Chapter 10:
1079 Words
“Doctor, will my fiancée be able to walk in a month?” Ricard suddenly asked, the words “my fiancée” startling Michanel.
This young lady looked no older than sixteen or seventeen, yet she had an older fiancé?
“As long as Miss Anderson cooperates with the treatment, she’ll be able to walk normally in a month,” Michanel said, watching Ricard approach with an air of authority.
“I’ll leave you to talk then,” Michanel said, deciding to leave.
As he turned, a soft voice called out, “Doctor, wait!”
He turned back. “What is it?”
“Thank you for your advice earlier. I’ll be careful with my diet,” Abigail said, not knowing why she didn’t want him to leave. If he left, she’d be alone with Ricard, one person in public and another in private. She feared him deeply.
Michanel said nothing, just smiled faintly and left.
The bodyguards in black suits remained in the hallway. As he stepped out, dozens of eyes focused on him, making him feel like a criminal, very uncomfortable.
Despite being a hospital, these people created an underworld-like atmosphere. His initial impression was right; Ricard was a kingpin in the mafia, a powerful figure not just in country A but in other countries as well, someone not to be trifled with.
Without Michanel, the room stifled with Ricard and Abigail. The first thing Ricard did was draw the curtains, plunging the room into darkness, mirroring his nature.
Abigail couldn’t stand this kind of darkness, especially when alone with him, but she didn’t want to anger him either, so she kept silent, letting him draw the curtains.
Turning around, Ricard noticed the empty glass on the table and poured some water, mimicking Michanel’s actions earlier, although the scene was completely different.
Seeing a full glass of water in front of her, Abigail, who had just drunk, couldn’t drink any more, but she couldn’t outright refuse either. She pretended to take it and sipped a small mouthful.
Ricard took the glass back with no expression, seeing the water barely touched. He angrily said, “Do you want me to help you drink it?” Then, he took a big gulp of water, leaned down while Abigail’s eyes widened, held her nape with both hands, and transferred the water mouth-to-mouth, prying her lips open.
Her mouth immediately became moist, filled with his unique taste. Abigail wiped the water off her mouth with her sleeve, unwillingly.
“How does it taste?” Ricard, sitting at the head of the bed, lovingly stroked her long hair.
“Very good!” The man in front of her could sever her tendons when angry. How could she dare say it wasn’t good?
His fingers moved from her hair to her face, lightly patting her, “Heal well. I’ll be waiting for you to climb into my bed again.”
He spoke so nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t been the one who had severed her tendons, with a hint of mockery in his tone.
Abigail had been tormented nearly to death in his bed. From the initial force to the point of becoming accustomed to it, even though having her tendons cut was terrible, it was a blessing in disguise as it allowed her to leave the island for a while. Not having to lie in his bed every day brought her relief.
It was best to cherish this time.
His hand caressed the bandages on her leg, his dark eyes flashing with a startling gleam. These legs, now like this, were entirely his handiwork. Seeing her faint had pained him, but to establish his authority, he had no choice.
He didn’t truly want her to lose her legs, only to cut the tendons in her heels. As soon as she fainted, he dressed her properly, carried her to his private helicopter, and within minutes, they were at the hospital for surgery.
He punished her for being willful, for not listening. Unconsciously, he also punished himself. She had to stay in the hospital for a month, meaning he couldn’t touch her for a month. Life without her lying beside him was truly dull.
Seeing his gaze fixed on her legs, Abigail panicked, fearing he was thinking of something evil.
“Ricard, the hospital is very dirty. You should go back.” She was clearly trying to chase him away.
Ricard didn’t move, his evil eyes still on her legs. After a long silence, he slowly asked, “Does it hurt?”
Abigail shook her head, then nodded, biting her lip and said, “It hurts, it hurts a lot.”
Ricard moved closer to her, his ringed fingers gripping her chin tightly. “Good, it’s good that it hurts. Behave and listen from this point forward.”
When they were alone, Ricard was seldom gentle. This incident had taught Abigail a lesson. She realized that being impulsive only harmed herself, so it was best to comply with him.
His ringed finger flashed under her eyes. When she came to, he had already lifted her up. She cried out, “Ricard, what are you doing?”
“Nothing, taking you to a quieter place.”
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The quiet place Ricard mentioned was the VIP ward area. The so-called VIP ward area was the deepest part of the hospital, extremely serene. It broke the traditional form of hospital wards; each VIP ward was a small two-story Western-style building with a private courtyard and garden. The buildings were spaced apart from each other. Such high hospital standards naturally weren’t accessible to everyone; besides wealth and power, a certain background was required.
In country A, Ricard’s influence was such that even the government feared him. Entering this place was very easy.
Abigail sat in a wheelchair as he pushed her to the VIP ward area.
Outside, there were still patients and caregivers in blue uniforms, but the deeper they went, the fewer people there were until a small white house appeared in front of them. He picked her up and walked straight into the room.
The second floor housed a spacious, bright ward with high-end facilities. There was a kitchen and a study. It didn’t feel like a hospital stay, but a place to enjoy life.
Ricard placed Abigail on the enormous bed, pressed his forehead to hers, and said, “For the next month, I won’t be here. You must listen to the doctors, understood?”
- Writer
