It was the handkerchief he’d used to wipe her tears last night. She never imagined Meryl would keep it so close.

After leaving the orchestra, they found themselves right next to Powell Manor.

Meryl helped Felix to the door. When the doorman saw Felix’s injury, his eyes widened in surprise.

“Mr. Powell, what happened?”

Felix was the third son in the Powell family, with two older brothers. A servant quickly brought a wheelchair, gesturing for him to sit down.

“Keep this quiet for now!” Felix instructed.

The doorman nodded, lowering his voice. “Of course, Mr. Powell. Should I call for a doctor?”

“No need!” Felix turned his head, giving Meryl a meaningful look. “We already have a doctor right here.”

Powell Manor was vast. He was taken to a quiet room.

His shoulder injury had soaked through his shirt.

Felix flopped onto the bed and quickly removed his shirt.

She hadn’t expected him to be so casual about it. He just removed his shirt without hesitation.

His face was flushed from the pain, with a light sheen of sweat on his brow. Meryl felt uncomfortable being alone in a room with him, especially given that she was married.

She declined politely, “I just agreed to get you home. I’m not qualified to treat wounds. You should find someone more capable.”

With that, Meryl turned to leave.

Felix getting shot in his own home meant the Powell family was clearly more complicated than it seemed. It wasn’t a place she should linger.

But Felix just chuckled.

“You think it’s that easy to walk away once you’ve stepped into the Powell family’s domain?”

His voice was dark and carried a hint of menace. His eyes fixed on her face. “Didn’t you confidently claim you could heal my leg, when countless specialists couldn’t? Surely treating a minor shoulder wound should be child’s play for someone like you.”

The bloody wound on his shoulder looked grotesque.

He lay on the bed, the blue sheets beneath him stained crimson in an alarming pattern. Blood had trickled down his arm to his fingertips during their journey. Some had already dried, but fresh blood continued to seep from the wound.

“That’s a gunshot wound. Just stopping the bleeding won’t cut it. You need stitches at a hospital,” Meryl advised, pulling out her phone. “Let me call an ambulance.”

“Don’t bother!” Felix objected. To him, this was barely a scratch. He’d survived way worse injuries before and pulled through just fine.

Felix pointed at the bottled water on the table behind Meryl. Thinking he was thirsty, Meryl grabbed a bottle and brought it over. But instead of drinking it, Felix unscrewed the cap and dumped the water right over his wound, giving it a quick rinse.

“Grab me a clean change of clothes,” he said.

From what Felix was saying, it seemed like he considered the whole thing done and dusted. She frowned, feeling exasperated. The bullet was still inside him. At this rate, he’d end up with a fever and infection by nightfall.

“Got a first aid kit?” she asked.

Felix cracked open his eyes with a wry smile. “Weren’t you about to leave? Change your mind?”