Chapter 150

When Whitney arrived at the scene, Braxton had already been whisked away to a private hospital, and a crowd had gathered at the gates of the Tarrington Mansion. Braxton was a pillar of the community and head of the city’s administration, and many from the police force, government, and competing corporations had all come together to speculate and gossip.

The gravity of the situation was undeniable; if Braxton were to pass, the scandal surrounding Ludwik would be impossible to contain.

The pressure from these political powers was immense, and there was no doubt that competitors were stirring trouble behind the scenes.

Whitney felt her head spinning, and the cold air she breathed did nothing to calm her nerves.

Braxton had suffered another stroke.

Her mother had taught her acupuncture, a skill Whitney had a natural gift for, especially when it came to treating the brain. Some of her techniques were beyond the explanation of medicine, yet they worked wonders, targeting mysterious points on the body.

As a child, Whitney had even heard her mother speak of using acupuncture to manipulate someone’s memory and temperament by controlling the nerves in the skull, a practice her mother never actually pursued.

Years ago, it was through acupuncture that she had treated a man suffering from nocturnal epilepsy, restoring him to health.

ཋ འཆ ྾རྗ ༠ཆ ༢༅ ༤

Clutching her hands tightly, Whitney’s gaze hardened, and she immediately instructed the driver to take her to Braxton’s private hospital.

At the hospital, Whitney could only make it as far as the foyer. Braxton’s room was at the end of a hallway teeming with well–wishers, with Tarrington relatives standing guard at the very back.

Doctors were bustling in and out as the situation grew increasingly dire.

Whitney could only catch snippets of conversation about Braxton’s condition – a ruptured blood vessel in his brain was causing a hemorrhage, compressing the nerves. They could not operate for fear of aggravating the injury, and he was in a coma, unlikely to survive the night.

The most esteemed neurosurgeons had been summoned, but even they were helpless, declaring Braxton’s time

B = F3 F S

was near.

Tears streaked the faces of Braxton’s relatives, who were at a loss for what to do.

surge of determination. She tried to approach but was halted by security, who mistook her for a press member

let alone speak to anyone from

hospital entrance, checking

pulled up, and a man with an imposing figure hurried out and dashed into

Bang!

time to collide with the man. She nearly fell, but he quickly steadied

he looked up, his worried eyes met hers, and he paused in recognition. “Whitney? What are you doing here

Lutz, what brings you to this hospital?” Whitney asked, looking pale

through the night. I was nearby for a function and came as soon as

moment – Braxton.

Bryce’s mentor be….

hope. She grabbed Bryce’s sleeve, urgent. “Mr. Lutz,

furrowed his brow. Then his expression

Braxton was ill.

“Your man has been taken into police custody. Your being here won’t change anything.”

will. I can cure Braxton!” Whitney

Bryce eyed her skeptically. “Even if you want to save him, you can’t just do as you please, Whitney. Human

Braxton. They’ve written him off. for the night and refuse to operate, afraid of the

with urgency. “I have a unique acupuncture technique that can stem the bleeding in Braxton’s brain. If he’s left to wait,

medical license?”

alternative medicine license

“You’re desperate to save that man, utterly

sleeve, but Bryce walked

Group in Banyan City, the Tarrington family knew him. With tears in his eyes, Braxton’s son led Bryce into the room.

stiffened. Whitney’s words about Braxton’s condition were true.

Braxton, Bryce’s face turned ashen. His mentor was on the brink of brain death, kept

into the hallway, his handsome face drawn with

had dismissed the gathering

wait at the hospital entrance, saw Bryce smoking in the chill of the hallway. She managed

an hour later, lips pressed, Bryce stepped

stood anxiously on the hospital steps.

led her to a shadowed part of the hallway, his expression serious. “Is your

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