This scar was left by him for her, so Janelle not only felt distressed but also moved.
And, as always, the sensitive Trevor, although he didn’t look back, sensed her action — the warm breath blowing on his skin sent a tingling warmth.
Trevor was montarily lost in thought but didn’t dislike her gesture.
Janelle carefully applied the bandage for him, her fair fingertips moving very gently, fearing she might hurt him.
He got injured because of her, probably when he jumped into the river and hit sothing, and thinking of this made her feel guilty, wishing that the scar was on her back instead.
The girl stared at the treated back, silent for quite a while.
Trevor once again felt puzzled and turned his gaze, noticing that her eyes were filled with tears, causing a slight pang in his heart.
Tears fell from Janelle’s eyes, just like sparkling pearls.
When she noticed Trevor’s gaze, she quickly withdrew her thoughts, saying, "Got sand in my eyes." Then she turned away and rubbed her eyes.
"Do you want to blow on it?" he asked, half-jokingly, half-seriously.
"No, no need!" She pointed at his back, "You’re good now, quickly change your shirt, soak this one in cold water, and I’ll wash it for you later!"
Listening to Trevor’s footsteps, Janelle felt inexplicably embarrassed, having seen his body just now...
"You don’t need to wash it."
"Your back is injured, so don’t move your arms, washing clothes requires strength, don’t let the wound bleed again." She didn’t look at him, bending over to pack the dicine box.
Trevor found a clean shirt to wear and directly threw the bloody one into the trash.
This was seen by Janelle, who stood up to put away the dicine box, and she was both angry and puzzled, "Hey! Why did you throw it away? It’s such a waste! Is this your lifestyle habit?"
She quickly put down the dicine box and picked up the custom-made bloody shirt from the trash, "Frugality is a traditional virtue! Haven’t you heard that waste is shaful?"
Actually, Trevor had always been frugal; he just didn’t want her to wash it.
Facing the girl’s strong dissatisfaction, Trevor’s expression remained calm as he walked towards her step by step.
Holding the shirt, Janelle looked at him, curious to hear how this aloof CEO would explain his actions just now.
Trevor said nothing, ca to her, took the shirt from her hand, and silently walked towards the bathroom.
Watching his figure, she paused for a mont.
Soon, Janelle heard the sound of water.
"Hey, what are you doing?" she hurriedly followed, exclaiming, "Don’t wash it yourself! Let !"
"If you insist on washing it, I’ll throw it away." Trevor stopped his actions, his eyes cool and serious as he spoke to her.
The two locked eyes, standing in the bathroom with the shirt in the basin, in a standoff for a few seconds.
"But you’re injured, don’t use your arms with force." Janelle patiently explained, "Besides, have you ever washed clothes before?"
"Anything is better than letting you wash it!" Trevor was resolute, "Let go."
"..." She was a bit intimidated by the determination in his eyes.
Why was he angry over a shirt?
Janelle fell silent and had to let go.
Trevor also redirected his gaze and began scrubbing the shirt.
Standing by and watching him wash, she mused, well, this CEO’s hands-on skills aren’t bad!
A few minutes later, watching him finish washing and wringing it out, movents fluid and practiced, it seed he had done this often.
"Let help you hang it." Janelle took the shirt from his hands and turned to leave.
Finding a hanger, she hung the shirt at the air-conditioning vent.
"Shall we go downstairs to check on Dr. Shelby?" Janelle asked.
"Okay."
Just as they were about to go out, Trevor’s phone rang.
Janelle turned sharply, holding her breath!
Was it a call from Dr. Shelby?
Any news about Jocelyn?
She watched as Trevor picked up the phone, glanced at the caller ID, and answered—
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