Had someone hit Brian's shoulder with a bottle of wine?

From the looks of it, his wound never got the attention it needed.

Rosalynn inhaled sharply, unsure of what she was feeling at the moment.

She eventually padded over to the bathroom and called out, “Brian, why didn't you get your wound treated Last night?"

The door opened. Brian leaned against the doorframe and smiled at her.

"Ah, so you finally realized that you care about me, after all? I got injured while saving you. Aren't you going to treat my wound yourself?”

In truth, he could have easily dodged the other man's attack Last night, all while protecting Rosalynn.

But he had opted not to do that.

In a way, he had deliberately let himself get hurt.

Brian wanted to underline the fact that he had saved her, carve it into stone if possible.

“I never asked you to save me, so I have no obligation to tend to your wound. You already know what to do. But if you're not scared of getting an infection, then I suppose you can skip the hospital and just waste away."

Rosalynn kept her tone calm, though she was in a turmoil deep inside.

Brian's eyes took on a somber look as she strode past him and made a beeline for the sink.

“Honey, I understand you that are mad at me. If my pain can somehow ease your anger and make you feel better, then I would gladly die from pain."

His gaze was soft and filled with yearning.

Rosalynn's heart skipped a beat.

Still, she told herself to be strong.

"You are a powerful man, Brian You don't have to degrade yourself like this."

“It doesn't matter how wealthy or influential I am. We both know that behind closed doors, I am nothing more than your boy toy."

Her boy toy?

The words evoked a few blurred scenes that flashed in rapid succession inside her head.

Had she been so drunk that she had treated Brian as some prostitute?