?Chapter 747:


    He had given her everything—stood by her, promised to turn against his own family for her sake, helped her chase the truth she so desperately wanted. And yet, did he still matter less to her than Marc, that unworthy scoundrel, or old Truett?<fn8592> ??? ????? ???????s ??? ?????s??? ?? fι?dnοvel</fn8592>


    Frustration twisted inside him, coiling tight until it became a desperate urge. He had to see Ste. Now.


    In the hospital, the sterile tang of disinfectant lingered in the quiet room. Ste sat at Truett’s bedside, her eyes fixed on the frail figure sleeping beneath pale sheets. Her heart tangled with emotions she could hardly name.


    Behind her, Marc stood silently. His gaze stayed locked on her back, his expression unreadable, as though even he didn’t know what he truly wanted. Did he genuinely yearn to start fresh with Ste, or was she just a convenientdder for hiseback?


    He couldn’t genuinely answer that.


    What he did know—what he was certain of—was that he had to win her back. At any cost.


    Outside the private room, Truett’s attending physician approached, test reports in hand. His white coat swayed slightly as he walked. His expression was grim when he handed the papers to Ste and Marc.


    “Mr. Walsh’s condition is deteriorating,” the doctor said, his tone measured but heavy. “He’s experiencing multiple organ failure. If we proceed conservatively…” He paused, lowering his voice. “It will only prolong things. I’m afraid it’s a matter of time.”


    Marc’s face nched, panic shing across it. “Doctor, no—you must save my grandfather! Money isn’t a problem. Use the best medicine, the best equipment, whatever it takes!”


    The doctor adjusted his sses, ncing briefly at the silent Ste before turning back to Marc.


    Ste’s eyes stayed on the numbers and charts, cold on the page yet suffocating in their finality. Her chest ached.


    She drew a steadying breath and asked, “Is there any other option?”


    “There is,” the doctor admitted. “A new treatment n. But it’s risky, costly, and the sess rate is only thirty percent.” His voice lowered even more. “Still, it’s the only chance he has. The decision must be made immediately. We can’t dy admission.”


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    Thirty percent. His only chance at survival.


    Ste’sshes fluttered shut. She wasn’t a Walsh—she had no authority to decide his fate. The weight of it pressed heavily on her chest.


    Marc broke the silence first, his voice carrying a forced strength. “We’ll do it. Even if it’s only one percent, we can’t give up!”


    He turned to Ste, his eyes softening with deliberate appeal. “Stel, my grandpa loves you dearly. Please… stay with him during this time.”


    Something sour rose in Ste’s throat at the cunning gleam in his eyes. The sight made her stomach churn. But she didn’t argue. Instead, she inclined her head toward the doctor. “Please arrange it quickly.”


    Marc signed the consent forms with a flourish, and Truett was transferred to a specialized care unit.


    Ste followed, her gaze falling on the kind old man whose presence had once felt like a shield. Her heart knotted painfully. She wasn’t cruel enough to walk away. Quietly, she pulled a chair to the bedside and sat down, keeping watch as dusk bled into night and shadows swallowed the sky outside.


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