Garaine immediately turned back only to find her husband standing behind her, leaning against the wall with his hands crossed across his chest.

“Mr. Turner, why aren't you asleep yet?” She frowned, rushing towards her husband.

“Garaine, where have you been?” Weylin’s voice sounded icy as he stood erect, letting his hands hang on his sides.

The dim yellow lights illuminated his firm chest, wrapped with bandages, peeking through his unbuttoned black shirt. His usual side parted that was swept back appeared all messy.

Was he drinking? Now that she was standing just in front of him, she could smell a faint scent of alcohol from him.

“Mr. Turner, have you been drinking?” Garaine asked, pretty astounded by his guts. “You are injured and still you are drinking!”

“Garaine Turner, Don’t. Avoid. My. Question!” Weylin clenched his jaws, controlling his urge to yell. His suppressed roar depicted how angry he was. “I’m asking you for the last time. Where have you been?”

She gulped, unabl