A Confession

A few minutes later, he returned, a plastic bag in hand. Without hesitation, he slid back into the driver's seat and pulled out a cream, and an ice pack.

She shifted slightly, noticing the way his knuckles were still caked with dried blood. She didn't even know if it was his or Xu Jianhong's.

"Let me do it," she offered, reaching out, her fingers hesitating near his hand.

Wu Yuxuan didn't respond. He simply opened the box, his movements smooth, almost practiced.

Chen Lin thought he was about to treat his own wounds, but instead, his eyes flickered toward her wrist.

"Your wrist," he said flatly.

She blinked. "What?"

Before she could fully process it, he had already reached out. His fingers were gentle but firm as he turned her wrist toward him.

That was when she finally understood.

Wu Yuxuan wasn't tending to himself—he was tending to her.

She stared at him, momentarily stupefied.