Everyone turned to see Shane Sterling walking toward them. He wore a cold, unusually stern expression.
"Sean, what are you doing here?" Ivan Fulton asked.
"There was a malicious assault in my bar. Of course I had to come and see."
As Shane Sterling drew near, he first glanced at Isla Prescott. Her left cheek was clearly swollen, and there was a trace of blood at the corner of her red lips.
He hadn't seen who slapped Isla, but from the way she kept her eyes lowered, he could guess. Isla Prescott wasn't some wilting flower who would just take abuse. She wouldn't let herself be slapped for no reason—unless the person who hit her was Yvette Shaw, someone to whom she felt indebted.
"What's the situation now?" Shane Sterling asked.
"Silas's hand is being treated in surgery," Ivan Fulton said.
"I'm asking about Isabelle's face."
"I was the one who slapped her," Yvette Shaw said, incensed. "What, are you going to stand up for her?"
