The doctor administered the injection to Vivienne Blackwood with swift, practiced precision. Afterward, he packed up his equipment and headed for the door. Before leaving, however, he paused and said in a grave tone,
"It would be best to arrange for this young lady to see a psychiatrist as soon as possible."
Meanwhile, the internet was on the verge of exploding because of the live broadcast.
Clips of Vivienne saving the little girl—offering her own blood without hesitation—spread like wildfire. The footage quickly crossed national borders, and within less than half a day, Vivienne Blackwood had become a global sensation.
"Boss, the private jet is ready. We’re cleared for departure," the assistant reported hurriedly, sweat dripping down his forehead.
Half an hour earlier, the CEO had abruptly risen from his desk in the middle of an overtime work session and coldly ordered him to prepare the private jet immediately.
But being wealthy enough to own a private jet did not mean you could take off whenever you pleased.
The assistant had exhausted every connection and favor he could call in to secure flight clearance, yet the procedures had still taken more than thirty minutes.
Adrian Voss’s expression was terrifying.
He looked as though he were one second away from killing someone.
The assistant didn’t dare say another word. He started the car and sped toward the airport.
...
"Adrian, you unfilial son! How could you neglect my precious Vivienne to this extent? How did she end up with injuries all over her hands? I could tell immediately that she looked sick and pale! Listen to me—if anything happens to that poor girl, I will never forgive you. Do you hear me?!"
Adrian Voss pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes wearily. His heart was filled with anxiety and fear—emotions he himself hadn’t even realized were there.
"Mom, how many times do I have to tell you? I honestly don’t know anything. I haven’t spoken to Vivienne in almost two months. I have no idea what happened to her. I’m already on my way to see her, just like you asked. Can you please stop pressuring me?"
His dark eyes seemed almost gray with exhaustion.
He couldn’t tell whether it was the relentless workload at the company or Vivienne’s situation that had drained him so thoroughly.
If his mother hadn’t been watching Vivienne’s livestream and called him the moment the accident occurred, he would never have known.
Adrian remembered the video.
The delicate, fragile-looking girl...
He remembered how calmly she had handled the dangerous situation, how she had taken control when everyone else panicked.
He remembered how she had sacrificed her own blood and strength to buy the child more time to survive.
He remembered those beautiful eyes slowly closing.
He remembered her body collapsing from sheer exhaustion.
Adrian abruptly ended the call and threw his phone aside.
"Damn it."
The curse escaped his lips in a low, suffocating growl.
He kept telling himself that he didn’t care about that troublesome, deceitful woman.
He kept convincing himself that cutting ties with her completely would be better for both of them.
But...
Why?
Why did the mere thought of something happening to her make it feel as though his heart would stop beating?
A strange emotion flickered in his eyes—one so unfamiliar that even he couldn’t identify it.
He was too exhausted to find answers to any of his questions.
The only thing on his mind was reaching that foolish girl as quickly as possible.
[Shouldn’t they take Vivienne to a hospital? Why is the livestream still running? Doesn’t the director have any conscience or basic human decency?]
[I don’t think it’s entirely the director’s fault. There aren’t any hospitals in that isolated village.]
[I know, but my heart still aches for Vivienne. I hope she recovers soon.]
[Me too. I used to hate her, but now I feel ashamed. I criticized her constantly. Looking back, I think I was far too harsh. I’m honestly a terrible person.]
[We all are. Honestly, we shouldn’t interfere in celebrities’ private lives in the first place. Who among us hasn’t made mistakes? Just because they’re famous doesn’t mean they have to be perfect. Nobody is perfect, and expecting perfection is impossible. I really hope these attacks on celebrities stop someday.]
[It’s not like we were completely wrong. Who told Vivienne to act like a villain and try climbing the social ladder? She even lied during a press conference and claimed she was going to become the future Mrs. Voss. That was obviously her own mistake. Why should we apologize just because she did one good deed?]
"Director, are you sure it’s okay to keep broadcasting?"
Truthfully, the assistant didn’t want the livestream to continue. It would only damage the show’s reputation.
The director couldn’t have cared less about anyone else’s opinion.
This program was his last chance to make a name for himself in the entertainment industry.
Competition had become brutally fierce over the past decade. Livestream shows were everywhere.
If he wanted greater fame, he needed bigger scandals and more sensational content.
"Don’t stop filming. Not under any circumstances. I want cameras on Vivienne from every angle."
He burst into laughter.
"Haha! We’re ranked number one! We’ve already hit billions of views! My God, we’re making a fortune! This show is on fire!"
No one dared argue with him.
They could only remain silent.
On the bed, Vivienne Blackwood curled into herself.
Her entire body trembled uncontrollably.
Then, without warning, she screamed in despair.
"Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me! I don’t want to die! Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!"
A loud, heart-wrenching sob echoed through the room.
The desperation in her cries, the anguish in her pleading voice, struck everyone present with both shock and fear.
For a moment, the entire room fell silent.
After burning through every last ounce of strength until she lost consciousness, Vivienne Blackwood could no longer recognize where she was or who surrounded her.
The fear carved deep into her body and soul resurfaced all at once.
Her entire body trembled uncontrollably as tears streamed down her face. She tossed and turned on the bed in a near-hysterical panic, her voice hoarse and raw from screaming.
"No... no! I want to go home!"
She struggled desperately, as though trying to escape something invisible.
"Don’t touch me! Please, let me go! Save me! It hurts! Please, let me go..."
Her words dissolved into broken sobs.
"I don’t want this anymore... not anymore..."
Her trembling hands clawed weakly at the bedsheets as tears continued to fall.
"Please... save me... please..."