When Olivia covered her mouth in shock, her whole body trembling with excitement, I could feel how desperately she wanted to believe me. If her son truly regained sensation, he would finally have the chance to stand again. "In theory, yes," I told her, keeping my voice calm even though her hope was almost blinding. "For now, have him lie inside so I can begin the neuro-stimulation procedure." I slipped on a pair of medical gloves, and the moment I picked up the case of micro-needles, thin, specialized conductive probes used for targeted peripheral nerve stimulatio, I felt my professional focus seal tightly into place. My demeanor always changed in moments like this; it wasn't mystical, but people often said the precision made me look like I was surrounded by some kind of glow.
Olivia immediately pushed Jason inside and helped him lie down. I began working. The technique looked delicate, almost artistic micro-probes placed at exact angles along dormant neural pathways, a controlled electrical micro-current stimulating the atrophied neuromuscular junctions. It did resemble "dancing needles," except this wasn't ancient mysticism. It was high-precision Western neuro-modulation.
Olivia's eyes were wide with astonishment, completely silent. She had thought the people in her social circle exaggerated. They didn't. If anything, they had understated it. Techniques like these were usually found only in specialist neuro-rehabilitation centers and even then, only a handful of practitioners worldwide had mastered them.
Jason, on the other hand, remained outwardly calm. I could sense a brief ripple of emotion inside him, but it settled quickly.
When the procedure was done, I lowered his pant leg. "How do you feel now?" Jason returned to his usual stillness, his voice soft and pleasant like flowing water. "Nothing. I don't feel anything at all." Olivia helped him sit back in the wheelchair.
"That's normal," I said. "You wouldn't feel anything immediately. But if sensation returns within a week, then we can move on to the next phase of treatment." I wrote a prescription neuromuscular activation medication, supplements for nerve repair, and anti-inflammatory agents to reduce micro-edema around the damaged nerves. "Take these alongside today's procedure. The combined effect will be much stronger."
Hezze snapped out of her daze, she had been staring at Jason the whole time and rushed off to the pharmacy when I motioned at her.
"Thank you, Dr. Bailey," Olivia said, taking the medication bag. "I'll supervise him myself." She shot Jason a warning glance. She knew her son. He used to be obedient; now he rejected every treatment and threw out every medicine. But with even a sliver of hope, she couldn't allow him to refuse anything, not anymore.
Jason lowered his eyes, lips pressed together. I glanced at him. So much for his gentle, elegant appearance on the inside he was a troublesome patient who hated medicine.
"Please supervise him strictly," I told Olivia. "He must not skip doses."
"I will," she nodded immediately, eyes firm.
When they left, Hezze practically exploded. "Rosy, that guy was so handsome. What a pity his legs aren't working! They looked terrifying, both so atrophied. Can they really be healed?"
"They can," I said simply, though my brows furrowed at the memory of Jason's expression. "But he'll be difficult. As long as he cooperates and takes his medication, it should be possible."
"With his mom watching him like a hawk, he'll have to," Hezze declared confidently. "Besides, if he dares not cooperate, Rosy will turn the handsome guy into a handsome fool."
I laughed without answering.
Hezze excitedly pulled out her phone. "Rosy, you're trending. Everyone's talking about the young doctor at our hospital, some even call you a 'miracle doctor'. They say you can treat anything."
"No way," I said, laughing. "That's too exaggerated."
"See for yourself." She shoved the phone in my face.
I skimmed through the posts. People were recommending me everywhere. No wonder the hospital had been packed lately. But reading labels like revival from death, descended miracle healer made chills run down my spine.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered. "What's next, calling me a celestial doctor from a drama?"
"You basically are a walking drama," she teased. "You're cool as hell."
"You're being dramatic," I said, flicking her forehead.
By the time my long day ended and I returned to the mansion, I immediately noticed a black car parked in the back courtyard. My heart tightened. Captian is back? After disappearing for an entire month?
I pressed my lips together and cautiously stepped inside.
He was there. Sitting on the sofa. Still wearing that dark trench coat, face pale but breathtakingly sharp and exhausted, as if he could fall asleep any second.
I inhaled deeply and forced a smile. "Mr. Anderson, you disappeared for a whole month. Were you busy with company matters?"
He lifted his gaze. When his eyes met mine, the darkness inside them softened for a brief second. "Come here. Sit."
I obeyed. The moment I sat down, he leaned against me, resting his entire weight on my shoulder. "Company matters," he murmured. "Did you miss me?"
I smiled sweetly. "Yes."
"Then why didn't you text me?" he asked lazily.
My spine stiffened. Sweat prickled. "I didn't want to disturb your work… I really did miss you, Mr. Anderson. Truly."
He let out a quiet, cold laugh, but didn't say anything more. His breathing soon evened out. He had fallen asleep.
He fell asleep on my shoulder again.
I didn't dare move. Forty minutes later, he finally opened his eyes like a waking beast. My back was already numb.
"Rosy," he whispered near my ear. His voice was low, husky, dangerously gentle.
I forced a pleasant smile. "Mr. Anderson, you're awake?"
He hummed lazily. He pushed himself up still beautiful, still terrifying.
"Come with me tonight," he said, placing a gold-edged invitation in my hand. "The Richart family. Wear your ring."
I frowned and opened the card, only to freeze. It wasn't a gala.
It was an auction. A high-end one where priceless items were sold, and all proceeds went to charity for sick children.
Suddenly, I remembered what Captian and Hunter had discussed a month ago, the land they needed was in a restricted military zone, impossible to acquire normally. But the owner would attend an auction in a month.
This must be that auction.
A chill ran down my spine. My hands trembled.
Would anything dangerous happen there? Would there be conflict, bloodshed?
Could I… not go?