"..."
Julian Johnsons grunted softly.
His ink-like eyes, resembling a painting, were tightly knit together.
His lower body involuntarily spasmed, as if the pain had tugged somewhere.
A face as exquisite as a sculpture, faintly adorned with beads of sweat, reflected a full sheen under the white crystal lamp, yet carried the frailty of a patient...
"Are... are you okay?" Isabella Lindsey crouched down, leaning beside him.
"You need to take responsibility."
Julian Johnsons grabbed her hand, placed it on his belt buckle, and ordered her with the grandeur of a King, "Undo it."
"No way." Isabella Lindsey refused.
But her tender, jade-like hand was held tightly by Julian Johnsons, who said devilishly, "Won't you personally check if you broke it?"
"It can't be broken." Isabella Lindsey had common sense, knowing that it was a spongy structure, it could at most become swollen and engorged; breaking would occur only when it's rigid.
"But if you ignore it, it might slowly—you know."
