Harvey left the bedroom door ajar, the soft, warm glow of the floor lamp casting gentle shadows across the room. He had intended only to glance inside, but the moment his eyes landed on the bed, his expression shifted from casual to shocked.
Vivian lay there, dressed in an intricately detailed period costume. Her features were serene as if she were in the deepest sleep.
"Vivian!" Harvey exclaimed as he rushed over to her.
His voice, sharp and urgent, should have been enough to rouse even the deepest sleeper. But Vivian remained motionless, her breathing steady, lost in an unyielding slumber.
Frowning with concern, Harvey grabbed a nearby infrared thermometer and checked her temperature—97.88°F, perfectly normal. Still, something was wrong.
"Vivian?" He called again, but there was no response.
Her complexion was pale, and she seemed to have lost weight. A pang of guilt gripped him; he had been downstairs, oblivious to her return. Even without a fever, his worry deepened.
Going to the hospital didn't seem necessary right now, but something still felt off. Without hesitation, he immediately called Howard.
Howard arrived within 20 minutes, carrying a stethoscope and a first aid kit. The urgency in Harvey's voice had left no room for delay.
There were some medical supplies at the Galaxy Villa, but they were mostly kept in the basement for easy access in case of emergencies.
"Her outfit…" Howard noticed right away.
Vivian's period costume, clearly from a different era, was not just a mere costume or something seen in photos or movies. The fabric and embroidery were exquisite, far more intricate and refined than anything seen in the modern era.
The outfit she wore now was more elaborate and sophisticated.
Harvey beckoned Howard closer. He realized it was time to be honest with him. "Check on her first. I'll explain everything after."
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