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990 Words
Though reluctant to leave, Cal couldn't refuse his master's orders. He descended the mountain with eighteen marriage proposals tucked under his arm, each envelope marked with a name he'd never heard before.
Before he stepped past the gate, the old man gave him a sharp kick and barked, "Listen, boy. I don't care what you do with the rest of them, but the Whitmore family matter—you settle it properly. Old Samuel once saved my life. I gave my word. Even if you don't marry his granddaughter, find another way to repay the debt. And be back in three months. Your cultivation's not done."
Cal sighed. "I hear you."
Days later, he stepped off the train in Riverton, a mid-sized city in the Pacific Northwest. The Whitmore family his master mentioned lived here. To his mild irritation, so did Morgan Steele, who arrived at the same time as if she'd been following him.
Outside the station, Riverton's dignitaries had prepared a lavish welcome for her: flowers, banners, and a line of luxury cars waiting in formation.
No one came to pick up Cal.
"See that?" Morgan gestured toward the spectacle, a smug tilt to her lips. "That's the difference between you and me. You could work your whole life and never touch this kind of influence."
She paused, softening her tone as though offering charity. "But if you agree to be my boyfriend, I'll share it all with you. You won't regret it."
Cal didn't answer. He watched the crowd, the flashing cameras, her proud posture, and felt only tiredness.
"How boring," he said quietly, and turned away.
He disappeared into the flow of people before she could retort.
"You—!" she seethed.
They really were brothers. When it came to irritating her, Cal might have been even better at it than Clayton Reeve.
Still, Morgan wasn't one to quit.
As Cal vanished into the station crowd, her eyes narrowed with resolve. *I'll handle your brother… and then I'll handle you.*
---
Cal found the Whitmore family's address from the marriage contract and began walking.
"That old man owes a favor, so he volunteers me to marry the granddaughter to pay it off?"
"Something's off. That means this Whitmore girl must be ugly or unmarriageable, and they're unloading her on me."
He smirked. "Does he really think I'll fall for that?"
"First thing—reject the marriage."
With eighteen proposals in hand, Cal felt a flicker of confidence.
---
Half an hour later, he was lost.
He'd wandered through unfamiliar streets until he spotted a small clinic and stepped inside to ask for directions.
"Dr. Webb, please—look at my daughter! She fainted at work today and hasn't woken up!"
A middle-aged man's voice was thick with worry.
Cal paused just inside the door.
On a bed lay a young woman, her face pale but strikingly beautiful. A woman who looked like her mother stood beside her, wiping tears.
Soon, an elderly white-haired doctor approached. After a brief check, he spoke calmly. "It's nothing serious. Just a cold from exhaustion. I'll apply needles at the lower abdomen pressure points. She'll wake up."
The parents relaxed visibly.
"Then we're in your hands, Dr. Webb."
"Treating illness is my duty—no need for formalities." The old doctor, Morris Webb, nodded and prepared his needles.
Just then, a quiet voice cut through the room.
"Dr. Webb, if you needle those points, not only will she not recover—she'll be bedridden for at least seven more days. If it goes badly, her life could be in danger."
At the entrance, Cal stood watching, shaking his head slightly.
Dr. Webb's hand stilled. He frowned, visibly annoyed. "And you are?"
"Just a passerby asking directions," Cal said. "I happened to see—"
"Get out!" the middle-aged man—Shane Whitmore—exploded before Cal could finish. "Dr. Webb is a divine physician! Who are you to judge?"
"If you delay my daughter's treatment, I'll make you regret it!"
Cal sighed.
No one wanted to hear the truth these days.
Fine. He'd done his part.
He turned and walked out to ask someone else.
---
Back inside, Shane was all apologies. "Dr. Webb, please ignore that fool. We trust you completely."
Dr. Webb nodded, satisfied, and inserted the needles.
"Wait a moment. She'll wake soon," he said confidently.
But as soon as the words left his mouth, the young woman on the bed began convulsing. Blood trickled from her nose and mouth. Her breathing grew ragged.
"Serena! Serena, what's wrong?!" her mother cried.
Shane paled. "Dr. Webb?!"
Dr. Webb rushed to insert another needle, but it did nothing. The girl's breaths grew weaker.
Finally, the old doctor stepped back, face ashen. "I… I can't help her."
Shane felt the world drop out from under him.
"Shane—that young man earlier!" his wife suddenly shouted, tears streaking her face.
Shane's body jerked with realization.
He bolted out the door like a man possessed.
---
Cal had just gotten directions from a street vendor when Shane caught up to him, grabbing his arm desperately.
"Young man—you saw through it at a glance! You must know medicine! My daughter's dying—please, save her!"
Cal looked at him coolly. "A moment ago, you told me to get lost. Now you want my help?"
"I was blind! I was wrong! I'll apologize—I'll pay you anything! Just save my daughter!"
Cal shook his head, ready to leave.
"My father is Samuel Whitmore! He founded Whitmore Industries! Whatever you want—money, work, connections—just name it!"
Cal stopped.
"Wait. Samuel Whitmore? That's Old Man Whitmore?"
Shane nodded frantically.
Cal's eyes widened. "Damn! Why didn't you say so earlier?! Take me to her—now!"
He was already running back faster than Shane.
Of course he was running.
The girl on that bed wasn't just Shane's daughter.
She was his fiancée.
- Writer
