Chapter 523

It was the handkerchief he'd used to dry her tears last night. Evelyn never expected Dominic would keep it tucked so near his heart.

After leaving the symphony hall, they found themselves standing before the imposing gates of Powell Estate.

Evelyn supported Dominic to the entrance. The guard's eyes widened at the sight of his injury.

"Mr. Powell! What happened?"

Dominic was the youngest of three Powell brothers, with two elder siblings who ruled the family empire.

A servant rushed forward with a wheelchair, gesturing urgently for him to sit.

"Not a word of this to anyone!" Dominic commanded through gritted teeth.

The guard nodded solemnly. "Understood, sir. Shall I summon the family physician?"

"Unnecessary." Dominic turned his head, locking eyes with Evelyn. "We have our own doctor right here."

Powell Estate sprawled like a small kingdom. They were escorted to a private chamber in the west wing.

His shoulder wound had bled through the crisp white shirt, staining it crimson.

Dominic collapsed onto the four-poster bed and ripped the ruined fabric away without ceremony.

Evelyn's breath caught. She hadn't anticipated such casual disregard for propriety.

The shirt came off in one fluid motion, revealing taut muscles glistening with sweat.

Pain flushed his cheeks, beads of perspiration dotting his forehead.

Evelyn shifted uncomfortably. Being alone with a half-naked man - a married woman's worst scandal.

"I only agreed to see you home," she said stiffly. "I'm no battlefield surgeon. You need proper medical attention." She turned toward the door.

A gunshot wound in his own home? The Powells clearly played dangerous games.

This was no place for outsiders.

Dominic's low chuckle froze her in her tracks.

"You think Powell gates swing so easily in both directions, Dr. Carter?"

His voice dripped with dark amusement.

Those piercing eyes pinned her in place. "The woman who healed my leg when specialists failed? Surely a bullet's just a splinter to your skilled hands."

The wound gaped obscenely, flesh torn and weeping.

Pale from blood loss, Dominic lay sprawled across sapphire silk now blooming with scarlet stains.

Blood had traced rivulets down his sculpted arm, drying in macabre patterns between fresh droplets.

"That requires proper debridement and stitches," Evelyn insisted, reaching for her phone. "I'm calling an ambulance."

"Don't!" Dominic snapped.

To him, this was merely a scratch.

He'd survived worse - much worse - and walked away smiling.

His finger jabbed toward the water carafe on the side table.

Thinking he wanted a drink, Evelyn poured a glass.

Instead, Dominic upended the entire pitcher over his wound, hissing through clenched teeth as water sluiced away blood.

"Fetch me a clean shirt," he ground out.

As if that settled the matter.

Evelyn's lips thinned. The bullet remained lodged in muscle. Fever would set in by nightfall. "Where's your first aid kit?"

Dominic cracked one eye open, mouth quirking. "Changed your mind, doctor?"