Chapter 93

I had no idea that after I posted that Facebook update, Beauchamp was spiraling and scheming behind the scenes.

After briefly burying my past, the momentary relief gave way to crushing reality.

That fire at the company had destroyed nearly all the paper files and computers.

The only thing that survived was the special fireproof safe I'd locked in my office.

Inside were backup copies of all the company's core project data, plus the technological milestones and business blueprints I'd written down from memory—key developments for the next several years.

It was the lifeline for the company's resurrection.

But as critical evidence from the fire scene, the safe had been confiscated by the fire department and required going through a series of procedures before I could retrieve it.

I couldn't wait.

Early the next morning, I went to the fire station myself.

The staff said the supervisor in charge was in a meeting and asked me to wait.

Sweat trickled down my temples, dampening my hair. My white blouse stuck uncomfortably to my back.

The air reeked of tar and dust—a nauseating combination.

I pulled out my phone. The words on the screen swam before my eyes, overlapping and blurring.

I shook my head, trying to clear it.

No good. My head was spinning.

Everything around me started rotating. A sharp ringing filled my ears, like thousands of cicadas shrieking in unison.

I grabbed onto a nearby tree to steady myself, but my body went limp as mud, and I slid down the trunk.

In my fading consciousness, I thought I heard someone crying out.

"Miss! What's wrong!"

"Someone help! This woman collapsed from heatstroke!"

I regained consciousness to a startlingly cold sensation.

The smell of disinfectant filled my nostrils. I struggled to open my eyes to a blur of white.

"Awake?" An elderly voice spoke near my ear. "Severe heatstroke. You need an injection immediately to bring down your temperature."

An injection?

In my previous life, trying to give the Jennings family an heir, I'd lain on cold operating tables watching thick, long needles pierce my body.

That cold, aching, hopeless pain was carved into my very bones.

"No... I don't want a shot..." I instinctively resisted, struggling to sit up, but felt a sharp pain in the back of my hand.

A large, dry palm covered my hand, holding me firmly in place.

That familiar crisp woody scent instantly enveloped me.

Sebastian.

I turned my head. Through my blurred vision, I could only make out his tense jawline.

"Don't be afraid." His voice was low, carrying a soothing power. "Drink the medicine first."

He supported me, drawing my upper body into his arms. A slightly cool glass touched my lips.

I obediently opened my mouth. Warm liquid slid down my throat, carrying a hint of bitterness.

After drinking the medicine, my head cleared somewhat.

"How... did you get here?"

"The fire department called." Brief and to the point.

Then I remembered—for convenience, I'd set his number as my emergency contact.

"The patient's refusing the injection. That won't do." The elderly doctor pushed up his glasses, sizing up Sebastian, then me. His eyes suddenly lit up. "Young man, you're her family, right?"

Sebastian paused, then answered, "Yes."

The next second, the old doctor thrust the tray and syringe into Sebastian's hands. "You give her the injection then. Coming from someone close, she won't resist as much."

Silence from me.

Silence from Sebastian.

The old doctor, seemingly oblivious to our petrified expressions, cheerfully patted Sebastian's shoulder. "Just inject it in the back of her hand. Very simple. I'll go check on other patients. Take your time, no rush."

With that, he strolled out humming a tune, thoughtfully closing the door behind him.

The entire room plunged into deathly silence.

I looked at the gleaming needle in Sebastian's hand, then at his expressionless face. Only one thought ran through my mind.

This doctor knows how to create opportunities.

The air froze.

I could even hear my own breathing, heavy with tension.

Sebastian held the tray, looked down at it, then looked up at me.

His gaze fell on my hand where the IV was still taped, and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

I thought he was going to refuse.

After all, having a CEO of a hundred-billion-dollar corporation give someone an injection in this shabby clinic—the image was absurd no matter how you looked at it.

But he simply set the tray on the bedside table, then said in a tone that brooked no argument, "Turn over."

I was confused.

My brain still held the fog from before I'd passed out.

Seeing me motionless, he leaned down. His warm palm pressed against my shoulder through the thin hospital gown.

"Don't make me say it twice." His voice was low, right by my ear. That crisp woody scent mixed with his body heat made my already dizzy head spin more.

Before I could process what he was doing, my body had already been turned over without ceremony into a prone position.

Cheek pressed against the cool pillow, I belatedly realized.

He wasn't injecting my hand—he was going to inject my...

My face burned scarlet.

Before I could struggle or protest, I felt a coolness at my waist as strong hands tugged down the hospital pants slightly.

Cool air instantly touched bare skin.

I froze completely, drowning in waves of shame and panic. "Sebastian! You..."

"Don't move." His voice carried a hint of huskiness. One palm pressed firmly against my lower back—not much force, but enough to immobilize me.

I felt the calluses on his fingertips through the fabric, grazing my skin.

Then a small patch of cool alcohol cotton swabbed across my skin.

I squeezed my eyes shut, lashes trembling uncontrollably.

Then came a sharp sting.

I whimpered in pain, my body instinctively arching.

The hand on my back tightened, holding me firmly in place.

"Almost done." Sebastian's voice seemed to come from far away yet whispered right in my ear, carrying a strange, comforting power.

The medication was slowly pushed into my body, bringing a dull ache.

The process felt both endless and fleeting.

The moment the needle withdrew, I went completely limp, like a fish out of water.

He didn't linger. His movements were swift as he straightened my clothing, covering that embarrassing coolness with fabric once more.