Chapter 244

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Nicole's nerves, tense to the limit, calmed only when she was safely inside the ambulance.

A sensation of something descending through her lower abdomen took hold of her. Had her baby not managed to live after the torment she had gone through?

A mouthful of blood escaped Nicole's lips. His fingers clenched so tightly that blood oozed from his grip.

Jarrod! What a bastard! How could he be so cruel as to get rid of his own son? How dare you!

At the hospital, Jarrod stayed by Jamie's side.

Jamie, upon close examination, was unharmed. The fork had not hit his artery.

In the chaos, Jamie had pressed her hand against the wound, making the bleeding look more serious than it was.

Traumatized, Jamie repeatedly expressed her fear that Nicole wanted to kill her, and opted to stay in the hospital for a few more days with Jarrod by her side.

At that moment, Jarrod left the room to remain alone in the hallway for a moment.

He was about to light up a cigarette when his phone rang. Alec was on the line.

"Mr. Schultz, I went to pick up Miss Lawrence as instructed, but Mr. Dixon's men had already secured her medical parole."

Had Mitchel gotten Nicole medical parole? Jarrod thought for a moment and put it together. Raegan must have talked to Mitchel and asked for help.

He remembered Mitchel's call from the night before, which he had neglected due to Jamie's distress.

This had to be the topic of that missed call.

He had never intended to keep Nicole for long. Doing this favor for Mitchel seemed good to him.

"Forget it. Take care of unfinished business.

«It's already done. "The case against her has been withdrawn."

"Good."

After a pause, Alec added with concern: "But it seems that Miss Lawrence suffered serious injuries..."

At that moment, a doctor, hurrying with a stretcher, passed Jarrod.

"Sir, please step aside."

Jarrod shifted, his eyes briefly meeting the stretcher as he asked Alec, “What did he just say?”

“Miss Lawrence was injured in the detention center,” Alec responded.

A moment passed without a response.

"Mr. Schultz, are you there?"

Jarrod let go and his phone fell to the ground.

He stood, stunned and motionless, staring at the scene before him.

On the stretcher, covered in blood, lay Nicole.

His face was deathly pale, in stark contrast to the dark blood under his nails. His arm hung lifeless from the stretcher.

Blood soaked the lower part of his body, and the horror of his ordeal was evident on the white cloth.

Jarrod felt a sudden, stabbing pain in his temples.

He rushed forward, gripping the edge of the stretcher, disbelief etched on his face.

I needed confirmation.

The doctor, frowning, tried to push Jarrod's hand away.

“Sir, you are hindering our emergency treatment!”

Jarrod's refusal to move away made the doctor push him harder.

"Please don't obstruct our efforts to save her!"

Jarrod's mind came to and he slowly loosened his grip. But then, a weak grip grabbed his hand.

“Nicole!” Jarrod's voice was a mix of shock and surprise.

Nicole's eyes widened, the whites tinged with red. He looked at him, motionless.

«Jarrod, you got what you wanted. "You yourself have killed our son."

Nicole's voice, rough and tense as if burned by flames, could barely be heard. His words were difficult to make out.

Reading her lips, Jarrod felt like he was struck by lightning.

Was the child he had tried to eliminate his?

Nicole's blurred vision didn't allow her to make out his expression. I only saw shadowy figures. His hand weakly slid downwards.

"Jarrod," he whispered.

"My last wish is that you be cursed with illness and loneliness throughout your life..."

His voice, full of hatred, despair and disgust, was hoarse and weak.

Jarrod watched her lips carefully, deciphering every word that the others couldn't decipher.

He felt as if her bloody hand was choking him, and his hand stiffened in response.

After a moment, Jarrod spoke through clenched teeth, his voice strained.

«Nicole, stop talking about death! "You don't scare anyone."

The doctor intervened urgently: “Sir, the patient is bleeding. "His actions are putting his life in danger."

To the medical team, Jarrod seemed upset.

They did not understand why Jarrod was trying to communicate with a patient who could only make wheezing sounds due to her damaged vocal cords.

Finally, Jarrod released him. He remained motionless, then picked up his phone from the ground and followed the medical team.

Outside the emergency room, Jarrod's hands were shaking uncontrollably.

He had thought that confining her to the detention center would only limit her freedom, teaching her a lesson for defying and harming the untouchables.

How could things have ended like this...

What did Nicole mean by accusing him of killing his own son?

