Martin gazed at the two hands before him. One was the soft hand of a maiden, while the other was the hand of the mannequins guarding his daughter that day. Even if he couldn’t shake off his dislike toward Milan, he still reached out his bandaged hands—palms up. Then again, since he was working with them, blood had seeped at some parts.
“Dr. Bloodworth must be very angry at you right now.” Milan saw the blood and just placed his smaller hands on the father’s big ones. When his palms pressed against Martin’s wounds, the father felt a sting as if something scalded his skin.
“Don’t necessarily speak with my daughter. Also, don’t feel too welcome in my house.” Martin heard how Esperanza invited the person. He would play a game with this bride, but he was too exhausted and frustrated lately. There was no mood to play, only to crush things if he found the reason.
