Chapter 353

Stella Valentine watched his solitary silhouette in silence, her heart aching with bittersweet sorrow.

"How bad are your injuries really?"

Adrian Roland maintained his composure. "Minor. Julian exaggerated."

"Have you been to the hospital?"

"..."

"Of course not. You're afraid William might notice your right hand and neck haven't healed."

"..."

"Wait here."

Stella hurried upstairs, retrieved the first aid kit with practiced ease, and returned quietly to the courtyard.

He still stood beneath her window. A sleek black MV Agusta Brutale gleamed nearby.

"Are you insane?" Her eyes widened. "Riding a motorcycle with both hands injured?"

Adrian chuckled. "It was just parked there. And really—" He hissed sharply when her fingers barely grazed his left arm.

"Hospital. Now."

"Your bandaging worked fine last time. Any gauze left?" He hesitated. "If it's inconvenient—"

"Adrian." Her voice turned steely. "Hospital."

"Not now..."

"Why not?" Stella's voice rose. "You've already announced our relationship at the banquet. William can target me anytime. Your injuries change nothing."

"...It's different."

"How?"

"Adrian Roland can't appear wounded." His voice dropped. "You'll understand soon."

"I don't want to understand!" She snapped. "We're going today unless you fancy being a one-armed hero."

Abandoning the medical kit, she marched toward the motorcycle.

"I'll drive you."

Adrian coughed violently as she mounted the bike. "You can ride?"

"No. So you'll have to teach me."

Recognizing her stubbornness, he sighed. "There's the Stella I remember."

"What?"

"The proud, willful Valentine heiress who argued ten points for every one of mine."

Her lips pressed tight. "Don't reminisce."

"Just... missed that fire."

"Less talking. Roads are empty now."

Finally relenting, Adrian positioned himself behind her, guiding her through the controls.

"Hold on tight." The engine roared to life.

"May I... hold you?"

"Unless you want to fall off."

His right arm encircled her waist with featherlight caution. Stella yanked it tighter. "Let's go."

Despite her inexperience, the bike moved with surprising steadiness.

The hospital lobby stood deserted. She darted between registration desks.

"Straight to the dressing room." Supporting him toward the clinic, she ignored his protests.

The doctor recoiled upon removing the bandages. "Should I call the police?"

"Just dress it."

"Reckless!" The physician glared. "Shattered bones! This delay—strip for disinfection!"

Adrian hesitated. "Can we roll the sleeve—"

"Your wife can assist."

"She's not—"

Stella was already unbuttoning his suit jacket. Beneath it, only empty space and bare skin.

Preparing instruments, the doctor muttered, "At least she's decisive. This will hurt."

Alcohol met raw flesh. Adrian's body locked rigid, sweat beading his forehead.

"Can you take it?"

"Y—" His answer became a muffled groan when her lips silenced his pain.