"Where is the person who hit her?" Fifth Young Master Foster's gaze fell upon Cecilia Wilson's face, her black hair slightly tousled, covering her full forehead. Her eyes, like cold stars, were closed, with only thick eyelashes concealing all her illness-induced frailty. Her face was flushed, but her lips were pale and cracked with fine lines. How did she become so ill? Fifth Young Master's heart suddenly clenched tightly, feeling both tense and painful.
"They should still be at the police station," one of Fifth Young Master's subordinates stammered, noting that the master didn't play by the rules. How could they intervene with the driver who scratched Cecilia? Unless Fifth Young Master mentioned it, they couldn't take any actions.
It seemed it was a mistake not to act this time.
