After Isla Prescott finished her IV, Shane Sterling took her home.
Because they had rushed to the hospital earlier, the scene of Damian Prescott's attack hadn't been cleaned up yet. The blood covering the floor was enough to make one's skin crawl.
Shane Sterling had been fine until he saw it. The moment he did, fury surged through his veins like molten lava, making him wish he could go and tear Damian Prescott apart with his bare hands that very instant.
"Go rest. I'll clean this up," Shane Sterling said in a low voice.
Isla Prescott could hear the suppressed anger in his voice, so she didn't dare provoke him. She quickly went to sit on the sofa.
"Where's the mop?"
"In the bathroom."
Shane Sterling took off his watch, undid his cuffs, and rolled his shirt sleeves up to his forearms. He began cleaning the blood from the floor. He was meticulous, and for the spots the mop couldn't reach, he crouched down to wipe them with a cloth.
