A spark suddenly ignited in Henry Dales’ eyes.
He seed angry, his hand still extended in mid-air, refusing to retract, "Is it because you’re afraid of getting it dirty, or do you disdain to use it?"
Scarlett Yates looked shocked, "Senior."
Henry Dales, contrary to his usual gentle politeness, suddenly stood up and held her chin before she could react.
His cold fingers fixed her jaw, preventing her from moving.
The faintly scented handkerchief touched her lips, gently and slowly wiping.
"Senior, you..." Scarlett Yates was stunned.
"Don’t move." Henry Dales bent over, focusing intently on wiping the corners of her lips.
His movents were gentle, ticulous, and cautious, as if she were a porcelain doll that might shatter with a slight touch.
The handkerchief was imbued with his body fragrance.
Scarlett Yates couldn’t describe exactly what kind of scent it was, but the delicate fragrance, like a poison, made her sowhat dazed.
She had secretly admired Henry Dales for three years.
During those three years, he maintained a distance that was neither too close nor too far.
Only in dreams would he act so intimately toward her.
Was she really not dreaming?
Scarlett Yates was dumbfounded, motionless like a wooden figure, her eyes staring blankly at Henry Dales.
So, dreams could indeed beco reality.
Her eyes suddenly stung, and she had an urge to cry uncontrollably.
She truly cried, tears dropping uncontrollably from her eyes.
Scalding tears fell one by one onto the back of Henry Dales’ hand.
He seed to be burned, stiffening up, and his movents beca awkward.
"Scarlett..." Her tears clearly fell on the back of his hand, yet his heart seed burned.
The Scarlett Yates he knew was a strong, courageous, and optimistic girl.
Even though she had lost both her parents and was too poor to afford tuition, she still lived positively and optimistically, like a resilient nettle, never yielding to difficulties regardless of the storms she faced.
She had never cried in front of him.
Henry Dales panicked, flustered, awkwardly wiping away the hot tears rolling from her eyes, "Don’t cry, Scarlett."
But her tears were so many.
As soon as he wiped one away, two more followed, rolling down.
The Young Master Dales, who never easily showed emotion even when the sky was falling, clumsily, patiently, wiped away her tears over and over again.
For that mont, he truly wanted to throw caution to the wind and embrace her.
If he weren’t the only heir of the Dales Family, how wonderful it would be, then all burdens and responsibilities wouldn’t rest solely on his shoulders.
If he weren’t born into a wealthy family, how wonderful it would be.
People like them are born with a golden spoon, gloriously envied by countless people.
But who would know that most of them cannot even make decisions about their own marriages?
Ordinary families value matched social standings, but wealthy families emphasize family backgrounds even more.
He did not love Rosie Wood, yet that woman would beco his wife,
"Clap! Clap! Clap!"
Suddenly, several claps rang out.
A lazy voice mingled with a woman’s laughter, "I never expected Young Master Dales to show such tenderness, am I mistaken?"
Scarlett Yates and Henry Dales both paused, slowly turning their heads.
Upon seeing Matthew Saxon, Henry Dales frowning unconsciously.
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