Isabelle Lynch's eyes filled with moisture, misty as she gazed at Aiden Pierce, looking utterly pitiful.
"David, I'm fine. Don't blame Miss West!
I fell on my own. It has nothing to do with Miss West!"
Aiden Pierce ignored Isabelle Lynch. His dark, bottomless eyes fell upon Willow West's arm.
The moment Aiden Pierce stepped into the crowd, the temperature seemed to drop several degrees.
His aura was so chilling it was intimidating.
The man's gaze fell upon a bright red patch of skin on Willow West's arm.
Her skin was fair and delicate.
Every time he applied a bit more pressure or kissed a little more forcefully, marks would appear on Little West, taking several days to fade.
What's more, on that reddened patch of skin were clear, crescent-shaped marks—the kind left by a sharp pinch.
Aiden Pierce frowned, his voice a low rumble.
"Does it hurt?"
Florence Fuller chimed in, "Mr. Pierce, Alba's skin is scraped. How could it not hurt!
