Another Room


    Victor was half-reclined on the bed, his brow furrowed and his breathing short and ragged, as if he were fighting through pain by sheer force of will.


    Beside him, Dr. Brown methodically disinfected the wound with saline, carefully cleaning away the crusted blood and damaged tissue with a scalpel.


    The Fitzgerald Mansion had always been prepared for emergencies. Ever since Dorian''s illness years ago, the estate boasted a fully equipped medical suite— state-of-the-art machines and supplies stood ready for situations like this, making even minor surgeries possible without the need to rush to a hospital.


    When the wound was finally clean, Dr. Brown smoothed ayer of ointment over it, then reached for gauze and began to wrap Victor''s shoulder in thick, clean bandages.


    With the dressing finished, Dr. Brown set up an IV drip, preparing to administer antibiotics.


    But Victor''s eyes snapped open. "Just the bandage. That''s enough."


    Dr. Brown frowned. "Sir, your wound is infected. You need antibiotics. A simple bandage won''t be enough."


    Victor''s voice was cold, emotionless. "No need. Just do as I say."


    Without another word, Victor reached for the ck shirt draped beside him, ready to pull it on.


    Seeing Victor''s resolve, Dr. Brown could onlyply, setting the IV bag and needle back on the medical cart.


    Meanwhile, Isadora approached the room, raising her hand to knock-only to freeze as voices drifted through the door.


    She hesitated, then dropped her hand and pushed the door open, stepping inside.


    A sharp, metallic tang of blood assaulted her senses. On the floory the ck utility jacket Victor had worn earlier. He sat on the edge of the bed, bare-chested, his right shoulder swathed in thick, fresh bandages.


    Victor hadn''t expected to see Isadora just then; surprise flickered in his eyes. Quickly, he pulled the ck shirt over his head, trying to cover the wound.


    But Isadora had already seen. Tears welled up in her eyes before she realized it, and her voice trembled as she rushed to his side. "What happened to your shoulder?"


    Victor forced a crooked smile, trying to sound flippant. "You caught me. It''s nothing, just a small ident. The doctor''s overreacting with all this fuss."


    Isadora''s gaze, dark and clear, narrowed in disbelief. She turned to Dr. Brown. "What really happened?"


    Dr. Brown hesitated, ncing nervously at Victor, unsure whether to answer.


    Isadora''s voice dropped, sharp with worry. "Tell me."


    The words slipped from Dr. Brown''s lips. "Mr. Fitzgerald''s injury-a knife wound."


    The confession hung in the air.


    Isadora''s tears spilled down her cheeks, trailing over pale skin.


    Victor shot Dr. Brown a frosty re, and the doctor immediately ducked his head, feeling as if the room''s temperature had dropped ten degrees.


    Isadora, eyes red and shining, stared desperately at Victor. "Why didn''t you tell me? Did this happen in Europe?"


    Victor let out a weary sigh. He''d never wanted her to find out. Watching her cry for his sake hurt far more than the wound itself.


    He dropped his gaze, voice softening as he tried tofort her. "I told you, it''s nothing. Just a scratch—it''ll be fine in a few days."


    But Isadora''s heart ached, a deep, twisting pain radiating from her chest. Tears streamed down her face, unchecked. "And I-I hit your chest earlier. Why didn''t you say anything?"


    Victor looked at her, eyes gentle despite the pain.


    "You should leave us," he said quietly.


    Dr. Brown understood at once. He slipped out of the room and shut the door behind him.


    Victor reached out, gently brushing the tears from Isadora''s cheeks. "It''s already bandaged. I promise, it''s nothing."