Wendy Wayne had no doubt about Hugh Ronan's maliciousness.
He said he would tear her clothes, and he definitely dared to do that.
Wendy Wayne closed her eyes and took a breath, unbuttoning two buttons on the top of her chiffon shirt with one hand, pulling the collar towards her right shoulder, "Hurry up and check."
Hugh Ronan glanced at her and sat up straight, fixing his eyes on her shoulder.
The woman's skin was fair, so delicate that you couldn't see the pores, making even a small bump very noticeable.
On the upper right arm, there was a red scratch; perhaps the edge of the coffee table was too sharp, the bottom end of the scratch was broken, oozing faint traces of blood.
Hugh Ronan raised his fingertips, wanting to touch it, but hesitated, "Does it hurt?"
Wendy Wayne shook her head, about to tidy her collar, but the man's burning palm pressed against the back of her hand, "Don't move."
"What are you going to do now?" Wendy Wayne's patience was wearing thin.
