Chapter 74

But she noticed Andrew Lane’s brow furrowing, his expression growing even more dissatisfied.
Emily Blair lowered her head, picked up the thin blanket from the floor, and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders.
A bitter smile tugged at her lips. “So? Can I leave now?”
Suddenly, Andrew looked up, pressing his thumb against the delicate skin where her neck met her collarbone, applying just enough pressure to make her wince.
Her skin was fair, so the bruise there stood out starkly—like a blot of ink on pure white paper, jarringly out of place.
Emily flinched at the pain and smacked the back of his hand. “What are you doing?”
A sharp slap echoed in the room.
A faint red mark bloomed where she’d struck him.
The staff nearby widened their eyes, hearts leaping into their throats.
This was Andrew Lane.
How could anyone dare to lay a hand on him? And more importantly, how could he possibly allow it?
Suddenly, everyone looked at Emily with a mixture of shock and pity, as if they already knew what fate awaited her.
But even after Emily’s slap, Andrew didn’t let go. Instead, his grip tightened on her bruise.
He narrowed his eyes, his voice dangerously low. “What is this?”
What else could it be?
Emily’s inner bitterness twisted into a mocking smile. “Mr. Lane, you’re twenty-seven years old. Don’t tell me you can’t figure that out.”
Andrew’s expression darkened, as if he could scrub away the ugly mark by rubbing it with his thumb.
“Was it Evan Foster?”
Emily’s eyes flashed with cold irony. “Who else? Wasn’t it you who made the deal? You handed me over to him, didn’t you?”
Her lips curved in a bitter, stubborn smile.
“You’re the one who gave me to him.”
Her voice trembled with icy defiance, her gaze locked on Andrew’s.
After her words fell, the entire room went silent, as if even the air held its breath.
Andrew’s fingers stilled, his eyes dark and unreadable.
Emily pulled the thin blanket from her shoulders and stepped into the brightest patch of light.
Wearing little, every bruise and mark left by Evan Foster was on full display-along with a vivid red handprint still fresh on her cheek.
There was no need to ask who had done this.
Andrew’s face clouded over, his anger barely contained.
Emily’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “Well, Andrew Lane? Is this what you wanted to see?”
Isabella Austin covered her mouth, feigning a look of concern as her eyes glimmered with false tears. “Emily, did… did Evan Foster hurt you?”
Emily saw right through her-Isabella was trying to look sympathetic, but the gloating in her eyes was impossible to hide.
A young woman nearby couldn’t stand it any longer. She gently draped the blanket back over Emily’s shoulders.
“Ms. Blair, you should really get those injuries checked at a hospital.”
Emily clutched the blanket close, her voice barely above a whisper. “So, can I go now?”
Andrew suddenly stepped forward, grabbing her wrist. “Did Evan Foster touch you?”
Emily met his gaze for a long moment, then almost wild with anger-she tore her hand free.
“So what if he did? What if he didn’t?”
“Isn’t this exactly what you wanted to see?”
She felt almost grateful for whoever kept calling Evan Foster-without them, who knows what might have happened to her…
Andrew pressed his lips together, his hand frozen in midair.