Abigail Hemsworth glared at Travis Miller and yelled angrily, tightly clenching her hands that hung by her sides, her gaze darting briefly to where his hand had held hers just moments ago.
His fingers were long, pale, the hands of a young master from a wealthy family—refined and clean.
There seemed to be something settling deep in her eyes, while the pain in her palms and knees became even clearer at this moment.
Travis Miller gazed at her silently, his look colder than the air in the depths of winter.
"Follow me?"
Travis's thin lips curled into a mocking sneer.
Abigail slightly lifted her head, looking up at the tall and commanding figure in front of her. Her lips were pale.
At the side, Nat Crawford ended a phone call, holding his phone as he walked up to Travis Miller and said quietly:
"President Miller, Miss Lula is still waiting for you in the ward."
Nat's words were like an invisible slap, hitting Abigail Hemsworth's face with harsh intensity.
