Chapter 3

On the other end of the phone, the clinic manager's obsequious voice echoed through the corridor via speakerphone.

"Mrs. VanderMeer, please don't be angry! I'll send security personnel over right away to get rid of those insolent creatures!"

The communication was cut off. Mrs. VanderMeer pointed at Claire and me with her finger adorned with a heavy diamond ring: "Did you hear that? Throw them out into the snow. If they dare to struggle, teach them a lesson."

Two burly bodyguards immediately surrounded them.

I quickly turned around, cornering Claire and Ellie, who was holding a feverish woman in my arms, against the wall, using my body to create a barrier in front of them.

At the same time, I tightly clasped my hands together in front of my chest.

As the surgeon, my hands are life-sustaining instruments. Hours later, these hands will have to dissect the senator's fragile coronary arteries; any minor fracture, abrasion, or muscle spasm could lead to a fatal disaster on the operating table.

I couldn't fight back, I couldn't even use my hands to block.

"Still dare to block me?" A bodyguard reached out and grabbed the back of my collar, trying to pull me away.

I planted my feet firmly on the terrazzo floor, enduring the force with my bare hands. Then, heavy blows slammed into my back and shoulders.

"Ugh..." I gritted my teeth, swallowed the groan in my throat, and leaned forward involuntarily, but still tried my best to spread my elbows so that my weight would not fall on Claire and Ellie.

"Lucas! Stop hitting me, please stop!" Claire was trembling with fear. She desperately tried to push me away and shield me from the punches, tears streaming down her face as they fell onto my chest. "Let's go, we'll go now..."

Ellie, feverish and terrified, no longer had the strength to cry out loud. She nestled in Claire's arms, letting out weak gasps. My daughter's deathly pale face felt like a dull saw cutting into my heart.

I can cut through the most complex network of blood vessels in the human body, but at this moment I can only stand like a sandbag, using my flesh and blood to withstand these brutal punches and kicks.

"Stop for a moment." Mrs. VanderMeer approached in her high heels, her pungent perfume suffocating the surrounding air.

The bodyguard stopped what she was doing. She poked my snow- and dust-covered coat with her fingertip in disgust, looking me up and down as I hunched over protecting my wife and daughter, her eyes filled with undisguised contempt.

"You think standing there and taking a beating makes you a man?" She sneered contemptuously. "You don't even dare to fight back. You coward, do you even deserve to protect your wife and kids like others?"

Before she could finish speaking, she suddenly raised her hand.

"Smack!"

A heavy slap landed hard on my left cheek.

The enormous diamond ring on her ring finger sliced deeply across my cheekbone like a blade. A searing pain exploded instantly, warm liquid slid down my cheek, and the metallic taste of blood spread rapidly in my mouth.

The slap was extremely powerful, and I experienced a brief ringing in my left ear.

“Lucas!” Claire screamed desperately, trying to rush out, but I held her firmly against the wall.

I turned my head away, swallowed the blood in my mouth, and calmly looked at the high and mighty woman in front of me, trying to keep my voice down: "That's enough, please stop."

"Enough is enough? Who do you think you are, daring to lecture me?" She raised her arm again, pointing at my nose and shrilly ordering the bodyguards, "Beat him! Drag him away, let him watch his meddlesome wife get thrown into the snowdrift!"

The bodyguard received instructions, grabbed my hair, and another man raised his foot, which was wearing a hard-toed leather shoe, and kicked me hard in the back of the knee.

My knee slammed heavily against the hard tiles, the pain excruciating. But I still held my hand tightly to my chest, like a leaning but unyielding wall, shielding my wife and daughter completely beneath me.

Just as the second kick was about to strike my ribs.

At the end of the emergency room corridor, a sudden burst of chaotic and heavy footsteps erupted.

"Stop! All of you, stop!"

The shout, filled with extreme anxiety and almost shattered panic, forcefully cleaved through the tense atmosphere of the corridor.

Dr. Harrison, the director of New York-Presbyterian Hospital, was leading seven or eight top cardiac surgeons, rushing towards them without regard for their appearance. The hems of their white coats were fluttering wildly in the air, and each of them had beads of sweat on their foreheads.

"Dr. Sterling! Good heavens, Dr. Sterling!" Dean Harrison gasped for breath, his voice filled with terror.

The bodyguards were stunned by the sudden appearance of the expert team, their raised fists frozen in mid-air. Mrs. VanderMeer also frowned and turned around in confusion.

Dean Harrison practically stumbled into the crowd, shoving aside the bodyguard blocking his way.

"The whole city is looking for you! What are you doing here!" He gasped for breath, speaking rapidly, "The senator's condition has deteriorated prematurely, his blood vessel walls are at risk of tearing at any moment, and the surgery must begin immediately!"

The once noisy corridor fell into a deathly silence, with only the heavy breathing of the experts and Claire's suppressed sobs remaining.

Dean Harrison took a moment to calm his breathing and looked down at me, who was kneeling on the ground.

When his gaze fell upon the redness and swelling on my face, the deep, still bleeding scratch, and my hands that I was clutching tightly to my chest, he froze.

"What...what happened?" His voice trembled violently, and his eyes revealed undisguised fear. "Who did this?"