Chapter 940
It was an obvious lie. There was no way someone could be ‘fine’ after being hit with scalding water.
Amara was certain he had suffered deep second-degree burns. Just looking at his skin made her chest ache.
“We’re going to the hospital right now,” Amara demanded, her voice shaking.
Keith was the one in agony, but the tears were spilling down her cheeks.
He had taken the hit for her. If he hadn’t thrown himself in front of her, she would be the one screaming in pain right now, her skin peeling off.
“Security! Pin that guy down and drag him to the police! Tell them it’s an aggravated assault!”
Amara yelled over her shoulder at the studio guards.
The moment the attacker had thrown the water, the on-set security had rushed out to intercept him.
The man had tried to bolt, but a burly guard had grabbed his arm and tackled him to the pavement.
The man thrashed wildly, but the guard, strong and solidly built, pinned him to the asphalt so hard he couldn’t move a muscle.
During the struggle, the man’s mask was ripped off, revealing a completely unremarkable face.
He looked to be in his thirties—the kind of aggressively average face that would instantly vanish in a crowd.
Amara glared at him with pure hatred. She knew he was just a hired thug, paid to do the dirty work, but she wanted to kill him all the same.
“Don’t worry, Ms. Sullivan. I’m taking him straight to the precinct,” the guard promised grimly.
Even if she hadn’t given the order, he wasn’t about to let a psycho walk after a violent attack on their set.
When the thug continued to struggle, the guard cursed, pulled a baton from his belt, and cracked it hard against the man’s skull.
Then, he yanked the man’s hands behind his back, bound them tightly with a zip tie, and hauled him off to the police station.
Amara’s car was parked nearby. She supported Keith’s weight as they hurried to the passenger side, easing him in before sprinting to the driver’s seat.
Her hands were shaking as she started the engine and sped toward Wye General Hospital.
Keith was in absolute agony now. His neck felt entirely numb, yet simultaneously like his head was being severed from his body.
He wanted to touch it but knew better. He turned his head slightly wincing, and saw Amara gripping the steering wheel tears streaming: down her face Despite the binding pain, he forced a weak grin.
“Hey, I’m the one who got cooked. Why are you crying? Don’t tell me you’re actually heartbroken over me?”
The thought genuinely seemed to cheer him up, and he leaned slightly toward her.
Keeping up his trademark smirk despite the sweat dripping from his face, he quipped, “Honestly, if it gets you to care about me this much, I’d take a boiling shower every day.”
“What is wrong with you? Don’t say things like that!”
Amara wasn’t superstitious, but hearing him joke about getting attacked again made
her instantly spit over her shoulder to ward off the bad luck.
“Don’t joke about that. You’re never going through something like this again…”
Her voice cracked, thick with terror and a crushing sense of guilt.
The attacker had been aiming directly for her face. If Keith hadn’t appeared exactly when he did, that near-boiling water would have meltecher skin She would have beer permanently disfigured right then and there.
She had lived in the shadows with a destroyed face for over a decade. It had taken a massive toll, both et financially and emotionally, to finally get her life back. If she lost her face again, she didn’t know if she could Survive the Surgentes a a sebond time Knowing someone was actively trying to destroy her was absolutely terrifying.