Swapping a Broken Heart for a New Start novel Chapter 385

The three of them—Camila, Dennis, and Aaron—quickly slipped out of the ballroom, one after the other, leaving the lively chatter and clinking glasses behind.

Walter Wilson lingered by the entrance, eyes narrowed as he watched their retreating figures. There was a storm brewing behind his calm expression.

Mr. Morris stood next to him, squinting after the pair with a puzzled, uneasy look. Was his newly returned protégé about to get swept up in trouble already?

Camila, of course, had no clue what was running through Mr. Morris’s mind.

She and Dennis made their way down the hall, just past the coat check, before she finally turned to him. “Alright, roll up your pant leg. Let me take a look.”

Dennis arched an eyebrow. Aaron, trailing behind, nearly choked on his own spit.

Wait—Ms. Davis is just going for it? Out in the open? Is this for real?

His mind was already running wild with all sorts of scenarios.

Dennis, however, knew exactly what she was worried about. He sighed. “Honestly, I’m fine. Not even a scratch.”

But Camila wasn’t buying it. She’d seen the way the champagne flutes exploded across the hardwood, glass everywhere—his expensive suit pants even had a tear. For all she knew, there could be shards embedded in his skin.

“Let me see for myself. Just a quick look. I need to know you’re really okay,” she insisted, leaving no room for argument.

Dennis gave in, albeit reluctantly. “Alright, but let’s at least sit somewhere, yeah?”

Camila finally relaxed a little, nodding as they walked over to a nearby lounge and sank onto the plush leather sofa. Dennis rolled up his dress pants just above the ankle.

Aaron watched with eyes wide as saucers. Wait, she’s actually doing it?

Camila didn’t notice his shock; she was already examining Dennis’s ankle. Just as she’d suspected, there were two small cuts—nothing dramatic, but red and raw, with a few scratches nearby.

She frowned, glancing up at him. “You said you weren’t hurt.”

Dennis chuckled, a little sheepish. “It’s really nothing. Barely stings. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

To him, it was just a minor scrape—one that’d heal before he even got around to the ER.

But Camila wasn’t letting it slide. “That doesn’t matter, it’s still a wound. Sit tight, I’ll clean it up for you.”

“No need,” Dennis protested. “Honestly, I’ll take care of it at home. My pants are sticky from the champagne, anyway. I’ll just go change and wash up. It’s just a scratch, Camila.”

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