The vengeful billionaire

ESCAPE PLAN

Dr. Watson, a female surgeon, emerged from the hospital ward, she was startled by the sight of a young nurse barreling towards her.

"Doctor!" the nurse exclaimed, gasping for breath. "You need to come quick! The boy is waking up!"

The doctor's heart leapt into her throat. She had been caring for the boy since he had been brought into the hospital, and she had been waiting and hoping for this moment. She followed the nurse back to the ward, her mind racing with questions.

Robnex, however, had left the hospital after his body had healed. He visited Elon's, his brother's, grave every month and left flowers at the headstone. Even though he couldn't bring himself to visit the hospital often, he came once a month to check in on Patrick. He didn't know why he did it, but he felt compelled to make sure the boy was doing well.

Rushing into the hospital room, the doctor could see the nurses struggling to restrain the patient. The boy, who the nurses called Patrick, was thrashing and screaming, desperately trying to remove the bandages that covered his face.

As Patrick's breathing slowed, Dr. Watson approached the bedside, her face etched with concern.

"Patient, you need to relax," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "Your wounds aren't healed yet, and you're only hurting yourself by struggling like this."

To the nurses' surprise, Patrick settled down, his body sinking into the pillows. They watched as Dr. Watson sat beside him, her hands resting on his arm. She began to murmur soothing words, and the boy's eyelids fluttered closed.

"Doctor," the young nurse said, "we checked his temperature and it's normal. Plus, it looks like his new prototype face has started to heal."

Dr. Watson studied Patrick's face carefully. The burns were still visible, but they had faded somewhat. She turned to the nurse and nodded.

"Let's remove the bandages," she said, "and bring me a mirror."

She took a deep breath and began speaking to Patrick in a calm, soothing voice. After a few minutes, his eyes finally closed and his body relaxed.

She leaned over the boy and began to slowly remove the bandages.

As the nurses placed the mirror in front of Patrick, Dr. Watson could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She removed the bandages, her hands trembling ever so slightly.

When the last of the bandages were gone, the nurses and Dr. Watson all held their breath. What would Patrick look like? Would the surgery have been successful?

A few seconds passed, then a minute. The nurses began to look at each other nervously, their eyes wide with anticipation. Finally, Dr. Watson took a deep breath and looked at the mirror.

The nurses gasped, their hands flying to their mouths.

As Patrick opened his eyes, he saw a group of people gathered around his bed. He blinked, trying to clear the haze from his vision. He could see that they were all staring at him, their faces full of anticipation.

"Who...who are you?" he asked, his voice croaky from disuse.

"You're in the hospital," one of the nurses said, her voice gentle. "You were in an accident and you've been in a coma for five years."

Patrick's eyes widened in shock. Five years? He couldn't believe it. How was this possible?

Patrick's eyelids fluttered, and his vision slowly came into focus. The faces of the nurses and doctors were a blur at first, but as he blinked, their features became clearer. He took in their expressions, a mixture of excitement and concern. He felt a sinking sensation in his stomach as he realised that something must have happened to him.

"I don't remember anything," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "What happened?"

The nurses exchanged glances, their faces solemn. "We'll explain everything to you," one of them said.

The nurse began to explain the events of the past five years to Patrick, her words gentle but firm. He learned that he had been in a terrible accident, one that had left him in a coma for nearly half a decade

.

His life had been on hold all this time, and now he

was waking up to a world that was completely different from the one he remembered.

As she continued to speak, Patrick's thoughts whirled. What had become of his family and friends? What had happened in the world during the time he had been unconscious?

"Your muscles have been maintained through physical therapy and muscle-stimulating injections," the doctor explained. "It's a remarkable new technology that's allowed us to keep patients like you strong even while they're unconscious."

Patrick's mind was racing. His head was a jumble of questions, and he struggled to sort through them all. "What about my family?" he asked. "I need to know what happened to them."

The doctor's face fell, and Patrick's heart sank. "I'm sorry to say that your parents did not survive the accident," she said gently.

"You must be very confused," the doctor said softly. "I know it's hard to take all of this in, but I need to ask you some questions, so we can understand how much you remember."

