Chapter 9:
1063 Words
Indeed, the man before her was exceptional, with an outstandingly handsome appearance and a perfect figure. But that was just the outer shell; inside was a deeply dark heart.
“Trying to escape? There’s no way.” The man in the white shirt and black trousers squatted down, his face sinister.
The girl in the white dress now noticed the long whip in his hand.
After the thunder, rain poured down, and the whip lashed out, striking her soft body.
A scream!
Abigail woke from her dream, her forehead drenched in sweat. As she opened her eyes, she found herself surrounded by white, the aromatic smell of medicine in the air.
This wasn’t Ricard’s room; his room was never this bright. She looked out the window, seeing unfamiliar scenery.
This wasn’t the isolated island. Where was she?
She suddenly remembered her legs, looking down to find them wrapped in bandages and fixed with steel supports. She reached out to touch them; fortunately, she still had a feeling, which meant her legs were still hers.
She clearly remembered Ricard breaking her legs. Even though she still had feeling, would she ever walk normally again?
Lost in thought, the door opened, and an older doctor with black-rimmed glasses entered, followed by a younger doctor.
“Doctor, how are my legs?” she immediately asked upon seeing the doctor, eager to know the state of her legs.
“Your tendons were severed, but luckily, you were brought here in time. After surgery, you’ll need to rest for a month,” the older doctor said, examining her legs.
“Will I be crippled after a month?” she asked, fearing the worst but needing to know.
The doctor laughed heartily, “Little lady, you won’t be crippled. In a month, you’ll be able to move around happily.”
Abigail finally felt at ease, resting her chin on her hands as she admired the view outside the window.
“Michanel, you observe this patient. I’ll continue with the rounds,” the older doctor said, patting the young male doctor on the shoulder with a kind smile.
Abigail watched the doctor close the door and leave, losing interest in the scenery outside. She propped up her pillows and half-lay, half-sat on the bed.
Michanel Smith, upon entering the room, noticed how beautiful this young patient was, even in a blue hospital gown with no makeup and was fresh from surgery. She still looked lovely and clean.
He gently lifted one of her legs, asking, “Does it hurt?”
Abigail replied, “It hurts a little.”
He placed her leg back down, noting something on his clipboard.
After jotting down a few notes, Michanel curiously asked, “Little lady, how did you get your tendons severed?”
After the surgery, he had read her medical history, but the reason for her injury was vague. Confronted with someone as exquisite as Abigail, even a renowned doctor like him couldn’t resist being nosy.
Abigail had lived a solitary life on the island since childhood. Besides Ricard, Mrs. Taylor, her private tutors, and a group of black-suited bodyguards, she had never interacted with outsiders. Having just exchanged a few words with the doctor who cared for her legs, she now faced a stranger’s inquiry with little enthusiasm, staring at the ceiling light, counting the bulbs.
Michanel had encountered many fifteen or sixteen-year-old girls; they were lively and adorable or innocent and pure. None had the cold, indifferent demeanor she had. He recalled the row of trained bodyguards in the hallway, guessing she was a rich family princess with high standards.
“If you want to walk again soon, you need to talk to me. Staring at the ceiling won’t heal your legs,” he said, aiming to cure her princess syndrome.
Before Ricard severed her tendons, Abigail had mentally prepared herself for the possibility of losing her legs. Hearing the young doctor’s words made her realize that being an ordinary person was still better. In that moment, her legs were the most important thing.
Hearing the young doctor’s words, she withdrew her gaze, finally scrutinizing him.
He had dark skin, wore a long white coat, and underneath, loose-fitting pants. Fortunately, his tall stature prevented him from looking like a squash.
She coldly eyed him, displeased. “What should I talk to you about?”
“Why did your tendons get severed?” Michanel found himself increasingly intrigued by this young lady.
“I accidentally fell.” She didn’t want to tell the truth, nor could she. How could she say someone did it to her? That the person was violent and punished her by cutting her tendons after she disobeyed and tried to escape?
Michanel noticed her chapped lips and poured her a glass of water, offering it to her. “You’ve been asleep for a long time; you must be thirsty. Drink this.”
Seeing the glass of water, Abigail realized her throat was parched. She took the glass, murmuring, “Thank you.”
She drank the water in one gulp, feeling much better, and noticed how friendly the doctor seemed.
“Doctor, why do my legs feel numb?” She pouted, looking pitiful.
Michanel placed the glass on the table, casually saying, “Your tendons were surgically reattached, and they haven’t fully healed yet, so pain and numbness are normal. With some time and moderate exercise, you’ll be able to walk normally again.”
Hearing this, Abigail felt somewhat reassured, but still complicated. She needed to be careful to avoid becoming crippled.
“Until your tendons recover, avoid eating beef and ginger, as well as seafood and spicy, greasy foods. Consume a variety of light foods, vegetables, and fruits. Understand?”
Hearing him, Abigail could almost smell the delicious aroma already.
“I understand.”
“Good.”
As they grew more familiar, the door opened, and Ricard entered. The last person Abigail wanted to see was him, and she feared him, yet here he was. Her body instinctively recoiled, but with the pillow behind her, she had nowhere to go and could only look at Michanel, silently pleading for help.
Michanel had seen Ricard before during the surgery when he signed the consent form as the guardian. But the young lady’s gaze towards him was unusual, unlike how one would look at a relative.
What was their relationship?
- Writer
