After Zelda dropped off the first aid kit, she quietly slipped away, leaving only Citrine and Manley alone together in the pitch-dark garden.
With gentle care, Citrine dipped a cotton swab into the antiseptic and dabbed it softly onto Manley's injured palm. He could feel the faint sting where the medicine touched his skin.
Since his accident, hope had all but vanished from Manley's life. He ate at odd hours, neglected his health, and, more than once, had turned his frustration inward in self-destructive ways. It had been ages since he'd truly taken care of himself, so it caught him off guard to realize that someone was actually worried about a trivial wound on his hand.
For the first time in a long while, Manley felt a flicker of warmth.
"Does it hurt?" Citrine asked, noticing the way he was watching her, her brows knit in worry. She seemed genuinely concerned.
Manley shook his head. "It doesn't hurt."
In that moment, he couldn't help but envy Raymond. How could someone be so lucky—owning a successful company, and having such an adorable daughter? Why couldn't Citrine have been his child? If she were, he would have given her everything he owned, poured out all the love in his heart for her alone. Whatever she wanted, he'd find a way to give it to her—even things he didn't have, he'd fight to the ends of the earth to obtain for her.
Of course, Citrine had no idea Manley was secretly wishing he could claim her as his own daughter.
Raymond had warned her before: "Stay away from your uncle—he's not a good man." But from the very start, Citrine had sensed that Manley was different with her. There was a fondness in him, something that set her at ease every time they met.
Realizing this gave Citrine a sudden burst of courage. Her eyes sparkled with a mischievous thought, and she looked up at Manley. "Uncle, do you like the nighttime?"
"Not really." Manley's gaze darkened. He wasn't sure why she'd asked, but he shook his head anyway.
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