Chapter 128
Chapter 128
Caspian immediately pulled off his earpiece, pushed back his chair, and strode into the inner room.
The executives on screen exchanged bewildered glances.
Everyone at the Mitchell Group knew Mr. Mitchell was a notorious workaholic.
He personally oversaw billion-dollar projects, never tolerating the slightest carelessness.
Yet now, he was abandoning a cross-border acquisition mid-meeting?
The executives' jaws nearly dropped. No one dared speak. They could only stare at their own screens in stunned silence.
Inside the hospital room—
Caspian bent over the bed.
"What's wrong?" His voice was soft. "Does something hurt?"
Camilla shook her head, looking at his wrinkled shirt—the result of days without rest.
"You don't have to stay here every day." Camilla spoke quietly. "The company has so much going on. You'll fall behind."
"If the company collapses, it collapses." Caspian poured a cup of warm water and used a cotton swab to moisten her lips. "I'll build another one. You're more important than any damn project."
Camilla's chest tightened.
This man had placed her above his billion-dollar empire.
The reprieve didn't last.
A week later, the second phase—chemotherapy combined with targeted drugs—officially began.
Side effects erupted violently.
Violent retching sounds came from the bathroom.
Camilla hunched over the sink. Her stomach was empty. All that came up was yellow-green bile.
Caspian stood behind her, his large palm rubbing slow circles on her back.
"Rinse your mouth." He handed her warm water.
Camilla took the cup. Her hands shook so badly half the water spilled.
She looked up at her reflection in the mirror.
Sunken cheeks. No color whatsoever.
But the worst part was her hair.
She reached up to tuck a strand behind her ear.
A thick clump of long hair came away in her fingers.
It drifted down into the sink, a horrifying sight.
Camilla's hand froze mid-air.
Her throat felt painfully tight. Even breathing took effort.
Instinctively, she tried to hide the fallen hair, fumbling to turn on the faucet.
Water swirled around the drain but couldn't wash away the tangled strands.
"Actually, short hair's more convenient." Camilla kept her head down, voice hoarse. "I'll find scissors later and cut it all off. Easier to wash too."
She didn't dare look at Caspian's face in the mirror.
She was too ugly now.
So ugly even she found herself repulsive.
Theodric used to love her long hair. Then when Serena returned with her sharp, stylish bob, he'd started complaining that Camilla's long hair was an eyesore.
Now she couldn't even keep that eyesore.
The faucet shut off.
Caspian wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her fully into his embrace.
He didn't avoid the fallen hair. Instead, he took her still-damp fingers in his.
"You don't need to do it yourself." Caspian's voice was low, soothing. "I'll do it."
Half an hour later—
A sterile pad covered the hospital bed.
Caspian held medical scissors, his movements gentle as he cut through the brittle, yellowed strands.
With each snip, Camilla's heart clenched painfully.
She kept her eyes closed, nails digging into her palms.
Caspian worked slowly, careful not to let the scissors' tips touch her scalp.
"Actually, this is good." Caspian spoke softly as he cut, trying to distract her. "When you get better, the new hair that grows back will be healthier. Then you can grow it as long as you want, and I'll buy you hair clips to match."
Camilla said nothing. Tears just kept falling.
When he finished, Caspian brought over a basin of warm water.
He wrung out a towel until it was barely damp, the temperature just right.
Bit by bit, with infinite patience, he wiped her scalp clean.
No disgust.
No pity.
Only unconditional tenderness.
After cleaning her up, Caspian pulled out an elegant paper bag.
Inside was a custom-made soft cashmere hat in pale beige, a small lisianthus embroidered along the edge.
He carefully placed the hat on Camilla's head and adjusted the edges.
Then Caspian bent down.
His lips pressed against her pale, bloodless forehead.
He stayed there a long time.
"Camilla."
"No matter what you become, in my eyes, you'll always be the most brilliant Camilla from Graymont University's hall of fame."
Camilla's closed eyelashes trembled violently.
Tears slid down from the corners of her eyes, soaking into the pillow.
The fear, insecurity, and humiliation she'd been suppressing for days crumbled completely under that kiss.
She reached out and wrapped her arms tightly around the man's waist.
She sobbed openly.
Caspian patted her back gently, letting her tears soak through his shirt.
Hopewell Hospital, top-floor VIP ward.
The emergency exit door at the end of the corridor cracked open slightly.
Ollie, wearing a deflated little Ultraman backpack, peeked out cautiously.
His expensive custom children's outfit was covered in dust. He'd lost his left shoe—only a white sock remained, pressing against the cold tile floor.
The little boy clutched his bulging pockets tightly. Inside were one-and-a-half yuan coins and several crumpled bills.
This was everything he'd scraped together from smashing his bedside piggy bank.
Half an hour ago, Ollie had hidden in a stairwell corner and overheard two housekeepers gossiping on the balcony.
"Did you hear? Ms. Lavien's really done for this time. The hospital issued a critical condition notice."
"Such a tragedy. After everything Ms. Nelson put her through, even her own son didn't recognize her. Who could handle that kind of shock?"
"Ollie's an ungrateful brat too. Always running after Ms. Nelson calling her 'Mom.' Now that Ms. Nelson's been arrested, he doesn't have anyone left."
Those words pierced Ollie's ears like needles.
Mom was dying.
The mom who used to read him bedtime stories, make him cookies, and never got angry even when he deliberately pushed her down—she was dying.
The day Serena was arrested, Ollie's world had collapsed.
He finally understood that "Ms. Nelson," who bought him expensive toys, had been pinching his arms behind everyone's backs. She'd been lying to him all along.
And the person who truly loved him—he'd driven her away with his own hands.
Ollie inched along the wall toward the special care room.
The door wasn't fully closed—a two-finger gap remained.
The room was quiet except for the monotonous beeping of medical equipment.
Ollie stood on tiptoe and peered through the crack.
When he saw the person on the bed, the little boy's entire body shuddered. Tears streamed down his face instantly.
A woman lay on the bed, so emaciated she was barely recognizable.
She wore a beige cashmere hat. Her cheeks were deeply sunken, her skin so pale it looked lifeless.
Her hands and arms were covered in dense purple-blue needle marks.
Various tubes of different thicknesses connected to her body. Several IV bags hung nearby.
This wasn't the beautiful, gentle mom from his memories at all.
"Mommy..."