Chapter 461


    Even with half his chest swathed in bandages from a gunshot wound, the potent masculinity and


    strength that oozed from his presence made Marguerite’s cheeks burn with an unbearable heat.


    Her gaze inadvertently flickered to him, setting her heartbeat into an erratic sprint.


    Frederick’s deep-set eyes shed with impatience as he grumbled, “Drama queen.”


    It was Marguerite who had insisted he undress, and now that he had, she was acting all bashful about


    it.


    Despite being a mother and having braved various storms in life, Marguerite couldn’t seem to cure


    herself of blushing at the drop of a hat.


    And hisment, “Drama queen,” snapped her out of her reverie. She lifted her eyelids sharply and


    said firmly, “Turn around. Your wound is on the back. How am I supposed to treat it like this?”


    Frederick regarded her with a coolposure, his eyes shadowed beneath his brow. After a moment’s


    pause, he slowly turned away.


    The bandages, soaked through with blood, were a stark and horrifying sight for Marguerite.


    The wound was on his back, and his earlier agitation had caused it to reopen and bleed profusely.


    Even his discarded white shirt was spattered with stains of crimson.


    Marguerite carefully unraveled the damp, heavy bandages, feeling as if a twist would wring out a pool


    of blood without any effort.


    But what truly chilled her to the bone was the gaping wound on Frederick ‘s back.


    The muddled flesh and blood stung Marguerite’s eyes painfully.


    Unexpectedly, her nose tingled, and hot tears flowed down her cheeks as if a dam had burst within her.


    Last night, she had been too anxious to examine his wound closely, but now, seeing it in the harsh light


    of day, her heart twisted with a sharp pang of pain.


    How much must he hurt from such a grave injury?


    Marguerite sniffled and, with tweezers, picked up a piece of medical gauze soaked in antiseptic, then


    gently dabbed it onto Frederick ‘s shoulder.


    Hiss- Frederick inhaled sharply with pain, causing Marguerite to flinch and ask worriedly, “Did I hurt


    you?”


    Hearing her voiceced with the sound of tears, Frederick looked over his shoulder at her, surprised.


    “Why are you crying?”


    Marguerite hastily wiped her tears with her sleeve. “It’s the medicine… it’s too strong, got in my eyes.”


    “Be careful.”


    “I will…” Marguerite mumbled a subdued response, then applied the ointment even more delicately,


    afraid of causing him further pain.


    No matter how gentle her touch, each time the medicine met Frederick ‘s skin, he couldn’t help but


    flinch.


    And with each flinch, Marguerite’s heart constricted tighter, her emotions swirling into turmoil.


    She remembered how Jocelyn had revealed the borate love confession Frederick had nned three


    years ago.


    How Jocelyn had told her that Frederick had once loved her so deeply, it was almost to the point of


    death.


    Howst night, he had appeared before her, bloodied and wounded, and she had been terrified of


    losing him, almost wishing to die with him.


    And then, she thought of all their past moments together, both joyous and sad.


    Suddenly, Marguerite realized how steadfastly she loved him and how she couldn’t bear the thought of


    losing him again.


    Maybe, just maybe, she should try to win him back, to make the first move.


    With that thought, Marguerite carefully wrapped the bandages around Frederick ‘s shoulder and draped


    his shirt back over him, “All done.”


    Frederick turned back around, his fingers efficiently fastening the buttons with an air of aristocratic


    composure despite his pallor. His stature may have been weakened, but his noble demeanor remained


    irresistibly charming.


    Marguerite’s gaze was intense, her voice tinged with hesitation, “Will you… be heading home soon?


    Could you perhaps give me a ride back?”


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    He turned his head, his gaze icy. “Don’t you have a car?”


    How infuriating! Did he always have to be so indirect? He clearly rejected her request!


    Marguerite wanted to reconcile with him, but his dismissal left her feeling utterly deted.


    “Fine, I’ll drive myself home.” She muttered under her breath as she began to put away the medical


    supplies, then turned to leave the car.


    But just as her hand touched the door handle, she heard the click of the door lock.


    Why had he locked the door?


    Marguerite looked at him in surprise, only to see that he had already buckled his seatbelt. The next


    second, the Maybach surged forward powerfully into the traffic.