You Scorned My Love, So Why Are You Kneeling When I Asked for a Divorce?

Seeing her face was completely drained of color, he sensed something was wrong.

He glanced down and saw a sliver of her wrist peeking out from her loose sleeve.

Her skin, which should have been as white as snow, was covered in bruises.

Tristan Sterling’s pupils contracted.

No wonder she had cried out in pain when he’d merely gripped her wrist.

Realizing what this might mean, he reached for the collar of her clothes.

"Don’t touch me!"

Holly Sinclair swatted his hand away, her tear-filled eyes blazing with intense hatred.

"Let me see." His brow furrowed, insistent on seeing the rest of her.

"Get lost!"

Furious, she tried to strike him, but he caught her hand mid-swing.

His hands were large; with a single hand, he seized both of hers and pinned them above her head.

She was restrained, unable to move.

He ripped open her collar.

A large expanse of skin was revealed to him.

But Tristan Sterling felt not a trace of lust.

Her delicate, fair skin was now covered in ugly, dark bruises.

"Who did this?"

Tristan Sterling’s handsome face darkened as he stared at the mass of bruises covering her body, a storm brewing in his eyes.

"Heh."

Holly Sinclair, utterly humiliated and enraged, couldn’t suppress a cold sneer when she heard his question.

It was dripping with sarcasm.

"What are you laughing at?" He looked up at her, confused.

"How I got these bruises... Don’t you know perfectly well? Mr. Sterling, you must be disappointed my face wasn’t ruined, aren’t you?" Holly Sinclair retorted, her eyes bloodshot.

Tristan Sterling froze.

She seized the opportunity to shove him away.

With trembling hands, she fixed her clothes, then pulled the blanket and wrapped it tightly around herself.

She shrank into the corner of the bed.

Her gaze was full of rage as she watched him, as if he were a mortal enemy, her eyes welling with tears.

"It wasn’t me."

Tristan Sterling finally understood what she was implying. Unaccustomed to explaining himself, he blurted it out.

It was clear she thought he was the one who had reported her to the police.

She even misunderstood and thought he had sent the people who hurt her.

Hearing this, Holly Sinclair’s sneer only grew colder.

"You don’t believe me?" His brow furrowed deeply.

Holly Sinclair said nothing, merely staring at him coldly.

No!

’She believed him.’

’A man as proud and arrogant as him would have no reason to lie to her.’

’But so what?’

’If it wasn’t him, then it must have been Vivian Linton.’

’He and Vivian Linton were a team.’

’So whether he did it or Vivian Linton did it, to her, it was all the same.’

"Is there a difference?" Holly Sinclair shot back, her eyes full of derision.

Tristan Sterling frowned and said instinctively, "It wasn’t Vivian, either."

His tone was firm.

Holly Sinclair laughed.

A laugh dripping with sarcasm.

The atmosphere turned frigid.

Tristan Sterling gave her a deep, long look.

But without another word, he turned and left.

’He was going to find out who dared to hurt her like this!’

Only after the man’s figure disappeared through the doorway did Holly Sinclair seem to lose all her strength. The body she had forced to remain upright collapsed limply onto the bed.

Perhaps it was the pain, so intense that tears began to stream silently from the corners of her eyes.

’He must have flown into a rage out of shame,’ she thought.

’He said it wasn’t him, and it wasn’t Vivian Linton...’

’Does he even believe that load of crap himself?’

Heh.

It hurt, she was exhausted, and she felt miserable.

Holly Sinclair hid under the covers, curled into a ball.

Soon, she fell into a deep sleep.

...

"Go find out who touched Holly Sinclair at the station. I want every single one of them!!"

"Yes, Mr. Sterling."

After giving Connor Grant his orders, Tristan Sterling pushed the door open and quietly entered Holly Sinclair’s hospital room.

She was already asleep.

Standing by the bed, he gazed intently at the woman lying there, an indescribable emotion stirring within him.

She was curled up, her brow knitted, looking utterly defenseless.

There were still wet tear tracks at the corners of her eyes.

Tristan Sterling’s heart tightened with an unnameable frustration.

Suppressing his unease, he reached out and wiped away her tears.

