Deep Sea Farewell, She Has Nothing

The operating lights in the emergency room were blindingly white, like a knife hanging overhead.

I lay on my back on the operating table, my stomach feeling like it was filled with shards of glass. Waves of excruciating pain tore down my esophagus, and every breath tasted of blood. The ticking of the cardiac monitor echoed in the empty room, like some kind of cold countdown.

Three hours ago.

To help Vivian secure the exclusive investment rights from a Wall Street tycoon, I single-handedly endured that hellish drinking session. The other party was a notoriously difficult old fox, with an astonishing capacity for alcohol and ruthless methods. I forced him to down three bottles of bourbon, each sip feeling like swallowing charcoal.

But I held on.

The moment the other party signed the letter of intent, it felt like an invisible hand was suddenly squeezing my stomach, and excruciating pain instantly pierced my nerves. I bent over and spat a mouthful of black blood onto the newly signed contract.

The secretary screamed and dialed an ambulance. By the time I was lifted into the ambulance, I was already losing consciousness. The last thing I saw was the contract stained with my blood being carefully put into a folder—at least, I got it for her.

The doctors performed gastric lavage, administered clotting agents, and put me on an IV drip. A large area of my stomach lining had sloughed off, and my esophagus was torn in multiple places. If I had been brought in half an hour later, the consequences would have been unimaginable.

But I don't care.

As long as Vivian's company can survive and weather this cash flow crisis, I'd be willing to risk my life for it.

"The patient needs absolute rest and must be hospitalized for observation for at least 48 hours." After instructing the nurse, the attending physician turned and left the ward.

I leaned against the hospital bed, too weak to even lift my hand. A thick needle was stuck in the back of my left hand, and cold medicine dripped from the transparent IV tube.

Vivian will definitely come to see me. She knows how much I've sacrificed for her; she'll feel sorry for me, she'll hold my hand tightly, and she'll cry. It'll all be worth it.

I closed my eyes, feeling drowsy under the influence of the medication.

After some time, the sound of hurried high heels came from the corridor.

Tap, tap, tap—

Crisp, rapid, carrying a certain suppressed anger.

I suddenly opened my eyes, and my heart skipped a beat.

It's Vivian.

As I turned the doorknob, I instinctively tried to sit up to greet her .

The ward door was kicked open and slammed against the wall.

I was just about to call her name—

"Smack!"

A slap landed hard on my face.

The force was so great that my head snapped to the side, the back of my head slamming against the pillow. My eardrums were ringing, the inside of my mouth was ruptured, and the metallic taste of blood spread across my tongue.

I was stunned.

"Ms. Vivian!" the nurse exclaimed, rushing forward. "Mr. Arthur suffered a large-scale detachment of his gastric mucosa and has just been resuscitated. You can't—"

Vivian shoved the nurse away with such force that the nurse stumbled and crashed into the medical cart, scattering metal instruments all over the floor with a clatter.

She strode to the bedside. On that face I had loved for seven years, there was no heartache, no anxiety, only a ferocious rage.

"You won't die!"

She grabbed my hospital gown by the collar and yanked my weak body off the pillow.

The movement pulled at my stomach, sending a sharp pain through my body like an electric shock, and cold sweat instantly soaked my back.

"Arthur, why didn't you pay any attention to Julian at the drinking party?!"

Julian.

The name was like a needle, piercing precisely into my spasming stomach and churning violently.

I swallowed hard, my throat filled with the metallic taste of blood.

"I'm shielding you from the drinks..." My voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible, "Those old foxes are trying to get people drunk to death. If I get distracted... your cash flow will dry up..."

"Shut up!"

Vivian's eyes were red, but not because she felt sorry for me.

“Julian has severe depression! He can’t handle any shocks! You know how fragile his mental state is, why don’t you do anything about it?”

Her hands were trembling, and her nails were digging into my shoulder, causing a sharp pain.

"Just now in the hallway, he was bumped by a drunk man, and his panic attack flared up on the spot. He couldn't even breathe properly in the next room! And you, you just stood by and watched?"

I was in so much pain that my vision was going black, but I wanted to laugh.

I got bumped.

It was just that a drunkard accidentally bumped into him.

As for me, I drank so much for her that I suffered a stomach hemorrhage and was rushed to the emergency room, my life hanging by a thread.

At my critical moment, all she cared about was the fear Julian had suffered.

"Let me go..."

I weakly moved my arm, trying to break free from her grip. It wasn't to escape; it was just too painful. My stomach was cramping, and every muscle in my body was screaming.

