Chapter 75 Invitation
Sloane's POV
I ignored Jessie's calls behind me and practically fled in panic.
I pushed through the crowd, walking hurriedly, my heart pounding as if it would jump out of my throat.
I didn't know where I was going, just instinctively heading toward that corner, toward the direction where that figure had disappeared.
The venue's corridors twisted and turned, covered with thick carpet that swallowed the sound of my urgent footsteps, leaving only a suffocating silence.
I was walking too fast. At one corner, before I could even see what was ahead, I crashed straight into a solid wall of flesh.
I let out a muffled groan, stumbling backward from the impact. My high heel twisted, and I was about to fall embarrassingly to the ground.
A well-defined hand grabbed my arm in time, steadying me firmly.
The grip was steady and strong, carrying an undeniable sense of security.
"Careful." A warm, clear male voice sounded above my head.
Still shaken, I steadied myself and instinctively looked up to thank him. "Sorry, I..."
My voice stopped abruptly the moment I saw who it was.
Those eyes.
Deep, calm, like they held an endless starry sky, yet tinged with a familiar melancholy that wouldn't dissolve. He appeared before me so suddenly, so clearly, taking in all my panic and confusion that I hadn't had time to express.
Time seemed to freeze in that moment.
Those wounds I had forcibly buried deep in my heart, long since scabbed over, were easily torn open by these eyes, exposing the raw, bleeding interior.
The fire, the thick smoke, the boy's thin but determined back, and his eyes when he last looked at me, filled with reluctance and resolve...
Memories flooded over me like poisoned water, drowning me instantly.
A sharp, twisting pain shot through my chest, so intense I could barely breathe.
"Miss, are you alright? You look very pale." Seeing me remain silent, just staring at him with a deathly white face, he frowned, his tone taking on a hint of concern.
I snapped back to reality, as if burned, pulling away from his supporting hand and awkwardly stepping back to create distance between us.
"I'm fine," I forced myself to calm down, though my voice carried a tremor I hadn't even noticed, "Thank you."
He didn't seem to mind my loss of composure, simply withdrawing his hand. Those deep eyes calmly studied me, then his lips curved into a polite but distant smile as he extended his hand toward me.
"Harrison Rex."
I stared blankly at his outstretched hand, hesitated for a moment, then shook it.
His palm was dry and warm, completely different from the calloused hands in my memory.
"Sloane." I softly said my name.
His smile deepened, and a hint of understanding rippled through those eyes. "I know, Dr. Sloane."
My heart jumped. He knew me?
He seemed to see my confusion. His gaze moved past my shoulder to glance at the noisy venue in the distance, then he suggested warmly, "It's crowded here. Could we find somewhere to talk privately?"
I should have refused.
But those eyes were like a huge whirlpool I couldn't resist.
I desperately wanted to know if this was all a coincidence, or... some possibility I didn't dare think deeply about.
I nodded as if possessed.
He led me through a quiet corridor and opened the door to a small lounge.
Cut off from the outside noise, the air instantly became quiet.
He didn't speak immediately, but took out an exquisitely made business card from his suit pocket and handed it to me.
I looked down and took it. On the pure black card, embossed gold letters displayed a simple line of information: Harrison Rex, Rex International Medical Center, Director.
"I've read your paper on nerve regeneration induction. The insights were unique and brilliant." He broke the silence first, his voice gentle, with undisguised appreciation. "Our hospital is preparing a new neuroscience research center. I sincerely invite you to join us. The position and salary can be the highest in the industry."
This was an olive branch no doctor could refuse.
But my mind wasn't on this at all. My gaze, beyond my control, kept falling back on those eyes of his.
I shook my head, holding the business card in my palm. "Thank you for your kind offer, but I have no plans to change jobs at the moment."
"Is that so?" A clear flash of regret crossed his eyes, but he didn't insist further. "That's truly a pity."
He paused, his gaze falling on my face, those deep eyes carrying a hint of inquiry. "Dr. Sloane, you've been looking at my eyes since earlier," he asked directly and candidly, "Is there something wrong?"
My heart clenched sharply.
The words "You look a lot like someone I once knew" hovered on my lips, almost spilling out.
But when the words reached my mouth, I swallowed them back. That was my deepest secret, my most painful scar. How could I easily reveal it to a stranger I'd just met?
I lowered my eyes, hiding the emotions in them, my voice very soft. "Sorry, that was rude of me. I just think Mr. Rex's eyes are very special."
Hearing my words, he didn't press further, just quietly looked at me for a few seconds, then suddenly let out a low laugh.
That laugh was clear and bright, instantly melting the thin layer of ice at the bottom of his eyes, rippling into gentle warmth, making him look even more like him.
"Is that so?" His tone rose slightly at the end, as if he found my explanation interesting. "Then we really are fated to meet."
He took out his phone, unlocked it, and held it before me, his tone as natural as if we were old friends who'd known each other for years. "In that case, if you don't mind, could we be friends?"
The request was too sudden, yet I couldn't find any reason to refuse. Or rather, I simply didn't want to refuse. Like clutching at a lifeline, I desperately wanted to maintain any connection with these eyes.
I silently nodded, took out my phone, and exchanged contact information with him.
Just as I withdrew my phone, his gaze fell on my hand and paused slightly.
"Your hand..." He suddenly spoke, his brow furrowing imperceptibly, those deep eyes showing a professional scrutiny that belonged to a doctor. "It's injured? Not fully healed yet?"
I instinctively curled my fingers, only then remembering my fingertip that had been cut by porcelain a few days ago, and the pink marks left by wounds on the back of my hand that hadn't completely faded.
"Just accidentally cut it, a minor injury, nothing serious." I answered lightly.
But he shook his head, his tone becoming more serious. "For someone who holds a scalpel, no wound on the hand is a minor matter."
He looked at me, those eyes so like Grayson's now filled with sincere concern. "My hospital has the best rehabilitation and therapy center, with top-tier equipment and specialists. If you need it, you can contact me anytime, and I'll arrange it for you."