Chapter 627:
Brandon stared at Vivian, a hollow laugh escaping him.
He had wronged Millie time and time again for a woman like this.
Right then, his self-loathing deepened, cursing himself for ever believing Vivian could be kind and gentle. The red in his eyes deepened.
“I don’t raise my hand against women,” Brandon said, loosening his grip on Vivian’s shoulder.
“But if pretending to be depressed is what you enjoy…” His tone turned to ice. “Then you can live with the real thing.”
Before Vivian could even process the words, Brandon’s gaze shifted, and he was already walking away. Eugene was waiting just outside.
Brandon murmured a brief instruction to Eugene.
With a firm nod, Eugene replied, “Understood. I’ll make sure Miss Simpson gets a true taste of it.”
“Also…” Eugene hesitated and then pulled out a folder, handing it over to Brandon. “Mr. Watson, I just found this in the archive. It’s Mrs. W—Miss Bennett’s file.”
“What?” Brandon blinked, momentarily taken aback.
What was Eugene talking about? Millie’s medical files?
“Mr. Watson, when I went to the archive to retrieve Miss Simpson’s files earlier, I mentioned your name as her emergency contact,” Eugene explained. “The clerk at the desk must have made a mistake and also pulled up Miss Bennett’s records.”
Brandon’s brow furrowed as his gaze dropped to the papers in front of him. “So, you’re telling me these are Millie’s medical records from her visits here?” he asked slowly.
Eugene exhaled. “I wasn’t sure at first either,” he said with a nod. “But after reviewing the details, there’s no doubt. Miss Bennett began treatment here over a year ago.”
𝗢𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗱: g𝖺𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘴⸳ⅽ𝗈𝗺
He hesitated, his eyes flickering with unease. “She’s been seriously ill.”
Brandon felt as if the world around him had tilted. None of it seemed real.
He reached forward and took the stack of documents from Eugene. Without another word, Eugene stepped back to attend to other tasks, leaving Brandon standing alone in the quiet corridor. Brandon took a deep breath and began flipping through the records.
The notes weren’t filled with personal accounts. Instead, they charted the steady decline of her health, the treatments attempted, and the medications prescribed. But the dates…
His knees went weak, and he sank onto the nearest bench, his eyes lifting to the sterile white ceiling, glowing under the harsh fluorescent light.
Each entry pointed to the same grim conclusion—her condition had worsened each time she came in.
In the later reports, the doctor had even considered contacting her family, despite her constant refusal to involve them.
One note stood out. Two months ago, her condition had taken a sharp turn for the worse.
.
.
.