The Unlucky Turn by Mark Twain 346

On the hospital bed, the man leaned halfway against the headboard. His face was obscured by the shadows, revealing only a pair of eyes as sharp as a hawk’s.

Leilani had only seen him when he was comatose. Now, seeing his eyes open, a wave of oppressive pressure washed over her.

The blinds in the room were half-drawn, keeping the lighting dim. The daylight filtering in from outside was sliced thin, casting a cold, solitary shadow on the floor.

Mr. Chilton sat with his back straight against the headboard, his posture rigid like an unsheathed sword. He wore simple patient pajamas, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His wrists were bony and defined, his skin tanned and marked with faint, pale scars that looked like secret medals of honor.

As Leilani approached, he lifted his eyes slightly. In that instant, Leilani felt as if she were pinned in place by an invisible force.

Mr. Chilton’s gaze was quiet, yet terrifyingly so. It was like a block of ice submerged in a deep pool-calm on the surface, but concealing turbulent undercurrents.

It didn’t take much to recognize the look of a man used to absolute command. He radiated authority without anger. Without a single word, he made people instinctively tense up.

Mr. Chilton’s fingers tapped lightly on the edge of the bed twice. The rhythm was steady, as if he were calculating something, or perhaps just habitually controlling the pace of the interaction.

It was this movement that drew Leilani’s attention to his hands. His fingernails were trimmed extremely short, clean and sharp, without a single unnecessary curve. His large palms were covered

in calluses.

Leilani took in all of Mr. Chilton’s characteristics at a glance. She steadied herself, stepped forward, and introduced herself. “Hello, I’m Leilani Sloan.”

Mr. Chilton nodded slightly, his voice deep and raspy. “Ms. Sloan. Hello.”

When he spoke, his tone was low and level, yet it carried an inexplicable, undeniable power.

“I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Those few simple words, spoken by Mr. Chilton, sounded like a command, or perhaps a judgment.

Leilani instinctively held her breath and paused for a moment. “You know who I am?”

She quickly realized it was a redundant question. After all, the man had specifically asked to see her; of course he knew who she was. Floyd must have briefed him after he woke up.

At this moment, Leilani also realized that from the second she stepped into this room, Mr. Chilton had been exerting pressure to test her. Otherwise, a man of his stature wouldn’t need to be so aggressive toward a doctor.

Thinking of this, Leilani calmed down significantly, shedding her earlier unease.

Mr. Chilton noticed the change in her. He chuckled low in his throat and didn’t answer directly.

Instead, he slowly raised his hand, signaling the bodyguards to leave.

16:04

Soon, only Mr. Chilton and Leilani remained in the room. His gaze rested on her. It was a casual glance, yet it felt as if it could pierce through her skin and look straight into her soul.

Mr. Chilton was scrutinizing her. He was using a look that was… almost like he was appraising an

asset.

The silence in the room was terrifying; even the sound of breathing felt intrusive.

Leilani stood her ground, meeting Mr. Chilton’s gaze calmly.

After a long while, Mr. Chilton finally nodded slightly, the sharpness in his eyes receding just enough to reveal a trace of imperceptible approval.

“Have a seat.”

By now, Mr. Chilton had retracted his imposing aura. Compared to a moment ago, he now looked more like an amiable elder.

Leilani sat down slowly, only then realizing that a thin layer of cold sweat had broken out on her back.

“I heard from Mr. Dillon that you were the one who saved me.”

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