Chapter 1429
Chapter 1429:
Allan cultivated infinite patience, rooted beside the bed and weaving words. Whenever his throat scorched dry, he’d seize a quick sip of water and instantly resume his monologue. He couldn’t measure how long he’d been speaking when, suddenly, Sally’s eyes split open.
At first, Allan thought his mind had conjured the vision. He locked in place, his brain scrambling to decode what his eyes reported. Then, reality detonated. He exploded to his feet, his voice fracturing with exhilaration. “You’re finally awake!”
Having just clawed her way from years of darkness, Sally’s eyes swam with confusion’s fog. She swept her gaze across the room before locking onto Allan, her stare crystallizing with quiet assessment.
Terrified she couldn’t drag him into focus, Allan edged two careful steps closer. Then, seized by sudden terror that he might brand a catastrophic first impression on his future mother-in-law, he frantically smoothed his clothes and raked fingers through his hair. Finally, he summoned a warm smile and introduced himself. “I’m Allan, the one who discovered you bleeding eight years ago and rushed you to this hospital. I’m truly sorry that I didn’t recognize you as Adah’s mother back then—and that I didn’t protect you better. Please, forgive me.”
“Allan?” Sally shaped the name with her lips, her mouth forming each syllable, but silence followed. Her vocal cords had withered after years of abandonment. Time and therapy would need to resurrect her voice.
Allan deciphered the name on her lips and blazed with joy, his tone eager and brimming with reassurance. “Yes, that’s me! I’m the man you personally selected as Adah’s fiancé all those years ago—your future son-in-law.”
For years, Allan had wrestled with the mystery of his grandfather’s tight relationship with Adah’s mother—and the archaic betrothal that had shackled him to Adah. Sally had moved through life like a ghost, her profile so obscured that not a single photograph of her existed in the Shaw archives. Allan had spent his youth weaponizing that anonymity, sabotaging the arrangement and recoiling from the match at every opportunity.
The truth had only surfaced recently. Once he unmasked Adah’s real identity, he ran to Raymond and interrogated him until the old man finally surrendered the history.
𝖁𝗶𝖊𝖜 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖋𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 ⸮ 𝖌𝖆𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀﹒𝗰𝗼𝗺
The engagement wasn’t a whim; it was a blood debt owed to Rita.
Decades ago, a midnight drive turned lethal when Raymond suffered a catastrophic medical crisis behind the wheel. His car jumped the shoulder, screaming off the asphalt before slamming into a tree. The impact left him mangled, his consciousness flickering like a dying bulb.
Silence swallowed the wreckage. In the dead of night, on a stretch of road abandoned by God, he bled out, undiscovered and fading.
Rescue arrived in the form of Rita and Sally. They didn’t just stumble upon the wreck; they acted. To stabilize his failing heart, Rita sacrificed a priceless vial of Venacure—a pharmaceutical treasure worth a king’s ransom.
After the emergency field surgery and their frantic drive to the hospital, the two women physically dragged Raymond back from the precipice.
The aftermath was a chorus of disbelief from the surgical team. They confirmed the grim reality: Raymond’s life had been measured in seconds. Without that immediate, high-stakes intervention at the crash site, he would have arrived at the morgue instead of the ER.
The hospital staff became obsessed with identifying the “ghost surgeon.” The techniques used on the roadside were nothing short of miraculous, betraying a medical virtuoso whose brilliance eclipsed every doctor on the payroll.
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