Chapter 216 He Has Lost His Memory

Chapter 216 He Has Lost His Memory

Sloane's POV

With Harrison half-supporting, half-forcing me, I stumbled out of the bar.

The night rain had stopped. The cold wind hit me, and my stomach churned again. Harrison stuffed me into his car and drove in silence all the way to my villa.

He helped me out of the car, supporting me all the way to the front door, watching as I unlocked it with trembling fingers.

The hangover aftermath made my head feel like it was splitting open.

I rubbed my temples, which felt like they were about to explode, and struggled to sit up in bed.

Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the not-quite-closed curtains, so bright I could barely open my eyes.

My memories were like broken film strips, slowly piecing themselves back together in my mind.

Last night's wild behavior at the bar, that throat-burning liquor, and... the ridiculous scene of me throwing myself into Harrison's arms, crying and calling out Jared's name.

I closed my eyes in frustration and threw off the covers to get out of bed.

As soon as I left the bedroom, a light aroma of food drifted over from the kitchen.

I froze for a moment, unconsciously lightening my footsteps.

In the open kitchen, Harrison was wearing a light gray casual knit sweater, placing fried eggs and warm milk on the dining table.

Hearing the sound, he turned around, his gentle eyes showing their usual tolerance and calm.

"You're up? Does your head still hurt?" He set down the plate, casually pulled out a tissue to wipe his hands, his tone so natural it was as if last night's awkwardness didn't exist at all.

I stood there, nervously wringing the hem of my pajamas, a deep sense of guilt and gratitude welling up inside me. "Harrison, about last night... I'm really sorry." I kept my head down, not daring to look him in the eye. "I drank too much, mistook you for someone else, and said all those weird things to you. I..."

"Sloane, it's okay." Harrison interrupted my distress. He walked over to me, maintaining a very gentlemanly social distance, and smiled gently. "When people are extremely vulnerable, they instinctively seek out the person they subconsciously rely on most. I don't mind serving as a temporary support."

His generosity only made me feel more ashamed.

"There's fresh breakfast on the table, and hangover soup." Harrison glanced at his watch, tactfully changing the subject. "I have a meeting at the hospital, so I need to go. Take it easy today and don't push yourself too hard."

Watching his back as he left, I let out a long sigh.

I walked to the dining table and looked at the delicate breakfast, but had no appetite.

My heart had already flown to the ICU at St. Grace Hospital, my mind full of Jared's paper-white face.

I forced myself to drink half a bowl of hangover soup, then went into the kitchen.

Jared had always been picky about food. After such a serious injury, he definitely wouldn't be able to stomach the bland liquid diet from the hospital.

I pulled fresh ingredients from the fridge, washed and chopped them, patiently making a pot of light but nutritious vegetable soup.

Watching the soup bubble and roll in the pot, I prayed over and over in my heart, praying he would wake up soon.

I packed the vegetable soup in a thermal container, changed my clothes, and drove to St. Grace Hospital.

When I hurried to the ICU floor carrying the thermal container, the scene before me made my face instantly darken.

The hallway was empty. The trusted bodyguards I had stationed here were all gone.

In their place were two rows of unfamiliar faces in black suits, expressionless.

I immediately realized—it was Aeneas. Only he had the means and authority to forcibly remove my people while I was away and replace them with his own men.

I bit my lip and strode forward with the thermal container.

"Stop." As soon as I approached the glass door, two burly bodyguards unceremoniously extended their hands, blocking my way like two iron towers.

"Move aside. I need to see Jared." I looked at them coldly, my tone carrying undeniable authority.

"Sorry, Miss Sloane." The lead bodyguard's expression didn't change, his voice cold and flat. "Mr. Aeneas has ordered that the patient needs rest. No unauthorized persons are allowed inside."

I knew there was no point in confronting these hired guards head-on.

I could only step back and sit down on a bench in the hallway, staring hard at that closed glass door.

I couldn't get in, but I could wait.

And I waited for three hours.

It wasn't until nearly noon that the attending physician came out of the elevator with several nurses, carrying a rounds logbook.

I immediately rushed over.

"Doctor!" I grabbed the attending physician's sleeve, my voice trembling with anxiety. "How is Jared doing? Is he out of danger?"

The attending physician recognized me. He stopped, glanced at the bodyguards by the door, and lowered his voice. "Dr. Sloane, don't worry. Actually... Mr. Rex woke up yesterday evening."

"He's awake?!" My eyes widened, overwhelming joy instantly flooding through me.

I gripped the doctor's hand tightly, my eyes suddenly reddening. "He's awake... that's wonderful. How does he feel now? Are there any aftereffects?"

The doctor patted the back of my hand soothingly, but his expression became somewhat complex and serious.

"His vital signs have basically stabilized and he's out of life-threatening danger, but..." The doctor paused, a hint of regret in his tone. "Because his brain suffered severe impact during the accident, he's experienced some memory damage. He hasn't completely lost his memory, but he's lost roughly the last six months or so."

The smile on my face instantly froze. My brain felt like it had been hit hard with a hammer, buzzing.

Lost the last six months of memories?

Retrograde amnesia—as a doctor, I knew it all too well.

But those six months were the most unforgettable time between us.

It was after our divorce, when he set aside all his pride to pursue me again, when we embraced in nighttime Boston, when we video-called across time zones in Berlin—all those memories!

In his mind now, what were we? A resentful couple who had just signed divorce papers? Or was I the cold-hearted ex-wife who left without hesitation for five hundred million dollars?

"But don't worry, this kind of memory loss is usually reversible. With proper rest and appropriate stimulation, there's a good chance he'll recover." Seeing my pale face, the doctor quickly tried to comfort me.

I nodded woodenly, released the doctor's hand, not even knowing how I walked to the hospital room door.

I looked at the bodyguards blocking my way, my hands gripping the thermal container's handle so tightly my knuckles turned white.