Charlotte Allison looked at her brother lying on the hospital bed, her gaze extremely cold.
She had spoken to him over the phone during dinner time, and the person who talked to her so well then was now lying here, the overwhelming white in the room familiar to the point of being piercing.
She had seen this scene many times over the years, like a scar growing in her heart, aching, then numbing gradually, healing as her brother awoke.
And now, the healed wound was scratched by someone, trying to make her wound reopen.
Charlotte Allison had to admit, this move was well executed, not only serving as a warning to her but also successfully making her uncomfortable.
Ivy Price had her hand bandaged due to a cut, sitting beside the hospital bed, her tone very calm, but the reddened rims of her eyes and the harshness in her gaze expressed her restrained anger.
