Chapter 198

Victor Harlan didn't wait for an ambulance.

The moment Elias Verrick stormed into the adjacent lounge and explained the situation in clipped, panicked words, the professor was already moving. He snatched his kit from the floor, shoved past the stunned guests, and sprinted straight into the ballroom.

By the time he dropped to one knee beside the collapsed body, the air in the room had already thickened. Conversations had died. Music had cut off mid-note. Dozens of guests stood frozen, holding their breath, unsure if they were witnessing a medical emergency or the end of an era.

Victor's hands moved fast-expert, confident, but tight with urgency. He peeled back Xander Verrick's collar, checked his pulse, then flicked a small penlight across each eye. His brows knit deeper the longer he worked.

It took less than a minute.

And when he rose to his feet, the look on his face said everything before his mouth did.

"This isn't good," Victor said flatly, his voice slicing through the silence. "With his history-hypertension, high cholesterol, blood sugar consistently through the roof- he should've never touched a drop of alcohol, let alone drown himself in it."

He glanced at the half-empty glass near Xander's limp hand.

"I don't know how he made it this far without collapsing sooner."

Elias swallowed hard, his face pale and slick with sweat. "Is he going to make it?" Victor hesitated. Not for show he was choosing his words with care. Not because the family deserved it, but because the truth was about to detonate.

"He needs to be rushed to the hospital. Immediately. I won't lie to you, Elias," he said, his tone grim. “You need to prepare yourself. His condition is critical. The stroke hit hard."

The words landed like a body blow.

Elias staggered back half a step. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Behind him, his two younger brothers—so often loud, smug, and dripping arrogance -stood like statues. Colorless. Silent. All that fake bravado drained right out of their suits.

"Professor Harlan,” Elias rasped,

forcing himself forward, voice

cracking. "There has to be

something. Some treatment. Some

medicine. We'll pay. We'll do

whatever it takes. Just tell us."

Victor exhaled slowly, the weight of too many similar conversations pressing down

on him. He rubbed a hand over his face, jaw tight.

"Strokes are one of the cruelest

afflictions in modern medicine," he said. "Prevention is everything. Once it hits, we're playing catch-up. We can stabilize him, maybe slow the damage But what happens after that?" He shook his head "Recovery's a roll of the dice.

Sometimes the body comes back.

Sometimes it doesn't. And even if it

does... he may not be the same

man."

Elias clenched his fists. His voice dropped, ragged now. "So you're saying there's nothing?"

Victor paused.

"I didn't say that," he muttered.

Something shifted in his expression. Subtle. A flicker of memory or maybe regret.

His eyes drifted toward the ground, as if he was debating with himself whether to even speak.

"There is... one thing," he said finally.

Elias snapped to attention. "What is it?"

Victor lowered his voice, glancing

around at the growing crowd. "There's a pill. Not something you'll find in a pharmacy. Not legal. Not a approved. Not even documented in army official record i trust

He paused.

"They call it the Divine Pill."