"What are you looking at?"
Timothy York asked, though he already knew the answer.
Summer Thorne looked up, glared at him, and after a huff, reached out to push him away.
But just as her hand went out, Timothy York grabbed her arm.
Only then did Summer Thorne realize she had subconsciously used her right hand again.
Timothy York squeezed her arm. His gaze swept over her wrist before settling on her face, his eyes and voice both turning grave.
"You really don't want this hand anymore, do you?"
Summer Thorne bit her lip. "When you're locked up like this, what difference does it make if I have a hand or not?"
Hearing this, Timothy York said slowly, "You don't like being locked up?"
"I don't," Summer Thorne replied.
"Then you'll have to bear it."
After saying this, Timothy York slowly released her hand and walked into the bedroom's walk-in closet.
It took Summer Thorne a moment to process what he'd said—
'I don't like it, but I have to bear it?'
