Waylenâs forehead was covered in cold sweat.
He gripped the armrests tightly, blue veins standing out on the back of his hands.
âMr.
Fowler? Mr.
Fowler!â
The assistant woke Waylen up.
When Waylen opened his eyes, his mind went completely blank.
Most of the chaotic scenes vanished from his mind.
Only the image of Renaâs crying face was left.
Waylen lay there quietly, his head aching terribly.
Sweat dripped down his handsome face, wetting the top part of his shirt.
The hypnotist said apologetically, âMr.
Fowler, Iâm afraid we need to stop this session, unless you want to die.
What weâre doing is really dangerous.
â
Waylen took slow, deep breaths, gradually calming himself down.
Indeed, he felt as though he was going to collapse into oblivion just now.
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But he didnât want to give up.
He knew that he had seen what he wanted to know, but all the information disappeared as soon as he returned to reality.
As a stubborn man, he was not reconciled.
âI want to try again.
â
âNo, no, no.
You canât.
â
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The hypnotist wagged his finger and said, âMr.
Fowler, I refuse to serve you.
â
Realizing what was going on, Jazlyn came in and tried to plead with him.
But the hypnotist proceeded to pack up his things decisively.
âI donât get it, Mr.
Fowler.
Itâs not like your missing memories is affecting your life.
Why do you need them?â
Waylen frowned and mulled over the hypnotistâs question.
He found his answer when he got in his car.
He was doing this for Rena.
If he regained his memory and became the old Waylen again, Renaâs mental health would definitely recover.
She would be genuinely happy instead of just settling with their marriage.
Waylen couldnât stand Rena⦠âsettlingâ for him.
Waylen gracefully exited the clinic and slid into his car, his head still throbbing.
Resting against the plush backseat, he gently caressed his forehead.