A sharp pain, like a needle, hit his temple. Leaning against the wall, he marked Alec.

«Find out everything that happened to Nicole in the detention center.

If you miss a single detail, they will torture you to death.”

The medical team stretched for eight grueling hours.

«Jarrod, you got what you wanted. "You yourself have killed our son."

Nicole's voice, rough and strained as if burned by flames, was barely audible. His words were difficult to make out.

Reading her lips, Jarrod felt like he was struck by lightning.

Was the child he had tried to eliminate his?

Nicole's blurred vision didn't allow her to make out his expression. I only saw shadowy figures. His hand weakly slid downwards.

"Jarrod," he whispered.

"My last wish is that you be cursed with illness and loneliness throughout your life..."

His voice, full of hatred, despair and disgust, was hoarse and weak.

Jarrod watched her lips carefully, deciphering every word that the others couldn't decipher.

He felt as if her bloody hand was choking him, and his hand stiffened in response.

After a moment, Jarrod spoke through clenched teeth, his voice strained.

«Nicole, stop talking about death! "You don't scare anyone."

The doctor intervened urgently: “Sir, the patient is bleeding. "His actions are putting his life in danger."

To the medical team, Jarrod seemed upset.

They did not understand why Jarrod was trying to communicate with a patient who could only make wheezing sounds due to her damaged vocal cords.

Finally, Jarrod released him. He remained motionless, then picked up his phone from the ground and followed the medical team.

Outside the emergency room, Jarrod's hands were shaking uncontrollably.

He had thought that confining her to the detention center would only limit her freedom, teaching her a lesson for defying and harming the untouchables.

How could things have ended like this...

What did Nicole mean by accusing him of killing his own son?

A sharp pain, like a needle, hit his temple. Leaning against the wall, he marked Alec.

«Find out everything that happened to Nicole in the detention center.

If you miss a single detail, they will torture you to death.”

The medical team stretched for eight grueling hours.

Jarrod stood outside the operating room, motionless, his figure like a statue.

Inside, Nicole lay on the table, her complexion pale and her breathing momentarily stopped.

The operation was in the hands of the hospital's most experienced professor, assisted by a promising young doctor named Roscoe.

Roscoe, despite his youth and lack of qualification to be chief surgeon, was extraordinarily skilled in researching drug therapies, especially in the treatment of cancer and prolonging life.

On the operating table, the professor looked at Nicole, whose abdomen was severely compromised, and slowly shook his head.

"It's too late..."

The normally composed Roscoe showed a crack in his demeanor. With a slightly hoarse voice, he implored, "Please save her."

Looking at the normally stoic Roscoe, the professor asked, "Who is this woman to you?"

Roscoe's thoughts drift back to the summer he first saw Nicole.

At that time, Nicole, eighteen years old, was accompanying her father to a charity event in the countryside.

She was wearing a striking red dress, complemented by a wide-brimmed black hat, and her skin was delicate. Her smile was like that of a radiant and dazzling red rose.

He later learned Nicole's name and her identity as the daughter of a wealthy businessman known for helping disadvantaged children like him.

That fleeting encounter lingered in his memory, a moment frozen in time that left an indelible mark on Roscoe's heart.

Roscoe had personally raised 50 million to help Nicole pay off her debts. He sold his prized patent and traveled abroad for medical exchanges, all to improve his qualifications and increase his income.

However, Nicole was still here, seriously injured.

The once impeccable lady was now marked by wounds, and he felt powerless to help her.

His abilities, formidable as they were, seemed insignificant compared to the harsh realities of capitalism. He could only stand by while she suffered.

With determination burning in his eyes, Roscoe firmly stated, "She is the most important person to me."

In the operating room, despite his exceptional talent, Roscoe was powerless to help Nicole.

Emotions could cloud judgment.

After the operation, only Roscoe and a nurse remained.

Nicole, barely conscious, recognized a familiar figure and felt relief.

His eyelashes trembled, his voice was barely a whisper. Through his lips, he transmitted: "Ros... I don't want others to know about my illness."

He refused to spend his last days under the weight of pity and compassion.

He longed to maintain his dignity, to leave this world with grace and poise.

"I understand," Roscoe replied, understanding her wishes.

He stroked her hair tenderly, his voice firm.

"Don't worry. "You will not be alone."

He decided to be by her side if that day came.

Nicole fell asleep peacefully.

Roscoe's gaze turned icy as he faced the nurse, asking, "Is that man still waiting outside?"

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