Chapter 453 Nicole pivoted and made her way to Roscoe's door.

Finding it unlocked, Nicole swung it open without a second thought. "Roscoe, what..." she began, but the sight before her cut her words short.

Roscoe was perched on a stool, clumsily dressing wounds that marred his back. A deep laceration ran from his shoulder to his lower back.

Struggling to reach the injury, his efforts to apply medicine were ineffective, and the bleeding hadn't stopped.

Nicole's eyes stung with unshed tears at the sight.

As Roscoe noticed her gaze, he hastily covered up and tried to rise.

‘Stay seated, Nicole insisted, her voice thick with emotion.

She reached out, touching his shoulder gingerly. Roscoe sank back down, attempting to downplay his injuries. "It's nothing, really. It's just now that I've seen it..." Nicole, her tone laden with disbelief, pressed, "Do you take me for a fool?"

In the midst of a heavy silence, Nicole's voice trembled slightly. "Is this from the parking lot incident?" Her mind flashed back to the guards, their hands wielding sinister, blade-like weapons, which she had first mistaken for whips.

Those very weapons were intended for her, but Roscoe had intercepted the blow, taking the hit in her stead. When Nicole broached the subject, Roscoe dismissed it with a stoic front. "It's nothing. I've weathered worse." Nicole, driven by concern, unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the grim reality of his injuries. It confirmed Jarrod's words.

Roscoe's existence within the Watts dynasty was fraught with hardship.

As she reached out, Roscoe caught her hand in a tender grasp, stopping her. "Careful, you'll soil your hands," he cautioned.

Nicole bowed her head, noting the crimson that had already transferred to her skin.

With quiet care, Roscoe wiped her hand clean, ensuring

no trace of the ordeal remained on her.

constriction around her heart, and a peculiar sensation pricked at

with others emotionally, assuming she had

to understand his motives. Doubt gripped her. She feared the answer

eyes,

Roscoe..." Roscoe's composure faltered. The once skilled surgeon was momentarily at a loss, his hands fumbling as he tried to

away her tears, Nicole mustered a smile and took charge. "Turn around. Let me see to

protest was faint. "There's no need

argue. Just turn around,” Nicole persisted, not willing to take

to her, Nicole set to work. She meticulously cleaned the lacerations

touch seemed to cause Roscoe to stiffen, a sign that such care was

the bandage,

question piercing the silence. "Roscoe, is it me that you want?" The interplay of light and shadow in the room highlighted the clean lines of Roscoe's face,

voice, barely above a whisper, carried an undeniable allure as she leaned in close. "I'm

what you desire?" oo Nicole couldn't bring herself to accept his sacrifice and selflessness. The thought of easing her conscience through such an exchange crossed her mind, acknowledging her own fears of

was folly, trying to awaken him from what she ‘saw as a

Nicole's eyes held their own power. Her appeal was undeniable, potent even, and for someone like Roscoe, who seemed

answer, Nicole challenged the very foundation of Roscoe's actions. "Is this you've been striving for?" Roscoe's expression shifted into

through her chest, pressed on. "Roscoe, I can be yours

this afterward.” Gone was the naivety of youth from Roscoe's features. He regarded her with a

enigma, changed from the Roscoe she once knew. Despite the shift, Nicole maintained her poise, her hand curving around the nape of his neck, her facade unwavering. They found themselves locked in a tacit standoff, each waiting

nerves into submission, seeking an inner tranquility. She held onto a sliver of certainty amid the tension. Roscoe, in spite of his ire, would not hurt her.

dared not reveal

her gaze, his breath mingling with the air

The Roscoe she knew, once easily flushed with embarrassment, had matured. His proximity sent a flutter through her lashes, a reflex she couldn't

above a whisper, carried a weight. "Nicole, this is a game to you. Enough."

outside, succumbing to exhaustion only in the deepest

when the first light crept across

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