"Right now, you're just a stray dog. Looking at you only makes me feel pity."
With that, Miles turned and walked away.
Leaving Maxwell completely alone in the darkness.
When Miles walked into the living room of the Lennox Manor, Lyra was already sitting on the sofa waiting for him.
Seeing him return, she immediately stood up.
Harrison and Eleanor were out attending a gala, so the main house was relatively empty.
The maids had obviously heard the commotion outside and wisely chose to make themselves scarce, not daring to interrupt Lyra and Miles.
"Miles, wait for me in the living room. I'll grab the first aid kit and clean your wounds."
Her voice was laced with frantic worry.
Taking in her anxious expression, a faint smile graced Miles' lips.
As she turned to leave, he reached out, caught her wrist, and pulled her right back into a warm embrace.
But a second later, he noticed the blood smeared across his knuckles. Afraid the metallic scent might upset her, he quickly let go.
"I'm fine. I can handle these scratches myself. It's late, you should head upstairs and get some rest. Maxwell won't be showing his face around here anytime soon, so you don't need to worry."
There was something else he kept to himself.
No matter what happened, he would always stand unconditionally by Lyra's side. He would never let anyone harm her.
Even if Lyra never loved him back, he didn't care.
As long as she was happy and lived a safe, peaceful life, he wanted nothing more.
In his eyes, Lyra didn't need to know any of this.
"No way," Lyra frowned, rejecting the idea instantly. "Regardless, this whole mess started because of me. I'm partly responsible. Besides, how are you supposed to bandage your own hands?"


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