Master of Lust

Chapter - 272

The hospital corridor outside Rick's father's room was quiet, cloaked in an eerie, late-night stillness. Dim overhead lights cast faint shadows on the pale walls, and the low hum of machines down the hallway blended with the faint whirring of ceiling fans.

This was the general ward, a non-emergency section, where staff came by less frequently, particularly at this hour. Rick's father lay alone in his bed, surrounded by silence. The occasional beep from a distant monitor echoed through the emptiness, the only reminder of life in this lonely corner of the hospital.

He suddenly stirred, blinking as he awoke. With a yawn and a stretch, he muttered to himself, "Damn, this place is scary at night... feels like one of those creepy movies." He glanced around and then pressed his call bell, waiting a few moments, then pressing it again, a bit more urgently. Nothing. The call light above his door didn't blink, and there were no footsteps of an approaching nurse.

"Great," he muttered, disappointed. "Just because I'm not in critical condition doesn't mean you get to ignore me," he huffed. He eased himself up in bed, groaning with the effort, then carefully swung his legs over the side. He winced as his bandaged foot touched the cold floor. A brief sharp pain shot up his leg, causing him to gasp, but he took a deep breath, bracing himself.

"Let's see if I can even walk," he muttered, slowly putting weight on his foot and feeling the sting intensify. With short, cautious steps, he hobbled forward, each movement accompanied by a soft grunt of discomfort. He cursed the absent nurses under his breath, "Of all the times to be MIA…"

Reaching the bathroom, he sighed with relief and entered, leaning heavily on the wall as he did his business. A sudden chill prickled at the back of his neck. His eyes narrowed, and a quick flash of paranoia made him turn and scan the darkened corners of the room. There was nothing there. Yet, an uneasy feeling stirred, as though someone, or something, had been watching him.

He shook his head, muttering, "Get a grip. Those horror flicks are starting to mess with your head." But just as he tried to brush it off, the feeling crept backIt settled like ice along his spine, his heart beating faster. He chuckled awkwardly, forcing a smile as he reassured himself, "Must be the painkillers messing with my head. Ghosts in hospitals? Yeah, right."

He turned back to the sink, running cold water over his hands, but then he froze. The faint sound of footsteps, slow and deliberate, echoed just beyond the bathroom door. A prickle of fear washed over him. He glanced nervously at the mirror, seeing his own pale, fearful face reflected back at him.

Before he could react, he felt a sudden prick in his neck. His vision blurred almost instantly, and his knees buckled. He staggered, his hands reaching out to brace himself against the sink, but the strength was gone from his limbs.

He collapsed onto the cold tile floor, the impact of his head striking the ground sending a rush of warmth and wetness trickling down. The last thing he registered was the taste of blood on his tongue as the world spun into darkness.

A man in a hospital uniform, his face obscured by a surgical mask, stepped out of the shadowed hallway and glanced around, ensuring no one had seen him exit. Moving swiftly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone, dialling a number. The line rang only once before a low, composed voice answered.

"The issue is resolved," the man in the mask murmured, his voice steady.

"Did you take care of it discreetly?" Mr. Warner's assistant asked, his tone sharp.

"Yes," the man replied, explaining calmly, "I used a nerve agent. It'll paralyze him, but won't cause any damage. When he fell, I ensured the impact would seem like a natural result of the accident. A few... helpful staff members and doctors are in place to support the story."

There was a pause before the assistant responded, "Good work."

The line went silent as the call ended. Slipping the phone back into his pocket, the man straightened his mask, glanced around one last time, and vanished into the maze of hospital corridors, leaving no trace of his presence or his work.

[At the Restaurant]

Jemimah looked up at Rick, grinning as she finished her dessert. "You know, this whole evening feels like a dream," she said, giving him a playful nudge. "But I have to ask—what are you trying to impress me for?"

Rick chuckled, leaning forward. "Maybe I'm just showing you what you deserve. Besides, if impressing you means a night like this, I'd say it's worth it."

Jemimah's cheeks flushed, and she looked down with a smile. They laughed, clinking their glasses, when Rick's phone suddenly buzzed on the table, cutting through the moment. He glanced at the screen and saw it was from the hospital. His expression changed as he looked at the phone.

"What is it?" Jemimah asked.

"Ah, it's nothing s," Rick replied, waving it off with a dismissive smile. "I'll just take this really quick. Be back before you know it."

He stood up and moved a few steps away to answer, positioning himself where the live music wouldn't drown out the call.

"Hello, is this Mr. Rick Smith, son of Mr. Smith?" a voice asked on the other end.

"Yes, speaking," Rick replied cautiously.

There was a slight pause before the voice continued, "Mr. Rick, we're calling to inform you that your father has sustained an injury here at the hospital.

He was found unconscious in the washroom, appearing to have fallen. Due to his already bandaged toes and damaged leg, it seems he may have trouble walking and lost his balance. Unfortunately, he suffered a head injury in the fall and is currently in a coma."

Rick's grip tightened on the phone as he listened, feeling a mix of emotions swirl within him.

"How is he?" he asked.

The voice responded calmly, "Fortunately, he was discovered quickly, which kept blood loss to a minimum. While he is in a coma, he's stable, and there's no immediate risk to his overall health. His vitals are good, but he's unresponsive for the moment."

Rick took a deep breath, processing the news. His father was in a coma after a fall in the hospital. There was a twisted, conflicting feeling churning inside him—an odd mix of relief and unease.

The man lying unconscious in a hospital bed was the very same father who had neglected him, and who'd tried to take his life more than once for a selfish, lust-fuelled vendetta. Still, the idea of celebrating seemed... off. He exhaled slowly, settling on a strange sense of relief. Maybe now I can enjoy a break without his schemes for a while.

But as he began walking back to the table, Rick found himself debating. Should he tell Jemimah about the incident and risk ruining the entire mood of the night? Or should he simply brush it off for now and let the evening continue as planned?

As he neared the table, he noticed something unusual. The same waiter from earlier—the one who had been watching Jemimah, snapping that subtle photo—was now talking to her directly. Jemimah looked intrigued, perhaps even a little confused, as she exchanged words with the waiter.

Rick's curiosity spiked. Who exactly was this waiter, and what was his sudden interest in Jemimah?

From a distance, Rick watched as the waiter addressed Jemimah, her tone intense, almost pleading. "Nadia? What are you doing here?"

Jemimah looked at her blankly, genuine confusion etched across her face. "I'm sorry, I don't know you," she replied, her voice cautious, clearly thrown off by the sudden confrontation.

Rick's interest piqued. This woman—this Annie—clearly knew Jemimah before she'd lost her memory, back when she'd gone by another name.

The waiter's face fell, but she persisted, her voice a mixture of desperation and frustration. "What is wrong with you? How could you not recognize me?" Her eyes searched Jemimah's face, looking for any glimmer of recognition.

But Jemimah, baffled and uneasy, shook her head slowly. "I'm… really sorry, but I don't know you," she said again, her voice a touch firmer.

Annie's expression turned sharper. Leaning closer, her tone filled with a mixture of disbelief and hurt, she whispered, "Stop pretending, Nadia. I'm Annie. Your best friend."

Her voice trembled, and her brows furrowed in anger as she went on, "How could you act like I don't exist? After everything you did to me… You stole my boyfriend, Nadia. You ruined my life."

Jemimah's eyes widened, her face a blend of shock and discomfort. Annie's frustration was clear, yet she held back her emotions, her voice barely rising.

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