping out of the classroom after greeting Freddy Cagwin, she heard a group of girls gathered in the hallway, cheeks flushed red, looking in one direction, and chattering softly.
"Look, that man is so handso."
"Oh my God, he really is handso. Is he a star?"
"I don’t know, I haven’t seen him on TV. Why would he co to our school? Is he soone’s parent from one of the classes?"
"No way, right? He looks so young."
"I wonder if he has a girlfriend. I really want to get his WhatsApp."
Young and even better-looking than a star.
For so reason, the image of a devastatingly bewitching face ca to Nathalie Quinlan’s mind. Just as she was thinking it couldn’t be, she looked up and saw the man approaching from in front. He was unusually dressed in a white shirt today, the collar ssily undone, revealing a smoothly lined nape. With deep-set eyes and a high-bridged nose, he looked sowhat Eurasian, but a glance at his narrow, bloodthirsty black eyes dispelled the misconception of mixed heritage.
He walked through the crowd, amidst so many other people, with the principal and head teacher by his side, incessantly talking to him.
Yet, he stood out like a crane among chickens, with a powerful aura instantly noticeable to all.
"Mr. Yancey, about this matter, I..." Mr. Jones was still cautiously speaking next to him.
Amadeus Yancey let it go in one ear and out the other, not taking it to heart, his eyes searching for soone. Finally, across the crowd, he spotted the person he was looking for.
He shook off the people following him and strode quickly through the crowd, coming up to Nathalie Quinlan. First giving her an up and down check, he lowered his head, eyes filled with concern, and asked in a low magnetic voice, "Does your hand still hurt?"
He was standing so close, his breath against her skin, and with so many people around, Nathalie Quinlan’s heart involuntarily fluttered, and she was not as composed as before, "...it’s not too bad."
Anxiety buzzed in her head about why he had co to the school.
With such a striking face, she knew that by tomorrow, many would speculate about his identity.
Amadeus Yancey’s gaze lingered on her porcelain, bloodless side profile, noticing her drooping eyelashes—curved and scratching tantalizingly at the heartstrings.
He failed to hide the restlessness in his eyes and the furrowed brows.
She was still put off by his presence.
Despite being unwelco, the corners of Amadeus Yancey’s lips involuntarily lifted. His eyes fell on Nathalie Quinlan’s bound sleeve and the startling gauze wrapped around her arm, blood visible through the material. His eyes suddenly hardened, and he abruptly pulled her close and bent down to pick her up.
Mr. Jones and the others who had followed were stunned.
Amadeus Yancey, however, did not regard them, holding the person in his arms, giving Mr. Jones a stern look with an imposing air, "Mr. Jones, I won’t say much. You know what you should do."
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