Eleanor Winslow couldn’t control herself and glanced at him. Did this person have the Mind Reading Technique? Adrian Grant bent down, removed the IV tube, leaving only the needle in Eleanor Winslow’s hand. His strong arms slipped under Eleanor’s knees and shoulders, wanting to lift her horizontally. Eleanor struggled and fiercely refused, "I know how to call the nurse, let go of me!" "Eleanor, you let a stranger help you to the bathroom but not me?" Adrian Grant seemed exceptionally patient, "Where have I not seen you before? Or what have I not seen?" Once, in bed, during extreme pleasure, he had seen it all. Eleanor took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. Follow current novᴇls on novel-fire.net She raised her hand, placed in front of her by him, bandaged thickly from forearm to palm, leaving only the tips of the middle and ring fingers exposed. There were remnants of blood on her fingernails, looking painful and miserable. "Adrian Grant, do you think my repeated injuries are a form of karma for Mia Winslow’s hand injuries?" Eleanor suddenly spoke leisurely. "Eleanor!" Adrian Grant suddenly rebuked her, "Don’t say such things!" "Why can’t I say it? Because I mentioned karma? Karma implies that Mia Winslow is truly crippled?" Eleanor met his gaze with a slight mocking smile. "Eleanor, there is no karma." And it won’t appear on you. Adrian Grant placed her beside the toilet. Eleanor saw him reach for her waistband and instinctively moved back, "Adrian Grant, I don’t need you— you!" Before she could finish, the man had already forcibly removed her hospital pants, "My woman, no one else can see." "Crazy!" Eleanor quickly sat on the toilet, helplessness and shame climbing into her heart, and she ordered Adrian Grant, "Get out!" Adrian Grant was at a loss with her, "Zia Winslow, when you’re injured, be good, don’t be stubborn." "Get out!" Eleanor’s voice suddenly heightened. Her body hadn’t fully recovered, and the intense emotional fluctuation and raised voice made her start panting. Her complexion became even worse. Adrian Grant was startled, raised his hands, "Fine! I’m leaving!" Eleanor glared at him, like a wary little animal. "Call me when you’re done." Adrian Grant retreated outside the room. Eleanor raised a foot and kicked the door shut. Adrian Grant instinctively wanted to open the door, as if he would be at ease only when she was within his sight— just like back then when he went through all the trouble to marry her, having her under his name, only then was he at ease! But thinking of Eleanor’s earlier rejection, he forcefully restrained himself. Feeling down, Adrian Grant had the urge to smoke, but Eleanor disliked the smell of smoke, the little girl would cough as soon as she smelled it. He stood outside the bathroom, fiddling with a cigarette in his hand, indulging himself in a small way. Estimating the time, after three minutes, he knocked on the door, inquiring, "Can I come in?" The sound of flushing from the toilet came from the bathroom. Adrian Grant immediately opened the door, Eleanor’s hand had just moved away from the toilet’s flush button. Her pants were already neatly arranged, standing obediently there, her complexion paler than before. What caught the eye were her bandaged hands, no longer white, with bright red blood seeping through. And the red was increasing. The wound had opened. "Eleanor!" Adrian Grant, almost furious, dashed in, lifting her back to the bed, immediately pressing the call bell, "Can’t you call someone? Why be reckless?" "Adrian Grant, I don’t want to rely on you." Eleanor was extremely calm, as if the bleeding hand wasn’t hers, seemingly devoid of pain. Pain flickered in Adrian Grant’s eyes. Eleanor, weak, after such a bout of tossing had no strength left, lay on the bed with her eyes closed, waiting for the doctor to clean up after this uncooperative patient. The woman had a complexion as pale as paper, lips without a trace of color. Although Eleanor had an attractive figure with curves, she was overall slender, now lying lifelessly on the hospital bed, her hands wrapped in bandages more severe than the last burn, so fragile it tugged at one’s heartstrings. Adrian Grant’s heart kept sinking. Two doctors came rushing in to re-bandage Eleanor’s hands simultaneously. "The wound on your left wrist is too deep, worried it would split open again; I suggest stitching it, but it might leave a scar," the attending doctor said, looking up at Eleanor, seeking her consent. "Stitch it," Eleanor said agreeably, "I don’t mind scars." The attending doctor looked at Adrian Grant, seeking family opinions. Eleanor said, "I can decide for myself." If it leaves a scar, it would remind her of this, not to forget! The doctor said, "Your hand has too many wounds, we can’t use anesthetics, we’ll just do three stitches, bear with it." The needle threaded through flesh, visibly painful. Eleanor watched the needle and thread, gritting her teeth to endure, not making a sound, but the hand’s rich nerves couldn’t bear the pain; physiological tears kept falling from her eyes. Adrian Grant held Eleanor tenderly in his arms, he whispered, "I’m sorry." Eleanor’s spine remained straight, not the slightest inclination to lean into his arms. She had said "I don’t want to rely on you" and it wasn’t just words. "Eleanor, are you deliberately trying to make me feel heartache?" The man’s voice came from above Eleanor’s head. Eleanor was staring at the white of his shirt, forehead cold with sweat due to pain. She endured the wrist pain, half shocked, half mocking, weakly asked, "You would feel heartache?" Adrian Grant slightly withdrew, looked into her eyes, answered, "Yes." Eleanor’s eyelashes fluttered slightly, then she laughed. How could Adrian Grant also be lying? Indifferently she said, "Then you deserve it." The two doctors, sweating profusely, exchanged a look, hurriedly finished treating the wounds, advised Eleanor not to move around, and briskly left. This VIP ward had no one easy to deal with; hearing too much could deafen one! The room door closed with a ’click.’ Eleanor’s hands, wrapped more tightly than before, lay on top of the blanket. She calmly looked at the man, slowly beginning, "Adrian Grant, do you remember what I said on the phone?" — Adrian Grant, I want to see you, now. — Adrian Grant, you are still my husband now, I need you now, will you refuse me? — Adrian Grant, I’m giving you one last chance, come see me now, as my husband.