As he witnessed that sight, Finn Taylor flared up. 'I don't even dare to touch my wife. How dare she hit my wife in front of me? Does she have a death wish?'
That woman's hand was getting closer to his wife's face with every passing moment.
Ten centimeters.
Five centimeters.
Three centimeters.
Two centimeters.
One centimeter.
Just as that woman's hand was about to land on Yvette Larson's face, Finn Taylor grabbed that woman's hand.
He panted loudly, trying to catch his breath—he was clearly exhausted. He felt as though he had expended all of his energy and had probably broken the world record for sprints.
He had covered such a long distance in such a short time.
"Why are you grabbing me?" The woman tried to struggle free from Finn Taylor's grip, but her efforts were in vain. Thus, she yelled out.
