Billionaire's Regret: Losing Me And Our Son - Chapter 55: Chapter 55

In the garage, I frowned as I checked York's back.
At the restaurant earlier, he'd only been wearing a thin shirt, but now, his back was soaked and the fabric clung to his skin. Having been burned by hot soup before, I knew exactly how much it must hurt.
"Give me the keys. I'll drive you to the hospital," I said, holding out my hand. This needed to be taken care of right away.
He raised an eyebrow, giving me a playful look. "Feeling sorry for me?"
I furrowed my brows. "You're still joking around? Doesn't seem like it's bothering you much. If you're fine, I'll just head out."
I pretended to walk away, but York stepped in front of me, blocking my path. He was taller than me by a good bit, and he looked down at me, his voice soft. "I can't go to the hospital."
"Why not?" I asked, confused.
He didn't answer directly. "I remember your place is nearby. If you really feel bad for me, you could help me put some ointment on it." He tossed the car keys into my hand.
York had gotten burned while saving me, so I couldn't just walk away.
Ten minutes later, I drove him back to my place.
I crouched down, rummaging through the cabinets until I finally found a burn ointment.
When I stood up, I turned around to see that York had already stripped off his shirt and was lying on the couch, bare-chested. His face was smooth and unmarked, the kind of look you'd expect from someone who'd never faced hardship.
But when I saw the scars covering his back, I was taken aback. It was hard to imagine him as the pampered son of the Smith family.
"Did my sexy body hypnotize you?" he teased, his voice raspy.
I rolled my eyes. "Shut up."
I tried to ignore my curiosity about his scars and didn't ask how he got them.
Fortunately, the coffee hadn't been too hot. Once I finished applying the ointment, York put his shirt back on. As he buttoned it up, he casually strolled around the living room.
He stopped in front of the TV. I'd left the cabinet door open, and he spotted a green purse.
"Where did you get this purse?" he asked, his expression suddenly serious.
"No one ever told you not to mess with other people's stuff?" I frowned and grabbed it back from his hands.
York was the kind of guy who seemed perfect on the surface, but the more I got to know him, the more I realized he was full of surprises.
He kept staring at the purse, and after a long pause, he looked up at me and smiled. "This design is pretty unique. My mom collects things like this, so I was just curious where you got it."
"Didn't know you were such a mama's boy," I teased, carefully putting the purse back in the cabinet. "It wasn't bought. It was left to me by my family. I don't know where you can get one."
I had been sent to an orphanage shortly after I was born, and this purse was probably something my birth parents left for me.
"I see..." York squinted, as if deep in thought.
I quickly changed the subject and ushered him to the door. "It's getting late. Time for you to go."
After he left, I felt completely drained. I was too tired to even think about eating. I took a quick shower and went to bed early.
In the middle of the night, I was woken up by a loud knocking at the door.