After much effort, Rosalie finally climbed off him. She was clutching her collar tightly, feeling somewhat at a loss.
Vincent pointed to a room. Go find yourself some clothes.
Rosalie followed the direction of his finger and walked into the room. There was a large wardrobe inside. She opened it to find it filled with men’s clothing, each piece far too large for her.
She picked out a white shirt, then took off her clothes and slipped the shirt on. His shirt was enormous, making her look like she was a child in an adult’s clothes.
After changing, Rosalie returned to the couch in the living room.
Vincent gave her a once-over, his gaze lingering on her for a long time. His eyes revealed a complex emotion, as if he were seeing another person through her.
That girl had also worn his clothes.
Rosalie looked down at the oversized shirt on her and said softly, Thank you for the shirt.
Vincent averted his gaze, a trace of sorrow passing through his eyes.
How’s your wound? You need to see a doctor, Rosalie said worriedly.
This was a gunshot wound-not something to be taken lightly. If not treated properly, it could be fatal.
Vincent leaned back on the couch, his voice cold. You can go now. After you drive the SUV back, destroy it.
He opened a drawer, took out a gun, and tossed it to her.
Rosalie held the gun as if it were a hot potato. Why are you giving me this?
If you want to get home safely, take it. Don’t argue.
At night, a woman holding a gun was more useful than anything. Even if she were stark naked, no one would dare approach her.
Rosalie’s hands trembled as she placed the gun aside. I don’t know how to use a gun. And if I just leave, are you going to be here alone? Will anyone come to take care of you?
Vincent frowned, clearly growing impatient. Why do you care?
Rosalie stood there uneasily, her head lowered. I’m afraid you’ll die here alone.
Vincent sneered. You’re an interesting woman. Aren’t you afraid I’ll do something to you?
You saved me.
Just because I saved you doesn’t mean I won’t harm you. I’m not much better than those guys. I’ve killed more people than they ever have. If you don’t leave now, you’ll regret it.
Seeing the coldness in his eyes, Rosalie sighed softly and turned to leave.
Suddenly, Vincent groaned, clutching his wound. His chest was hurting terribly, like it was being torn apart.
Rosalie quickly stepped forward, asking, Are you alright?
With a slap, Vincent grabbed her wrist. Are you sure you won’t leave?
Is there anything I can do to help?
She couldn’t just walk away. What if he died here? After all, he got injured saving her.
This was the first time Vincent had
ever seen a woman who wasn’t
afraid of him. Because she didn’t know who he really was, and since he had saved her, she naturally assumed he wasn’t a bad person.
Vincent released her hand, leaned back on the couch, and removed the bandage from his wound, tossing it aside. The blood had nearly coagulated into a dark scab.
He opened the medical kit and took out a scalpel.
Rosalie watched wide-eyed as Vincent pressed the scalpel to his wound and made a deep cut.
She covered her mouth in fright.
Vincent gritted his teeth against the
pain, his pale face dripping with sweat. After cutting open the wound, he grabbed a pair of forceps and plunged them deep into his chest.
Rosalie couldn’t bear to watch and turned her head away, her hair standing on end. He didn’t use any disinfectant or anesthesia, and had just stabbed the scalpel right in.
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