His warm palm gently caressed her cheek.

She had gotten thinner.

She seemed so fragile, like a solitary leaf ready to be swept away by the wind at any moment...

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Tristan Sterling took a small bottle of medicinal wine for bruises out of his pocket.

Tristan Sterling pulled back the covers and gently unfastened Holly Sinclair’s clothes.

He carefully began to treat the bruises on her body.

Massaging the bruises would be painful, and he was afraid she wouldn’t be able to bear it, so ten minutes earlier, he’d had a doctor add a sedative to her IV drip.

’She wouldn’t feel the pain if she was asleep.’

...

「The next day.」

Holly Sinclair slowly awoke.

Her gaze drifted to the side, where she saw Brandon Sterling sitting by her bed, offering a smile as warm as a gentle breeze.

"You’re awake."

"Brandon..."

She struggled to sit up.

Brandon Sterling quickly rose to help her, his gentle voice full of concern. "How are you feeling? Does it still hurt?"

Holly Sinclair moved her shoulders and neck, glanced down at herself, and shook her head. "It doesn’t hurt anymore."

’So strange.’

’Last night, it hurt so much she barely dared to move. She thought she’d be bedridden for days.’

’But after a night’s sleep, she was somehow better.’

Though her body was still covered in bruises, she no longer felt much pain.

Holly Sinclair noticed the bottle of medicinal wine on the nightstand.

She picked it up for a look.

There was a large character for "Quincy" on the bottle.

This was the special medicine of the Quincy Family. Their remedies were all based on ancestral formulas using incredibly precious ingredients that outsiders couldn’t buy, even with money.

’Who brought this?’

’Tristan Sterling?’

’Would he be so kind?’

"Brandon, did you bring this?" Holly Sinclair asked.

"Not me." Brandon Sterling shook his head and smiled. "It was probably Tristan. He and Ian Quincy are good friends."

Upon hearing this, Holly Sinclair tossed the bottle directly into the trash can by the bed.

She didn’t want his hypocritical charity.

"Why did you throw it away? That medicine is very valuable—"

"Brandon, what’s this?"

Before Brandon Sterling could finish, Holly Sinclair abruptly changed the subject, pointing to a thermos on the side.

"It’s some porridge I had Nanny Warren make this morning." Brandon Sterling quickly opened the thermos on the nightstand. "You must be hungry. Here, have some porridge to warm your stomach."

"Thank you."

Holly Sinclair was indeed hungry. She took the bowl and began to eat in small bites.

After she finished eating, Brandon Sterling turned to look out the window.

The sky was clear, and the sun was bright.

"The weather’s nice today. I’ll take you out to see something interesting," he said, his gentle tone making it impossible to refuse.

"Okay."

The air in the hospital room was stuffy, and she wanted to get some fresh air anyway.

Back at Vivian Linton’s studio, Tristan Sterling had thrown her, and she had twisted her ankle.

It wasn’t serious, but it still hurt a little to walk.

Brandon Sterling, ever observant, brought her a wheelchair.

Downstairs from the inpatient ward, he pushed her as they made their way along the garden path.

"Brandon, where are you taking me?" Holly Sinclair asked curiously.

"We’re almost there." Brandon Sterling pointed to a small footbridge not far ahead.

They went up onto the footbridge, and just as Holly Sinclair was about to ask what they were there to see, she heard a commotion from the side of the road across from them, down below.

She followed the sound with her eyes.

And saw a familiar, repulsive figure.

It was Nicole Linton.

Miss Linton was currently surrounded by several thuggish-looking women.

"Bitch! Are you blind? Watch where you’re going!"

The woman in the lead wore heavy, garish makeup. With a cigarette dangling from her lips, she swaggered up to Nicole Linton and started cursing her out.

Nicole Linton was stunned for a moment.

Then it dawned on her, and she flew into a rage. "What did you call me? Do you have any idea who I am? You dare call me a bitch? Besides, you’re the one who bumped into me—"

SLAP!

"I don’t give a damn who you are! You bumped into me, you pay!"

The leader was a woman of few words and vicious action. She’d raised her hand and dealt Nicole Linton a vicious slap.