Chapter 222 Suicide Rescue

Chapter 222 Suicide Rescue

Sloane's POV

"Sloane!" The moment the call connected, Professor Brandon's anxious and exhausted voice came through. "You finally picked up! News of the Charité Hospital explosion reached New York, and I've been so worried I couldn't sleep for days. When I couldn't reach you, I thought you were..."

"Professor, I'm fine." I quickly reassured him, feeling a wave of warmth in my heart. "Things were chaotic at the time, and I lost my phone in the confusion. This is my new number — I just got a replacement SIM. I was lucky, only got minor injuries. I'm safe now."

Hearing that I was okay, Professor Brandon let out a long, shaky breath on the other end of the line. "Thank goodness... thank goodness... You really are lucky to be alive. Since you're alright, come back to New York soon. Things out there are too unstable."

"I understand, Professor. Once Jared's condition stabilizes for a couple more days, we'll head back. I'll come visit you when we do."

After I hung up, Jared leaned against the hospital bed and raised an eyebrow at me. "Brandon? Sounds like he genuinely cares about you."

"He's always been good to me," I said, tucking the blanket around him. "When we get back to New York, visiting him will be the first thing we do."

Three days later, Jared's private jet touched down smoothly at John F. Kennedy International Airport.

The deep autumn air in New York carried a bleak chill.

Jared was still recovering, but his presence was as commanding as ever. Surrounded by bodyguards, he held my hand as we walked down the airstairs.

We had planned to go back to the villa to rest first, then visit Professor Brandon. But the moment we settled into the Maybach, my phone started ringing urgently from inside my bag.

It was the head of neurosurgery at St. Grace Hospital.

"Dr. Sloane, are you back in New York?" The director's voice was tight with urgency.

"Just landed. What's wrong?" My heart sank immediately. Something bad had happened — I could feel it.

"Get to the hospital now! Something happened to Jones!" The director spoke rapidly. "She overdosed on sleeping pills and slit her wrists. Suicide attempt. She's in the emergency room right now — it's critical. Professor Brandon is falling apart."

"What?!" I gasped, my face going pale.

Jones was Professor Brandon's daughter — the love of his life.

How could she suddenly try to take her own life?

"St. Grace Hospital. Now." Jared saw the look on my face and didn't hesitate, giving the driver the order immediately.

The car sped through the streets, running several red lights before finally pulling up to St. Grace Hospital.

I pushed open the car door and sprinted through the hospital in my heels, making my way up to the emergency floor.

Jared, supported by a bodyguard, followed close behind me.

The moment I stepped off the elevator, I saw a sight that broke my heart.

The red light outside the trauma room was blazing.

Professor Brandon was slumped on a bench, both hands pressed over his face.

His silver hair, always perfectly combed, was now a mess. He seemed to have aged ten years in an instant, radiating a hollow, desperate despair.

"Professor..." I walked over and gently placed my hands on his trembling shoulders.

Professor Brandon lifted his head. His eyes — once sharp and wise — were now bloodshot and filled with tears. When he saw me, his lips trembled, but no words came out. He just shook his head slowly, his face twisted in pain.

Seeing him like this made my chest ache.

As I stood there, my eyes drifted to the far end of the hallway.

Two familiar figures were huddled in the corner.

Keira and Isabelle.

Neither of them looked anything like the polished, imperious women they usually were.

Isabelle clutched her designer bag, her face drained of color. Keira was shaking, her eyes darting around nervously, like a frightened quail — she couldn't even bring herself to glance toward the trauma room.

I turned sharply back to Professor Brandon.

He had followed my gaze to the two women in the corner.

The despair in his eyes instantly ignited into a blaze of fury. He shot up from the bench so fast he nearly stumbled.

"You two are monsters!" Professor Brandon's eyes were red with rage. Like a lion unleashed, he charged straight at Keira and Isabelle.

"Professor!" I reached out to stop him, but he shook me off.

He grabbed Keira by the collar of her designer coat and slammed her against the wall. His voice came out raw and broken with rage. "Tell me! What did you do to Jones?! What did you do to push her to this?!"

"I... I don't know..." Keira could barely breathe, her face white as a sheet. She shook her head frantically, tears and snot smeared across her face, her voice trembling so badly she could barely get a sentence out. "I swear I don't know anything... She did this to herself... It has nothing to do with me!"

Professor Brandon's roar echoed through the empty hallway, heavy with a fury that made the air feel cold.

Isabelle screamed and instinctively lunged forward to pull him off, but Brandon shoved her away hard.

"Get out! Both of you, get out!" Brandon's eyes were bloodshot, his voice cracking as he pointed toward the end of the hallway. "If anything happens to Jones, I will hold you responsible!"

The bodyguards moved in immediately, dragging the two women away without ceremony as they stumbled and scrambled down the hall.

Silence fell over the corridor again.

Brandon collapsed back onto the bench, looking completely hollowed out. He buried his face in his hands, and tears streamed down his cheeks.

"I let wolves into my home..." His voice shook, filled with regret and self-blame. "I always felt like I owed them something. I spoiled them, gave them everything they wanted — and they turned out to be two cold-blooded ingrates who drove my Jones to the edge."

Watching Brandon cry like a helpless child, I felt a deep ache in my chest.

I walked over and sat beside him, silently rubbing his back, trying to offer whatever small comfort I could.

Then the heavy door of the trauma room burst open.

A doctor in a surgical cap rushed out, his expression grave. "Professor Brandon, Jones cut too deep. She's lost a lot of blood. On top of that, she has a rare blood type — Rh-negative O. The hospital's blood supply is running critically low. We need to find a donor immediately. If we don't get her a transfusion, she won't make it through the night."

"Take mine. I'm her father." Brandon didn't hesitate. He rolled up his sleeve and stepped forward.

"We can't do that. You're too old, and your blood pressure is dangerously high. Donating that much blood could kill you." The doctor firmly refused.