The hidden billionaire heiress (Lyra Melvin) novel Chapter 542

Malcolm smiled lightly without changing his face, "I'm in good health. What can happen?"

Lyra didn't believe it at all, having spent so much time with him and knowing his smallest gestures too well.

It was a little normal if it happened once or twice. For three days in a row, that was too abnormal.

She reached toward Malcolm, "Give me the bowl. I want to eat it myself."

Seeing her insistence, Malcolm handed her the bowl and instructed in a gentle voice, "Be careful. Don't get burned."

Lyra nodded her head.

The moment she took the bowl, she turned her hand and put it on the bedside table, grabbed Malcolm's hand with both hands and lifted his cuffs with one hand to check his wrist which had just reacted visibly.

"Rara!"

By the time Malcolm pulled his hand back, it was too late, and Lyra could already see the broken skin and red welts on his wrist.

Lyra stared at him in shock, with anger brewing in her chest, "How did you get hurt like this? Even when you made mistakes, I never spared to beat you so hard. Who did this?"

Malcolm lowered his eyes which were flickering slightly. He did not dare look at her in the eye and tightened his cuffs with guilty conscience.

"No one did it. It was when I was cooking porridge, I was accidentally burned by the edge of the pot. I didn't rinse with the cool water in time afterwards. I didn't expect to break the skin, but it has been medicated. Don't worry."

How was it possible not to worry?

Lyra's eyes reddened as she carefully recalled the scene she had just seen.

How can a pot rim burn be that large piece of skin and the bruises were flat, like they were hit by something.

"I don't believe you. Put your hand out and I'll take a closer look."

He didn't move, very much in denial, "It's really okay. No need to make a fuss."

"Come on, hold it out!" Her tone was heavier. It was a command that brooked no argument.

"Why are you hiding your injury?"

Malcolm lowered his head and remained motionless, not explaining or reaching out.

He was inwardly depressed. Lyra was really shrewd as always. A little small action can not hide her eyes.

"Mel, you know me. I will not rest until I reach my goal. You can not show me now, but you have to be sure that you can hide it. Otherwise I will know sooner or later."

She lightened her tone and went to grab the back of his hand, "I am heartbroken for you. Let me see it."

Malcolm pulled his hand back to keep her from touching it.

Seeing that he was so resistant, Lyra took advantage of his head down and unfocused thoughts to decisively rush over and forcefully lift up his cuffs with deft force, revealing a small half of his strong, but scarred arms.

Lyra was stunned at the sight of more than one wound on his arm.

And each swelling marks, which had smooth and flush edges, were absolutely impossible to be burned.

"How did it hurt so badly ... Who did this hit? You tell me!"

He was totally unable to hide it. Malcolm sighed helplessly, "Rara, you calm down."

"You suddenly and inexplicably are injured like this. How do you let me calm down? Say it! Who did it!"

Malcolm didn't strike up a conversation.

Lyra was on the verge of an emotional outburst.

Her husband, who was in love with her every day, was the patriarch of the White family and the boss of National Investigation Bureau in Suham, had suffered such a serious flesh wound behind her back, so how can she not be angry?

Her eyes were watery, and suddenly another key point came to mind.

His right arm was injured like this. What about the rest of the body? What kind of injuries will it cause?

She sat up and pulled Malcolm's suit, "Let me see if you're hurt anywhere else."

"Rara ..."

Malcolm had not slept well for three days in a row. Over the past these days he was up early, and beaten. Last night in order to survive that special swelling medicine, he was exhausted all his strength.

Now his face was paler and the body was very weak.

In contrast, with the infusion last night and after a full night's rest, plus with her emotional anger, Lyra's force was much greater than Malcolm's.

She undid Malcolm's tie and ripped the buttons off his shirt.

There should be fair and delicate chest and abdominal muscles, but were crisscrossed with injuries.

Lyra's heart ached as she watched, and her chest felt as if it was being pinched tight, making it difficult to breathe.

Looking at Malcolm's hideous and horrific scars, she suddenly got a nerve headache.

When she closed eyes, the image of Malcolm standing in front of her, being beaten under his belt and holding back, suddenly flashed in her mind.

Why did these fragmented image appear in her mind?