After sitting on the bed for a while, Brandan came in.
Iris Harris was sitting on the bed, a laptop on her legs, watching a movie.
He walked in, glanced at her, and was about to go into the bathroom to take a shower when he caught sight of the bowl of Chinese medicine on her nightstand, brought in long ago, now cold and untouched.
His brows knit slightly, but he didn't say anything, turned around and went into the bathroom.
The sound of the shower hitting the tiles rang out in the quiet bedroom.
Iris closed the laptop, leaned against the headboard, and lifted her eyes toward the bathroom door.
Her heart felt as if it had fallen into a boundless glacier, a chill that seemed to freeze her whole being into ice, with chunks of floating ice, not blood, running through her veins.
She really was cold.
Cold to the core.
She could even tell herself that none of this could be blamed on Brandan.
