Chapter 95 Midnight Fright
Sloane's POV
It was a face bloated from years of heavy drinking, with greedy and sleazy light flickering in his murky eyes.
Seeing that I was awake, not only did he not stop, but he pulled out a dampened cloth from his pocket and, with a sinister grin, pressed it toward my nose and mouth.
A pungent smell of ether instantly rushed into my nostrils.
He was trying to knock me out!
Fear gripped my heart like an invisible hand.
I couldn't let anything happen to me—my child...
In a split second, I gathered all my strength and suddenly lifted my leg, kicking him hard in the stomach.
The man hadn't expected me to fight back. He let out a muffled grunt from my kick and stumbled back two steps.
Clutching his belly, his bloated face was instantly replaced by rage, and the look in his eyes seemed like he wanted to tear me apart.
"You bitch, you're asking for it!" He spat, dropping all pretense. Raising his hand, big as a fan, he swung it viciously toward my face.
The expected slap never landed.
"BANG—"
With a loud crash, the flimsy wooden door was kicked open from outside, sending splinters flying.
Before I could see who it was, a dark figure rushed in with a blast of cold wind. He seemed to be holding a long metal rod, and without hesitation, he swung it with full force, striking the man hard on the back of his head.
The man's fan-like hand stopped just inches from my face. He didn't even have time to scream before his body went limp and fell forward, hitting the ground heavily and going silent.
I stared in shock at this sudden turn of events, my mind blank, my heart pounding wildly in my chest, almost jumping out of my throat.
The man who had burst in threw away the metal rod and quickly walked to my bedside. He bent down in the dim light, and that face which had been refined and gentle at the dinner table was now covered with a terrifying frost.
It was Harrison.
What was he doing here?
I stared at him blankly, still not recovered from the extreme fear.
Without a word, he took off his well-tailored suit jacket and quickly wrapped me from head to toe, blocking out the nauseating smell in the room.
"Don't be afraid, it's over now." His voice was still cold, but carried a hint of comfort that was hard to detect.
Only when I was wrapped in the clean, woody scent from his body did my tense nerves suddenly relax, and the delayed fear and nausea surged up. I couldn't control my trembling.
Just then, hurried and panicked footsteps came from outside. The four bodyguards Jared had sent finally arrived late. When they saw the scene in the room, especially the unconscious man on the floor, the faces of these four burly men instantly turned pale with shock.
"We're sorry, ma'am! We..."
"Control him!" Harrison's icy voice cut off their apology, and behind his glasses, his eyes showed undisguised murderous intent.
The bodyguards snapped out of it and quickly moved forward to pin down the unconscious man.
The commotion outside also woke up other members of the medical team. Jessie and Professor Reagan rushed to the front, and seeing my pale face and the messy bed, they were frightened and gathered around to comfort me.
Harrison ignored the surrounding noise. He walked to the man being held by the bodyguards, stepped on his hand, bent down slightly, grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up, his voice ice-cold: "Who sent you?"
The man woke up from the pain, grimacing. Meeting Harrison's eyes that seemed to see through everything, he was scared out of his wits and shook his head frantically: "No... no one sent me! I... I drank too much, I lost my mind for a moment! Please spare me, sir, please spare me!"
While speaking, he desperately kowtowed and apologized, trying to get away with it.
Harrison seemed to have heard the biggest joke, letting out a cold snort from his throat.
He released the man's collar, but the next second, without warning, he threw a heavy punch right into the man's face.
"Ahh—" The man screamed, blood instantly gushing from his nose.
"Send him to the police station," Harrison straightened up, looking down at him, his tone cold and emotionless, "I'll follow up personally."
With that, he suddenly turned around, his eyes blazing with fury, shooting straight at the four bodyguards standing aside.
He walked up to the lead bodyguard, and before the man could explain, delivered another solid punch to his face.
"Where were you when this happened?" he asked, each word seeming to squeeze through his teeth.
The bodyguard who was hit had blood at the corner of his mouth, but didn't even dare wipe it. He just kept his head down, his voice full of fear and guilt: "I'm sorry, Mr. Harrison... we... we all ate something tonight and had stomach problems. We all went to the bathroom just now, and we didn't expect that in just that short time..."
"Stomach problems?" Harrison curled his lips mockingly, the disdain and coldness in his eyes making even these burly bodyguards shiver, "Was it collective food poisoning, or collective negligence? You figure it out yourselves."
He stopped paying attention to the ashen-faced bodyguards and walked back to my side, his tone leaving no room for argument: "I'm taking you to the police station to give a statement."
I looked at the hostility still on his face, then at the man being held by the bodyguards, and finally nodded.
The police station was brightly lit, the harsh white light making the hard lines on Harrison's face even more pronounced.
He grabbed the troublemaker and led me straight to the duty room.
Perhaps the police station environment gave the man a false sense of security. He changed from his earlier groveling attitude, his eyes began to shift, and he even relaxed when the police came to question him.
He suddenly pointed at me and started shouting, playing the victim: "Officer, it was her! She seduced me!"