Chapter 89

The black Bentley Mulsanne glided smoothly through the streets of Luminous City.

Damien leaned back against the seat, eyes closed, his pallid face devoid of expression.

His fingers unconsciously rubbed against each other as images from the boutique fitting room flashed unbidden through his mind.

That woman—her fingertips trembling with fear, yet forcing herself to stay calm. She'd even wanted to call a doctor for him.

She looked soft and delicate on the surface, but underneath ran a core of steel. Like a white rose that appeared fragile yet refused to break no matter how hard the wind blew.

The corner of Damien's mouth curved into an almost imperceptible smile, gone before anyone could catch it.

Soon the car stopped before a highly discreet private hospital. Medical staff who'd been waiting immediately rushed forward with a gurney, carefully transferring Damien into the emergency room.

The red emergency light flicked on. Liam stood motionless outside the door, his face etched with anxiety and self-reproach.

Time crawled by. The emergency room doors remained firmly shut.

A young subordinate who'd accompanied them sidled up to Liam, lowering his voice: "Liam, it's been two hours now. Mr. Stuart... he won't—he'll make it through, right?"

The words had barely left his mouth when Liam whipped around.

His eyes blazed with menace as he fixed them on the young man, who instantly froze in place.

"Is that something you should be saying?" Liam's voice was ice-cold. "I'll chalk this up to you running your mouth without thinking. But if there's a next time, I don't care if you've been with me three years—I won't be able to protect you."

The young subordinate's face drained of color, panic flooding his features. "Liam, I—I didn't mean it that way. I'm just so worried about Mr. Stuart..."

"Watch your damn mouth!" Liam's voice dropped even lower, taking on a chilling edge. "I taught you on your first day with The Crimson Brotherhood—there are things you say, and things you keep to yourself."

"You dare jinx Mr. Stuart? Run your mouth like that again, and what—you want to get thrown in the harbor to feed the fish?"

At the mention of being dumped in the water, the young man's knees nearly buckled. "I was wrong, Liam! I'll never do it again! I swear I won't say another word!"

Liam shot him one last cold glance before turning back to stare at the emergency room doors.

The subordinate shrank back to the side, not daring to utter another syllable.

After another fifteen minutes, the red light finally went dark.

The doors swung open. A surgeon in scrubs emerged, pulling down his mask to reveal refined, scholarly features.

"Dr. Johnson! How's our Mr. Stuart?!" Liam rushed forward, urgency flooding his voice.

Dr. Johnson wiped the sweat from his brow and gave him a reassuring nod. "Don't worry. The surgery was successful. We've stopped the bleeding completely. His life is out of danger."

Liam's heart, which had been lodged in his throat, finally settled back into his chest. He exhaled a long breath of relief.

But before he could fully relax, Dr. Johnson sighed.

He continued, "However, there is an issue. The blade went deep—it damaged his spleen and caused minor pancreatic contusion. We've sutured and controlled the bleeding."

"With this kind of visceral damage, I can only perform conservative repair. There's a risk of lingering complications—chronic abdominal pain, weakened immune system, that sort of thing."

The blood drained from Liam's face. His voice shook. "Then what do we do? Dr. Johnson, you have to find a way to cure Mr. Stuart completely! No matter how much it costs, whatever medicine he needs—we'll get it!"

"It's not about money." Dr. Johnson shook his head. "This type of chronic organ damage—I don't have a definitive cure for it."

"Here's my recommendation: get back home as soon as possible. Find top specialists there. Use targeted herbal treatments combined with acupuncture to gradually heal the damaged spleen and pancreas. That's the only way to fully restore function and prevent long-term complications."

"I know several highly skilled physicians back home. If you need it, I can write you letters of recommendation."

Liam stood stunned. He'd never expected this outcome.

He accepted the paper and pen Dr. Johnson handed him, thanking him profusely. "Thank you so much, Dr. Johnson! We really appreciate it!"

As they spoke, medical staff wheeled Damien out of the emergency room. The anesthesia hadn't worn off yet—he lay with his eyes closed, still deeply unconscious. They transferred him to a VIP sterile suite on the top floor.

Liam arranged security detail, posting guards in layers around the room to ensure no further incidents could occur. Only then did he step outside the door, clutching Dr. Johnson's recommendation letters.

He furrowed his brow, mind racing as he calculated the logistics of getting back home.

Meanwhile, at the downtown Luminous City hotel.

After leaving the boutique, Emily had been enthusiastically planning to drag the other two to the jewelry store next door to pick out accessories for Beatrice's gown.

But when she turned and caught sight of the exhaustion pooling in Beatrice's eyes—the forced smile barely masking her weariness—Emily swallowed her words.

"You know what, forget it. We can look at jewelry anytime," Emily looped her arm through Beatrice's. "You've had such a long day—the flight, the robbery—let's just get back to the hotel and rest. After your competition's over, then you can come shopping with me!"

John visibly relaxed at this suggestion. "Aunt Emily's absolutely right. You've got the orientation meeting tomorrow. Rest is the priority today. You need to be sharp for what's ahead."

Beatrice looked between them, warmth blooming in her chest. She smiled and nodded.

The three walked back to the hotel. Emily tried to linger with Beatrice, but John physically steered her away, insisting she stop bothering their friend.

Finally alone in her room, silence settled around Beatrice.

She hung the black velvet gown John had bought in the closet, her fingertips grazing the delicate crystals scattered across the fabric.

Images from the fitting room flashed unbidden through her mind.

Beatrice sat on the edge of the bed, unable to stop the frown creasing her forehead. A fine thread of worry wound through her thoughts.

So much time had passed. Had his people found him? Had the bleeding stopped?

With an injury that severe, if no one helped him... someone could actually die from that.

But then she shook her head with a self-deprecating smile.

Damien clearly wasn't an ordinary person. Of course he'd have backup. How could he not?

She was just a stranger who'd crossed his path by chance. Sitting here worrying was presumptuous at best.

Besides, that man radiated danger from every pore. He obviously wasn't someone she should get involved with.

They inhabited completely different worlds. Today's accidental encounter was nothing more than an insignificant footnote—once this day ended, they'd most likely never cross paths again for the rest of their lives.

Having reasoned through this, Beatrice gradually suppressed that small knot of concern.