My Pretty Sweetheart (Arianna)
Chapter 325

I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to just die like this. I wouldn't want to die without putting an end to everything.

Seeing that my eyes turned red, Irvin sighed and put my hand back under the quilt. Then, he said, "Don't do anything stupid anymore. You still have a long way to go in the future. You have to live until the end of it."

I nodded and began staring blankly at the ceiling. I wondered why I wasn't brave enough to run over Hendrix.

After a long time, I fell asleep. It was already late at night when I woke up again.

The person who I should have met in the netherworld was standing in the ward, and he was looking into my eyes.

Hendrix was, as usual, dressed in his tailored black suit. Probably because of the warmth in the ward, he took off his coat, revealing the neatly ironed white shirt underneath it. His attire very much reflected his iron-willed.

"You're awake," He stepped forward. His eyes fixated on me, but I couldn't read the emotion in them.

I closed my eyes. I really didn't want to see him.

He continued, "Are you still feeling uncomfortable?"

I didn't reply. I also didn't want to speak to him.

"Do you need some water?"

I frowned, feeling the dull pain at the back of my hand. I was hospitalized too many times in the past two months, and I was treated with IV every time. The bruises on the back of my hand hadn't been able to fade away for a long time.

And it irritated me to see it lasted for so long.

Hendrix helped me up with his steady hand. My brows furrowed, I opened my eyes and saw his handsome face right in front of my eyes.

He placed a glass of warm water in front of me. I only looked at it but didn't respond. After a long time, I raised the hand attached to the IV to take the glass.

To be honest, I had to make extra effort to keep holding the glass, so much so that blood began to backflow into the infusion line. Hendrix looked at me with pain in his dark eyes.

I narrowed my eyes and felt the glass slip off my hand as expected. "Thump!" The glass fell to the ground and shattered into pieces.

I shivered. The air in the room was so cool. I smiled faintly and said, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

Although I apologize, I looked at him with cold eyes, not feeling guilty at all.

He frowned and replied in a hard and stiff voice, "It's fine!" Then, he crouched down to pick up the glass pieces on the ground. I only watched him.

Maybe he couldn't bear the room being so quiet, Hendrix asked while he was picking up the broken pieces, "Are you still thirsty? I'll get you another glass."

I looked downwards at him. His hands were slightly trembling, but my heart grew colder.

I knew how Aaron was. He must have let Hendrix see the video. So, I asked on purpose, "Did you see the video? He suffocated to death."

Right at the moment I saw him, I saw the restrained and repressed pain behind his eyes.

I was glad to know that Hendrix cried. I didn't care how much or how long he cried. I only needed to know that he was in agony.

Upon hearing my question, he stiffened, and he stopped picking up the shattered glass. Slowly, he looked upwards to meet my eyes.

I asked sardonically, "Mr. Roberts, do you think it's better to die instantly with a death blow or die slowly being suffocated?"

He didn't answer me, but the pain in his dark eyes was obvious.

His silence bored me. I reached out to pull out the needle on the back of my hand.

However, I used too much force, and blood gushed out from the wound, falling onto the pieces of glass. The blood red greatly contrasted the porcelain white, and it hurt to see the sight of it.

I moved to the edge of the bed, and put my bare feet onto the ground. I knew there were glass shards everywhere on the ground, but I had no intention of avoiding them.

Without hesitation, I stepped onto the back of Hendrix's hand, and I saw blood seeping out from his palm, slowly flowing onto the ground. I wanted to ask him if it hurt.

But I didn't. I didn't want to know if he hurt. I only knew that when I desperately tried to cut off the rope that bound my child's life with the shards of glass I held on so dearly, the broken pieces of glass pierced into my palm over and over again, dying the rope dark red with my blood. Even so, I still couldn't save my child.