Chapter 23
Reginald ended the call and strode over to Lucinda.
He looked at her, his gaze more serious than usual. "Ms. Wipere."
His voice was low, tinged with earnestness. "I know this request is abrupt. But my father's condition—you're the only one who can help. After taking the medicine you prescribed last time, he showed clear improvement. My uncle says you're the best doctor he's ever met."
He paused, then added, "If you're willing to come, name your terms. Anything."
Lucinda looked at him.
Reginald stood before her—tall, commanding presence—but in his eyes right now, there was no trace of his usual business acumen. Only pure, unfiltered urgency.
She recalled the moment earlier when he'd reached out to pull her aside. His palm had been warm, his grip just firm enough, without overstepping in the slightest.
She pulled herself back to the present and considered two things.
First, Hayden was staying at her nursing home. It was her territory. If something happened, she couldn't wash her hands of it.
Second, she'd examined Hayden just yesterday. The prescription she'd given him was correct for his condition. It couldn't have triggered an acute episode.
There had to be another reason.
"Let's go." She said only that.
Relief flickered in Reginald's eyes. He stepped aside and gestured. "The car's over there."
Tamsin, standing nearby and reading the room, spoke up. "Lucinda, I'll head back then. Call me if you need anything."
Lucinda nodded and followed Reginald toward the parking lot.
His car was parked right at the entrance—a black Maybach. The driver had already started the engine.
Reginald personally opened the back door. Only after she got in did he walk around to the other side and sit down.
The car pulled out of the parking lot and merged into traffic.
The interior was quiet, only the low hum of the engine filling the space.
Reginald spoke. "I've already had arrangements made at the nursing home. We'll be there in about twenty minutes."
Lucinda acknowledged him but said nothing more.
Reginald didn't speak again either, though he occasionally glanced her way.
She leaned back against the seat, her profile shifting between light and shadow as they passed under streetlamps. Her expression remained calm, unreadable.
Twenty minutes later, the car stopped at the nursing home entrance.
Barney was already waiting at the door. The moment the car stopped, he hurried over.
His eyes were red-rimmed, his voice tight. "Ms. Wipere, thank God you're here! My brother just collapsed out of nowhere. The doctors say it's acute heart failure, but he was fine yesterday—"
"Let's talk inside." Lucinda cut him off, not slowing her pace.
The three of them hurried into the hospital room.
Hayden lay on the bed, face pale, lips tinged purple, his heart rate numbers jumping alarmingly.
Two doctors stood nearby—one was the nursing home's chief physician, Nash Watson. The other wore a white coat and gold-rimmed glasses, his face unfamiliar.
Nash saw Lucinda and immediately stepped aside. "Ms. Wipere, you're here. Mr. Lancaster's condition..."
"I know." Lucinda walked to the bedside, picked up the medical chart, and flipped through it, then glanced at the data on the monitor. Her brow furrowed slightly.
The bespectacled doctor, Rhys, stood off to the side, sizing her up and down. His gaze carried a trace of disdain.
"This is the expert you called in?" His tone was flat. "Looks pretty young."
He scoffed inwardly.
Had the Lancaster family lost their minds?
He'd been in cardiovascular surgery for twenty-six years. A patient with acute heart failure couldn't be stabilized in anything less than three to five hours.
This young woman probably hadn't even held a scalpel steadily yet, and she dared step up to the operating table?
Where did these people get their confidence?
"Mr. Barney Lancaster, I understand your feelings," he said, tone mild but words pointed. "But your brother's condition is very complex. It requires an experienced doctor to handle it properly."
Barney didn't even look at him. "She can do it."
Nash nodded as well. "I trust Ms. Wipere's medical skills."
Rhys's expression soured. He glanced at Reginald, about to say something more.
Reginald didn't even look at him. His gaze remained fixed on Lucinda.
"Whatever you need," he said, voice steady. "Just say the word."
Rhys's lips stiffened. Left hanging, he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, a hint of schadenfreude flickering in his eyes.
Fine. Let the young woman fumble around.
Once things went south, she'd learn just how serious this work was.
Lucinda paid no attention to the commotion around her. She bent down to examine Hayden's condition.
She lifted his eyelids to check them, then reviewed his vitals. Her frown deepened.
"What did he eat today?" she asked.
Barney froze, then quickly turned to ask the caregiver. "Who brought food for Hayden today?"
The caregiver thought for a moment. "This afternoon, Ms. Douglas had someone deliver an insulated container. She said it was soup specially made for Mr. Hayden Lancaster, and that it used... Dr. Sinclair's special medicinal formula. She said it would be one hundred percent beneficial for his illness."
Dahlia.
Lucinda's fingers paused briefly. Her gaze turned cold.
Barney's expression changed. "A formula? What formula? Who authorized her to send it?"
The caregiver jumped at his tone, stammering. "She said... she said she was Mr. Lancaster's fiancée. We didn't feel right stopping her..."
"She is not." Reginald's voice came from behind, cold as ice. "Who told you she was my fiancée?"
The caregiver shrank back, not daring to make a sound.
Reginald's gaze swept over everyone present. His voice wasn't loud, but every word landed with weight. "Dahlia has no relationship with me whatsoever. From now on, anything she sends is not allowed through that door."
After speaking, he instinctively glanced at Lucinda.
Lucinda was still checking Hayden's vitals, head down, expression neutral, as if she hadn't heard a thing.
Reginald withdrew his gaze, a flicker of irritation barely perceptible in his eyes.
"Vortexal." Lucinda suddenly spoke. "She used Vortexal. That drug hasn't been officially released yet. It's not stable enough to be used on patients freely. Especially patients with cardiovascular or cerebrovascular issues—using it can make things worse."
Barney's face went white. "Then right now..."
"It's not a big problem. I'll handle it." Lucinda straightened up and looked at Nash. "Prepare for surgery. I'll be the lead surgeon."
Nash nodded immediately. "I'll arrange it right away."
Rhys stood off to the side, his expression unpleasant, but this time he didn't dare say anything.
The operating room was quickly prepared.
Lucinda changed into surgical scrubs and walked in. Reginald stood outside the door, staring at it in silence.
Barney paced back and forth beside him, face pale.
Forty minutes later, the operating room light went out.
Rhys, standing in the corner, adjusted his glasses, ready to offer a few comments about "young people needing more experience."
Then he heard Nash's voice from down the corridor, barely containing his excitement. "It was a success! Blood loss under twenty milliliters! In that location, anyone else would have needed at least three hours—"
Rhys's fingers froze at his elbow.
His expression looked like someone had hit pause—his lips still curved in that unnatural shape, unable to reset.
He opened his mouth. Twenty-six years of clinical experience lodged in his throat. Not a single word came out.
The pen in his hand had been gripped so tightly it was clicking audibly.