She Was the Treasure All Along novel Chapter 927

His tactic was incredibly effective. Giselle shoved him away, forcing down her tears, and muttered, "If you have the energy to talk nonsense, you really must be fine."

By this point, the paramedics had rushed over. An older nurse scolded them, "Don't risk your lives just to show off your romance! Let's get these wounds treated before you bleed out and go into shock."

Giselle's injuries were superficial; it was Hank who was in critical need of care. Unwilling to delay, she quickly stepped aside, letting the nurse lead him toward the ambulance, following closely behind.

When they saw the horrific state of Hank's palms—his flesh shredded and deeply embedded with jagged shards of glass—everyone in the back of the ambulance inhaled sharply.

When the nurse poured antiseptic directly into the open wounds, using tweezers to dig into the muscle and yank out the glass pieces one by one, fresh blood continually welled up.

Hank clenched his jaw, the veins in his temples bulging against his skin, yet he didn't make a single sound.

A male paramedic assisting the nurse couldn't help but look at him with deep respect. "If it hurts, you can scream. There's no shame in it."

Hank ignored him, his eyes constantly drifting toward Giselle. Watching the brutal procedure made her physically ache in sympathy. Utterly overwhelmed, she grabbed a clean tissue and gently wiped the mud and rainwater from his forehead.

"Just endure it a little longer," she whispered.

Looking at her tender expression, the corners of Hank's lips curled up. An unbearable urge to pull her in and kiss her surged through him again, but the nurse immediately slammed a heavy hand over his wrist. "If you move again, you're going to lose the hand."

He immediately froze.

With Chloe loaded into the back, the ambulance was at maximum capacity. Myles was relegated to a different vehicle. Before climbing in, he limped over to where Giselle was standing.

His head was wrapped in heavy bandages, and a temporary splint was strapped to his leg. He looked incredibly pathetic. Coming to a halt in front of her, he met her freezing, apathetic gaze. He glanced nervously at Hank, who was still getting patched up by the medics. Myles opened his mouth, struggling to find the words, before finally offering a pathetic, "I'm sorry."

In that split second of life or death, he had weighed the odds in his head and made the conscious decision to abandon two innocent women so he could escape.

And yet, the man standing next to Giselle had blindly thrown himself into the abyss, defying death with an insurmountable, reckless courage fueled entirely by love. Myles couldn't compete with that. He had lost completely and utterly.

He no longer had the right to even look at her.

Giselle stared at him. She didn't say 'It's fine,' and she certainly didn't say 'I forgive you.' Sensing the tension, Chloe abruptly stood up from her stretcher and violently slammed the ambulance doors shut right in his face, muttering, "Just looking at him makes me sick."

Sitting back down, Chloe looked over at Hank, her eyes practically shining with hero worship. Switching sides entirely, she turned to Giselle and pleaded, "Giselle, everyone makes mistakes. But if someone truly changes, they're still a good person deep down. You really should give him another chance. Maybe this time, the ending will be different."

Hank smirked faintly. "I think your assistant is incredibly perceptive."

Giselle shot him a glare and completely ignored the comment.

Hank looked down at his useless, heavily wrapped hands, then back up at her, his expression the absolute picture of innocence. "I can't get these wet. How am I supposed to wash up?"

Giselle stared at him. She held his gaze for two excruciating seconds, then took a massive breath. "Ask the front desk to send a male staff member up to help you."

She turned sharply on her heel. From behind her, Hank's voice drifted out—lazy, entirely shameless. "Given who I am, do you really think it's a good idea for strangers to see me in this state? Not only will my corporate rivals realize I'm severely incapacitated, but I'll be plastered all over the front page of the financial news by tomorrow morning. Do you really have the heart to do that to me?"

Giselle bit the inside of her cheek, inhaled another massive, frustrated breath, marched back over to him, shoved his door open, and walked inside.

Hank followed her in. The bathroom wasn't particularly large. Giselle stepped into the shower stall, adjusted the water temperature to perfection, and placed a clean towel within easy reach.

When she stepped out, Hank was standing perfectly still in the bathroom doorway. He was still wearing the same soaked, shredded clothes, caked in dried mud and crusting blood. He looked equal parts pathetic and devastating.

Giselle stared at him. He stared back.

A heavy silence stretched between them.

"Take them off," she snapped, her voice stiff and unrelenting.

Hank slowly looked down at his ruined hands, then back up at her, arching a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. The silent message was loud and clear: Do I look like I can undress myself?