Chapter 1251

“I’m truly innocent. Loyalty to my friends has been a lifelong principle.”

In this moment, the server, adorned with a genial smile, arrived bearing an oval platter.

“Here you are, sir. The last dish you requested,” the waiter announced.

Yet the table seemed inadequate for the grandeur of the dish. To assist the waiter, Mavis opted to

maneuver a pot of soup to a corner of the table. Crafted from earthenware, the pot was unexpectedly

weighty. Moreover, her hand, still tender from a gunshot wound, struggled to provide the necessary

strength.

A resounding crash punctuated the air as the pot met the floor, sending tendrils of soup in every

direction.

“Careful!” The waiter’s warning carried genuine concern.

Without delay, Harlan seized her hand, appraising it with practiced thoroughness.

“Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine.” Mavis’ response was swift and reassuring.

Mavis promptly withdrew her hand, concealing the injury beneath the folds of her sleeve.

“Just a moment, I’ll fetch a towel to address the mess.”

Efficiently, the waiter swabbed the table with tissues before turning to retrieve a towel.

Angela’s Library

Head bowed, Mavis availed herself of the opportunity to roll down her sleeve, obscuring the wounded

hand.

Yet Harlan had already moved closer, his gaze tracing the line of her wrist.

Mavis raised her eyes in apprehension of an unbidden guest.

“Harlan, I’m alright. Please return to your seat.”

The inclination to shield her vulnerabilities from others was woven into Mavis’ nature.

“That’s a gunshot wound on your wrist. How did it happen?”

Having navigated numerous hazards, Harlan possessed an astute knack for discerning injuries at a

glance.

“Oh, it’s just a minor injury. How could it possibly be a gunshot wound?” Mavis countered quickly,

attempting to dismiss gravity.

Harlan, resolute, seized her wrist, unveiling the damning testament beneath the rolled fabric.

Before them, the mottled evidence of a gunshot wound lay bare-a raw, unvarnished reality. There was

no evading it.

“Did Bruce do this?” Harlan’s inquiry was as direct as his intent.

Her skin was smooth, delicate, yet the blemish on her wrist disrupted the illusion, a rugged testament to

harsher realities.