Chapter 111:

Leland’s tone sharpened. The mask of calm broke. “You’re not even close to her level. My brother needed an amputation because of your prescriptions. What kind of healer in Crolens lets that happen?”

Marsha flinched. Her face twisted so badly that even her makeup couldn’t hide it.

“You!” She jabbed a red-polished finger at his face. “Who gave you the right to question my skills?”

Leland swatted Marsha’s hand aside. His eyes, wild and sharp, burned with rage that had been bottled up for too long. “You want proof? Look at my brother’s leg. That so-called miracle drug you gave him turned a small ache into full-blown necrosis.”

A wave of uneasy chatter filled the room. Some of the senior doctors leaned toward one another, exchanging looks that said more than words could. Evita’s expression hardened. She moved quickly, pulling her granddaughter close. “Marsha, leave him be. There are better things for you to spend your time on.”

Marsha clenched her jaw but stayed still. Her forehead pulsed with fury, and her fists curled at her sides as she fought the urge to lash out.

Rylie stood nearby, arms folded, quietly observing the chaos as if watching rodents in a cage. A faint smirk tugged at her lips. Marsha caught it.

Marsha turned to her. “Wipe that smile off your face. You’ll get yours soon enough.”

As Marsha turned to leave, Leland instantly regretted his impulsive outburst.

The Kirks weren’t doing well, and now he had offended the Wilde family. Once the seminar was over, he feared that VitaLink Hospital would likely fire him.

Leland trailed behind Rylie toward the consultation room, doubting everything about her credentials. He muttered, “With Ms. Wilde in the room, the winner’s already been picked. We just have to pretend we’ve still got a shot.”

Rylie didn’t respond. Instead, she leaned over the first patient and began her assessment. Her voice was steady when she finally spoke. “The problem with the Kirk family is that you only trust people who shine. You never look at what’s hiding in the shadows.”

Leland narrowed his eyes. “You really think you can do this?”

L𝗎tєѕτ ϲh𝒶ρτєrs ιn g𝓪l𝗇ovєl𝑆.𝒸оm

Rylie didn’t answer. She focused on the report, flipping through pages until she found what she needed.

She scribbled notes and pieced together a treatment plan. It included three different approaches, each with unique meds and costs, all tailored to fit the patient’s budget.

He wrote his own version but frowned deeper with each side-by-side review. Every part of hers made his look half-baked.

Then he spotted something. His finger tapped the third section. “Are you serious? You’re mixing ketamine with pregabalin? That doesn’t even follow the treatment protocol for neuromuscular disorders.”

Still writing, she replied without lifting her head, “Protocols stay the same. Patients don’t.”

He raised his voice. “That mix is neurotoxic. And you’ve thrown in an experimental NMDA receptor blocker too—”

“It’s the only thing that’s stopping his neurons from dying off,” she interjected.

Rylie finally lifted her head, her clear eyes meeting Leland’s gaze. “Did you even read the spinal fluid report? His glutamate levels are quadruple the normal count. That kind of spike points straight to neurotoxic overload.”

.

.

.