Contrary to whispers of the magnate Douglas, already on the mend and off to seal a monumental deal in Livebop, the truth was far grimmer.

Inside the sterile walls of the operating room, the urgency was palpable.

Leonel was fading, his blood loss significant.

His left leg, badly broken, would soon be pieced together with metal, and the doctors warned of a possible future bound to a wheelchair.

The damage was that grave.

His thigh, a jigsaw of bone fragments, bore the brunt of the trauma.

Rena lingered outside the surgery room, her eyes brimming with sorrow.

Marcus was by her side, offering silent support as he held her arm, sharing the weight of her grief without uttering a word.

He recalled the moment when Leonel, clinging to the last threads of awareness post-accident, implored, “Keep this from Alexis.

I’ve promised to let her go.

to be the one who endures a lifetime of hardship if it had to

but he recognized the fragility of his current state, contemplating a

resolve, was initially taken

passed before he could respond,

“Alright,” Marcus whispered.

“We won’t tell her.

sooner had the promise been made than Leonel slipped into

bank was

mend, arrived to

emerged, his pallor was evident,

sprang into action to assist Waylen, guiding him

quickly, their faces drained

“How is everything?”

responded, “Alexis and the

hurt though, with a severe

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