Anticipating relief, Bruce was dismayed to find the ice cubes utterly ineffective. The agonizing pain and severe swelling persisted unabated.

His face contorted in anguish, Bruce, once a formidable warden, now crumpled to the ground, resembling a little girl soiling her skirt and weeping in a muddy puddle.

Concerned, Camilla queried, “Mr. Warden, is it any better?”

Bruce shook his head between sobs, despairingly admitting, “Help me think of something. I can’t endure this. It’s too much…”

Flustered, Camilla stammered, “I can’t think of anything…”

Then, she suggested, “What if I call 911 for help? Should I?”

“No!” Bruce blurted, realizing the consequences. “Calling 911 would ruin all of us!”

Bruce comprehended the peril of being in a federal prison, with the Rothschild family connections. A scandal tonight could ruin his career and relationships.

Enduring the torment, he pleaded, “Go to my pocket, get my phone. I need to make a call, find someone to help.”

Relieved at the thought of assistance, Camilla hurriedly retrieved Bruce’s phone.

Bruce’s call for help wasn’t directed at Jagoan, the recent acquaintance, but at a friend, a physician at a nearby hospital.

Impatiently, Bruce exclaimed, “Mark, where are you?”

A middle-aged voice responded, “On duty at the hospital. What’s wrong?”

You might be the only one who can

“Bruce, are

life-threatening situation, and

realizing the gravity, offered, “Where

Mark alone might be ill-equipped, Bruce insisted, “Prepare a private treatment

targeted preparations. Bruce hesitated but courageously disclosed, “It’s my little brother… It’s at least two or three times bigger

Mark exclaimed, “Did you take any

swelled suddenly, like it’s possessed. It’s on the verge of

the hospital. I’ll prepare the room. If it’s as bad as you say, time

tossed the phone aside, locking eyes

her concern evident, unconsciously uttered, “Warden, you… I’m afraid

heart. The awkward posture made wearing pants

inspiration, Camilla suggested,

Weinstein agreed without hesitation, urging,

masks, flanked Bruce Weinstein, hastily wrapped in a bathrobe. The trio hurriedly made

step delivering torture akin to needles relentlessly piercing him. Yet, he

of Bruce Weinstein’s car, skillfully navigated toward

the car halted at the hospital entrance. Bruce Weinstein’s close friend Mark awaited, pushing a

Mark hurriedly approached and opened the door. Witnessing Bruce Weinstein curled up in pain, Mark questioned, “Bruce, are

I don’t have the energy for pranks.

car. Observing Bruce’s silhouette through the bathrobe, Mark was

I’m not here for jokes!

injections, reassured, “I’ll administer relief drugs first. Then,

The Novel will be updated daily. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

Comments ()

0/255