It was not until they were inside the lounge that Lucas finally put Serenity down on the sofa. He looked at her left hand, which she was covering with her right hand, and asked her, "Does it hurt?"

"Just a little," she mumbled.

He could see from her pained expression that she was making it sound less serious than it actually was. The usual calmness and tranquility she had on her delicate face were now gone, replaced by a tight knit in the brows and sickly pallor. Even her voice sounded like it was taking her a lot of effort just to speak.

The sight of her suffering like that tightened his chest, but it was such a foreign feeling for him. So was how he had felt when he had seen her kneeling and kowtowing. When he saw that copper heater fall on her hand—it was such a raw pain that he thought he had gotten a thorough thrashing!

And then, he almost reflexively rushed to her side to help her up.

Lucas asked himself, why had he done that? He had already confirmed that Serenity was not