She paused, watching him intently. "Do you remember your name?"

Patrick's mind was a jumble of thoughts and emotions, but he forced himself to focus. "Yes," he said slowly. "My name is Patrick."

"And your last name?" the doctor prompted.

" green whitebeard," he replied

"Good," the doctor said with a nod. "That's very encouraging. Can you tell me your age?"

"I'm... I'm... Ten years old" Patrick said, his words coming more easily now.

"Excellent," she said, a small smile playing on her lips. " But you are now Fifteen years old, " she said . It seems that you're beginning to recover your memory. Now, can you tell me about your life before the accident? What did you do? Where did you live?",

"But wait," the doctor interrupted herself. "You just said your name is Patrick Green, But didn't you say earlier that your last name was, "Whitebeard?"

The nurse paused, the tray of food she was carrying forgotten. Everyone in the room was focused on Patrick now, waiting for his response.

Patrick's mind was racing. He keeps recovery his memory so fast,

"You're the son of the Whitebeards?" Dr. Watson said, her eyes wide with surprise. "I've been following your family's philanthropic work for years. They've done so much for this community. It's an honor to meet you."

The nurses crowded around, murmuring among themselves. They'd heard of the Whitebeards, of course, but they never would have guessed that they'd be caring for one of their only sons.

Patrick was overwhelmed by the attention. He didn't know how to respond.

Dr. Watson turned to the nurses. "I need you to give Mr. Whitebeard some space," she said. "Please leave the room and let me speak to him alone."

The nurses nodded and filed out of the room, their footsteps echoing down the hall. As the door closed behind them, Dr. Watson turned back to Patrick.

"It's okay if you can't remember anything right now," she said. "I want you to know that we're here to help you. Whatever you're going through, we're here for you." She said, trying to move slowly out of the room, then she looked back.

"Mr. Whitebeard," Dr. Watson said gently, "you were only ten years old when the accident happened. Now, five years later, you're a young man of fifteen. I'm sure that seems strange to you, but it's true."

Patrick nodded slowly, trying to process the information. "But I feel the same as I did before," he said. "I don't feel any different."

"That's understandable," Dr. Watson said. "It's not uncommon for people who have experienced amnesia to feel the same as they did before

"Just because you don't feel any different doesn't mean that you haven't changed," Dr. Watson said. "You've grown physically, even if you don't feel it emotionally. And there's more to you than just your memories. There's your personality, your interests, your likes and dislikes. All of those things are still a part of you, even if you don't remember them right now."

"Just eat your meal," Dr. Watson said, her voice kind but firm. "The nurses will be back in a few minutes to check on you, but for now, you need to focus on getting some nourishment."

She laid a hand on Patrick's shoulder, her touch light but reassuring. He took a deep breath and picked up his fork, feeling a strange mix of emotions. It was hard to believe that so much time had passed, and yet he felt like no time had passed at all.

"I know this is all very confusing," Dr. Watson said, reading his thoughts.

Dr Watson walked away out of the room, Patrick was left alone.

Patrick sat alone in the hospital room, the silence broken only by the beeping of the machines around him. He looked down at his meal, his appetite suddenly gone.

The memories he'd lost seemed to hover just out of reach, taunting him with their absence. He felt adrift, without a sense of who he was or where he belonged.

He laid back on the bed, closing his eyes. He let himself drift off into a fitful sleep, his mind a chaotic jumble of questions and confusion.

"He's gone!" Mrs. Clara gasped, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. "We don't know how he did it. We searched everywhere, but there was no sign of him. It's like he just disappeared."

Dr. Watson's face went pale.

She was the head physician on Patrick's case, and she knew that his disappearance could mean only one thing. He had been kidn*pped. She ran her hands through her hair, trying to think of what to do next.

"He left a letter," the nurse said, her voice trembling. "On the bed. It was just sitting there."

Dr. Watson's heart was pounding as she took the letter from the nurse's hands. She opened it carefully, unfolding the crumpled paper. Her eyes scanned the page, and a chill ran down her spine.

The letter read, "I'm sorry. I have to go. I can't stay here anymore."

Dr. Watson's head was spinning. What did this mean? Where had Patrick gone? And why?