But this slight resistance was like a match, instantly igniting all her anger.

"Stop acting all high and mighty!" Vivian said fiercely, her gaze sweeping over me before finally settling on the thick IV needle in the back of my left hand.

"Vivian, no—"

She suddenly raised her hand, grabbed the transparent IV tubing, and yanked it outwards.

"laugh--"

The needle, along with a small piece of skin and flesh, was forcibly pulled out of the blood vessel.

Bright red blood gushed out instantly, splattering onto the snow-white sheets in a shocking sight.

The intense pain made me let out a suppressed groan. My body felt completely drained, and I could no longer support myself, so I collapsed off the bed.

"Bang--"

I fell heavily onto the marble floor, my knees and elbows aching, but it was nothing compared to the churning in my stomach.

Vivian stood by the bed, looking down at me curled up on the floor, her eyes as cold as if she were looking at a piece of trash.

"Stop playing dead." Her voice was devoid of any warmth. "Even if you have to crawl, you have to crawl to the next room and apologize to Julian today."

I lay on the ground, panting heavily, the taste of blood in my mouth growing stronger. I looked down and saw a few drops of pinkish blood foam spill from the corner of my mouth, splashing onto the smooth floor tiles.

Vivian saw the few drops of blood, but she just frowned and didn't even squat down to help me up.

The sound of high heels reached her ears, and she turned and walked out of the ward.

"I'll give you three minutes," her voice came from the corridor, cold and ruthless. "If I don't see you here in three minutes, you know what will happen."

I gripped the cold edge of the bed so tightly that my fingernails snapped and bled, and struggled to stand up, my body feeling like it was about to fall apart.

My right leg is trembling; every step I take hurts after my kneecap was bruised.

I clutched my bleeding hand and dragged my leaden legs, inch by inch, toward the door.

A corridor that is more than ten meters long.

His death was like a slow, agonizing procession.

The nurse tried to come over and help me, but I pushed her away without saying a word.

The "next ward" that Vivian mentioned was at the end of the corridor.

The door was half-open, and soft classical music and rising steam from black tea drifted out.

I pushed the door open.

Julian was leaning against the hospital bed covered with velvet pillows.

His face was rosy, his lips were full, and he was leisurely scrolling through his phone while holding a steaming cup of Ceylon tea.

What panic attack is this?

What kind of near-death experience is this?

He couldn't be better, he was even a million times healthier than me, who had just crawled out of the emergency room.

Seeing me standing there covered in blood, leaning against the doorframe, swaying precariously, Julian's eyes flashed with a hint of smugness.

Immediately, he put down his teacup, shrank into the quilt, his eyes instantly reddened, and his voice trembled like a leaf in the wind.

"Vivian...I'm so scared..."

Vivian rushed out from the corner, pulled him into her arms, and turned to look at me with eyes as sharp as knives.

"Arthur! Are you deaf? Get over here and apologize!"

She patted Julian's back gently while gritting her teeth, "Say you didn't protect him! Say you were wrong!"

I stood at the doorway, watching this scene unfold.

Julian nestled in Vivian's arms like a docile lamb, while Vivian, like a mother beast protecting her cub, looked on with wariness and hostility.

And me.

I was still wearing a hospital gown stained with blood, blood was still seeping from the wound on the back of my hand, my stomach was churning with acid and blood, and my legs could barely support my weight.

A metallic sweetness surged up in my throat, and I forced myself to swallow it down.

As an heir to the Pendleton family, I have never bowed my head before those ruthless Wall Street tycoons.

But at this moment.

Looking at the woman in front of me, the woman I would give my life for.

Looking at the pretentious, poorly acting clown in her arms.

The piercing feeling of weightlessness dragged me into an endless abyss.

The blood pressure in my stomach kept surging up, dripping down my chin and onto the floor, the sound particularly clear in the quiet ward.

I stared at Vivian's eyes, which were filled with disgust.

I loved her for seven years.

Seven years.

All the effort, all the sacrifices, all the humility and flattery, were ground to dust at this moment.

I bent down little by little.

"sorry."

As drops of blood fell, I heard my hoarse voice echoing in the ward.

Julian snuggled even deeper into Vivian's arms.

Vivian snorted coldly, "Get lost."

I turned around, dragging my broken body, and walked step by step to the end of the corridor.

Julian's gentle voice came from behind: "Vivian, do you think he will hate me?"

“He wouldn’t dare,” Vivian said confidently and firmly. “He can’t live without me.”

I closed my eyes.

Seven years have passed.

That's enough.