Chapter 160

Chapter 160

In the top-floor bedroom lay the woman he had spent his entire life protecting. “And there’s Elizabeth,” he added quietly.
At the mention of her name, Matthew’s voice softened almost imperceptibly, as if even speaking it demanded a gentler version of himself.
"She's your daughter-in-law."

"She's a bit stubborn. I used the wrong approach before, made her really angry, and caused her a lot of pain."

Matthew lowered his head, looking at the bloody cuts on his palm from the broken stones.

"I was so stupid, Mom,” he said, voice breaking under its own weight. “I didn’t know how to love someone without hurting her… I ruined everything.”
Slowly, he lifted his gaze toward his mother’s urn, as though searching for an answer he already knew he wouldn’t receive.

"But now she's willing to stay by my side, and she's pregnant again. This time she got pregnant willingly. It's just that she's too tired now, sleeping."

"When she wakes up and has the baby, I'll bring them to see you. “She’s an amazing cook, fluent in several languages, incredibly beautiful and she’s also a top-tier hacker. Truly gifted in every way. I think you would’ve liked her.”

He went on and on like this, telling his mother about Elizabeth.

Elizabeth's spirit stood behind him, her soul suddenly beginning to fluctuate.

"Matthew." Elizabeth stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him from behind, holding the grief-stricken man as tightly as she could. Though she wasn’t truly there, the warmth of her presence felt impossibly real.

Tears slipped from her spirit, dissolving against his shoulder in soft, glowing fragments of light that faded into the air like fleeting stars.

"I won't leave you alone in this world anymore."

"Wait for me."

"I'm going to wake up."

Outside the greenhouse, the first rays of dawn broke through the clouds, spilling onto the rose-covered estate.

In the top-floor hospital room, the gentle wave line on the screen jumped up once.

Then a second time, a third time.

The pale-faced girl on the bed stirred at last her fingers, once limp at her side, twitched faintly, as if life itself was cautiously finding its way back into her body.

Clear nutrient solution dripped through the IV tube into her vein. John leaned against the doorframe, having stayed up for several days and nights, his eyes bloodshot.

This medical roombuilt at a cost of hundreds of millions stood like a sealed world of its own, lined with the most advanced life-support systems humanity could engineer, every monitor and machine quietly insisting on the thin boundary between life and death.
Yet the girl on the bed remained quietly asleep, like an exquisite doll without a soul.

"Heart rate stable, blood pressure normal." Roy tossed the used syringe into the medical waste bin, turned and made a few notes on the chart. "But the brain waves are still—"

Before he could finish, a sharp beeping sound suddenly shattered the room's silence.

On the previously steady brainwave monitor, a sudden sharp spike erupted, followed by an even stronger, more violent fluctuation.

The heart rate monitor's frequency also accelerated instantly.

John froze in place, his eyes locked on Elizabeth's face.

Just seconds earlier, he had clearly seen the girl’s eyelashes tremble subtle, but unmistakably real.

"Ms. Winters?" John rushed to the bedside. "Ms. Winters! You can hear me, can't you!"

Roy quickly pushed John aside, grabbed a medical flashlight and lifted Elizabeth's eyelid, shining the harsh white light into her pupil.

A few seconds later, Roy switched off the flashlight and pressed a stethoscope to her chest, listening in silence before speaking calmly,

"John, calm down." Roy sighed and hung the stethoscope back around his neck.

"Her eyelashes moved just now! I saw it!" John's eyes were red as he grabbed Roy's white coat.

“That’s just a somatic nerve reflex in a deeply comatose patient,” Roy said, methodically removing John’s hands one by one, his voice coldly rational, almost clinical in its detachment. "The nutrient solution stimulated the patient's peripheral nerves, causing muscle spasms. Don't get your hopes up too high. This kind of random reflex doesn't mean anything."

But John couldn't hear Roy's explanation at all. He pushed Roy aside and with shaking hands pulled out his phone from his suit pocket, trembling as he pressed a series of numbers.

Matthew sat in the greenhouse when his phone suddenly began to vibrate sharply against the table. He reached for it at once and answered the call.

"Mr. Moore!" On the other end, John's voice was hoarse. "Ms. Winters just moved! Her eyelashes trembled, and her brain waves showed intense fluctuation!"

Matthew’s pupils tightened in an instant. His grip on the phone turned rigid, his arm trembling violently as if he could barely hold himself together.
He opened his mouth but found he couldn't make a single sound from his throat, and broke into a run toward the main building.

His urgent footsteps echoed through the long corridor.

The guards and servants along the way all lowered their heads, not daring to breathe.

The hospital room was terrifyingly quiet, with only the white mist from the humidifier swirling in the air.

Matthew’s chest rose and fell in harsh, unsteady breaths. Forcing the panic back, he slowed his pace, step by deliberate step, until he reached the bedside.

Elizabeth lay there quietly, breathing steadily, face pale, showing no sign of movement.

Matthew lifted his head, his gaze immediately going to the monitoring equipment on the wall.

The green brainwave line continued its steady, unbroken rhythm across the screen calm, uniform, and utterly unchanged. Nothing had shifted.

John stood in the corner, not daring to lift his head, his voice low and hoarse: "Mr. Moore... Dr. Murphy said it was just a nerve reflex..."

At those words, Matthew went rigid, as though every trace of strength had been stripped away in an instant. His knees gave out, and he dropped to a half-kneel beside the bed.

"Elizabeth. I'm back. Can you move again? Even if it's just a nerve reflex, please move for me, okay?"

No one responded.

Only the tick-tock of machines filled the room.

Matthew took a sterile wipe from the bedside and carefully cleaned his hands.

He took the girl’s cold fingers in his hand, pressed them gently against his cheek, and lowered his forehead to the edge of the bed remaining there, unmoving, keeping silent vigil.

He stared intently at her face, not daring to blink, afraid of missing any tiny movement from her.

The clock hands on the wall turned round and round.

One in the morning, three in the morning, five in the morning...

Outside the window, the storm eased into stillness, and pale light began to gather at the horizon the passing of an entire night.

She didn't move again, not even her fingertips changed temperature.

Matthew slowly stood up.

From maintaining the same position for so long, his joints made a series of stiff cracking sounds.

He lingered on the sleeping girl for a moment longer, then turned and stepped into the adjoining bathroom. Without the light on, the space felt narrow and dim, almost suffocating in its stillness. Cold water crashed into the white porcelain sink.

Matthew braced his hands on the marble counter, staring hard at himself in the mirror.

In the mirror stood a man with disheveled hair, hollowed eyes, and unshaven stubble worn down to the bone. Inside him, the pain clawed relentlessly, as if a wild beast were tearing through his chest.

Without warning, Matthew raised his right arm and threw a heavy punch at the marble tile wall!

"Bang!"

The stone surface split on impact. Pain surged up Matthew’s arm from the collision, sharp and immediate, yet his expression didn’t change, he didn’t even flinch.

Then came the second punch, the third punch!

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

His skin and flesh burst open on the spot, blood spattering everywhere.

Dark red blood traced slow, winding lines down the smooth wall, each streak thinning as it reached the sink and bled into the cold running water, dissolving into pale, diluted swirls.
He clenched his teeth, his eyes bloodshot, his facial muscles completely twisted.

He swallowed down all the screams of near-collapse, all the desperate agony, forcing them deep into his gut.

Blood spread across the tiles in a widening stain, stark against the white surface, the aftermath too severe to ignore even in the heavy silence of the room.