“Dr. Scott! Bed three needs resuscitation! Now!”
Martin’s hand froze mid-air.
Before he could process what was happening, he heard the sound of rushing footsteps.
Seven or eight doctors and nurses blew past him like a gust of wind.
“Out of the way!”
A doctor shoved Martin, who was blocking the doorway, and someone even stepped on his expensive leather shoes.
The group swarmed into the ICU.
The door slammed shut.
Martin was pushed into a corner, a look of complete bewilderment on his face.
Grace leaned against the wall, a cold sweat breaking out on her forehead.
That shove had really hurt.
But seeing Martin’s defeated expression brought her a sharp sense of satisfaction.
“Uncle Martin.”
She offered a weak smile.
“It seems your little… outburst didn’t go as planned.”
Martin turned and glared at Grace, his eyes burning with rage.
It finally dawned on him. This woman had played him!
With so many doctors inside trying to save the patient, what chance did he have to do anything?
“You… you bitch!”
Martin raised his hand in a fury.
This time, he truly meant to strike her.
But before his hand could land, another hand clamped around his wrist in mid-air like an iron vise.
A sickening crack echoed in the hall.
It was the sound of a bone being displaced.
“Aargh—!”
Martin let out a bloodcurdling scream.
Damien stood there, an icy chill surrounding him.
His suit still carried the cold from outside.
His gaze was more terrifying than if he were looking at a mortal enemy.
“Uncle Martin, were you planning to use this hand to hit my woman?”

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