Chapter 296: He Was Almost Pitiable

Chapter 296: He Was Almost Pitiable

Applewood Estate.

Hank draped a damp towel across John's forehead, then rose and left the room. Outside, he found Harrison standing guard by the door.

"What did Ms. Johnson say?" Hank asked quietly. "Can we take him to the hospital?"

Harrison shook his head. "Ms. Johnson's on her way. She ordered that no one—absolutely no one—leaves Applewood Estate."

Hank's brow furrowed. "Does she think someone poisoned Mr. Smith?"

If that were true, he'd be the prime suspect. After all, the security team stayed outside. Inside the house, it was just him and John. Every meal John ate passed through Hank's hands first.

Harrison clapped a hand on Hank's shoulder. "Don't overthink it. Ms. Johnson isn't suspecting you."

He knew his boss well enough. "She doesn't trust Mr. Smith. He's always causing trouble. She's worried he's faking it so he can slip away."

It was true. Sophia had been burned by John too many times to take anything he did at face value. Even if the security team called to say John was on death's door, she'd still wonder if it was another one of his tricks.

Hank froze for a moment, then lowered his gaze and pressed his lips together.

Living with John these past weeks had taught him something unexpected: John wasn't nearly as terrifying as the rumors suggested.

In fact, he was almost pitiable.

Every day, John sat at the racing simulator Sophia had sent him, running lap after lap through every virtual track. Then he'd sit there, staring at nothing, lost in thought.

For hours.

Those arrogant eyes of his would fill with something else entirely—loneliness. Sadness.

Now he was sick, and instead of concern, all he got was Sophia's suspicion. If John knew she thought he was faking, how crushed would he be?

What Hank didn't know was that at that very moment, Sophia was tearing down the main highway at seventy-five miles per hour in the sports car John had given her, racing toward Applewood Estate as fast as she could.

"Sophia, slow down," Michael urged from the passenger seat, his brow creased with worry. He shouldn't have let her drive.

Outside the window, snow drifted through the air, blanketing the city in cold white—much like the icy dread gripping Sophia's chest.

Her nails dug into the leather steering wheel as she fought to stay rational. Slowly, reluctantly, she eased off the gas, bringing the speed down to fifty-five.

Michael exhaled quietly. The car John had chosen had excellent performance—high-grade tires that were regularly maintained, designed not to slip even in snow. But Sophia wasn't a professional racer. No matter how good the car, excessive speed could still lead to disaster.

"Why do you think John suddenly started coughing up blood?" Sophia asked, her voice tight. She needed to talk—to keep her mind sharp and focused.

"Didn't Jane have him kidnapped before he disappeared?" Michael said carefully. "She must have injected him with some kind of drug. Like what happened to Jack."

Sophia's expression darkened. After Jack was poisoned, he'd experienced uncontrollable mood swings and brief lapses in consciousness. It was proof enough of how terrifying Jane's illegal research truly was.

But John had been under the influence of those drugs for years. She'd never seen him cough up blood or show weakness. Every episode had been the opposite—manic excitement. Pure chaos.

So why now?

Had Jane switched to a different formula?

The car screeched to a halt in front of Applewood Estate. Sophia didn't even bother pulling out the keys. She grabbed her bag, shoved the door open, and strode inside.

"Where is he?"

Harrison fell into step beside her. "In his room. Mr. Smith's body temperature has dropped dangerously low. We've cranked the heat up as high as it'll go, but he's still shivering."

Back at the car, Michael watched Sophia's retreating figure with a mixture of helplessness and resignation.

He turned off the engine, pocketed the keys, and climbed out slowly.

No matter how many times John had hurt her, no matter how often she claimed to hate him—when he was in real danger, she couldn't just walk away.

Andrew and John had never learned how to express love.

But then again, neither had Sophia.

 

Inside, Sophia pushed open the door to the first-floor guest room. John lay on the bed, his face deathly pale, barely conscious. Her frown deepened.

Hank had been sitting vigil by the bedside. When Sophia entered, he immediately stood and stepped aside.

Sophia set her bag on the nightstand and took a deep breath to steady herself. Then she pulled John's hand out from under the blankets and placed her fingers against his wrist.

The moment she felt his pulse, her eyes widened.

It was the same as Jack. Liver toxicity.

But because John had been controlled by drugs for so long, his body had developed a partial resistance. The reaction to this new compound wasn't as severe as Jack's had been.

Still, the prolonged exposure had done catastrophic damage to his liver. Combined with the anxiety of being confined to Applewood Estate, it was no wonder he'd started coughing up blood.

"Harrison, drive to Sunrise Urgent Care," Sophia ordered, already pulling out her phone to call Daniel for the necessary herbs. "Hank, bring me a basin of hot water."

Both men hurried off.

The room fell silent. Sophia unwrapped a set of sterile acupuncture needles and began placing them carefully along John's meridians.

At moments like this, she was deeply grateful to Brandon for teaching her everything he knew. His training allowed her to stay calm in the face of life and death—and to have the skills to do something about it.

 

Out in the living room, Michael waited. His gaze drifted toward the racing simulator in the corner.

He walked over and examined it more closely. The machine was practically brand new, but the steering wheel already showed signs of wear.

And there was blood on it.

John's blood.

"Get someone to clean this," Michael called to the guards at the door.

Then he returned to the sofa, pulled out his phone, and dialed Nate's number.

"Nate. Looks like I'm going to need your help again tonight."

On the other end, Nate's low, steady voice came through. "Did Sophia have another episode?"

Michael's eyes flicked toward the closed guest room door. "No. But her emotional state is… unstable."

"Andrew again?" Nate's tone carried a faint note of exasperation. "I've told her a hundred times—just go see him. Talk it out. Get it over with."

"It's not Andrew this time," Michael said quietly. "It's John."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

Even Nate seemed stunned that Sophia could be emotionally affected by John.

Finally, he spoke. "Understood. I'll meet you both at Riverbank No. 9 at eight tonight."