Overwhelmed by the Billionaire’s Persistent Pursuit

Chapter 194: Candice quickly found and opened the first aid kit. It had everything one might need: basic injections, alcohol, iodine, gauze, and anti-inflammatory powder. "Why do you have these things at home?" Unable to resist, she asked. "For personal reasons, I avoid medical facilities as much as possible," he answered. Whether it was the crowds or the hospital's distinctive smell, Candice understood well enough, having known him for a long time. "Don't you have a personal physician? Don't you think you should have one? They're professionals for a reason." Clearly, she had more questions.

The Royal Garden Corporation's chief executive officer was far too wealthy to be without his own personal physician. "I do have one. But usually, I go to him; he doesn't come to my home. Simply put, I don't like having people at my house." Candice was left speechless by that. He didn't want people at his home? That was to be expected. But what about her? At that moment, Milton moved the hand that covered his injured arm. Her eyes narrowed as she saw the bright red blood on his hand. She tried to pull up his sleeve but struggled; some blood had dried and stuck to the fabric. "Cut it off.

I can't wear this shirt again," Milton said coldly. Candice was stunned to hear that, but after a moment, she understood. After all, the fight had already dirtied their clothes. With the standards he set for himself, he wouldn't keep the shirt even if he weren't injured. She took out scissors and carefully snipped the sleeve off at the shoulder. Then, she gently freed the wound from the clothing. She had underestimated the severity of the injury. The shallow nature of the wound suggested he had tried to evade the attack. The wound had worsened into more of a tear due to further ripping.

Candice knew it was because Milton had driven home and carried her inside, which had aggravated the wound. Every story starts at g Ɐ ln σ ν s, com She disinfected the wound with iodine, then generously applied anti-inflammatory powder. Afterward, she wrapped it with gauze and secured it with medical tape. Looking at the blood on his hand, she asked, "Do you need to wash your hands?" At the same moment, Milton touched his forehead with one hand. He remained perfectly still and silent. Obviously, it wasn't because he couldn't hear her. He could tell something was wrong with himself.

His tongue and mouth felt dry, and he struggled to maintain his composure. That was a feeling he recognized. It was definitely abnormal. Could the spray that the bald guy used have caused this? . . .