Rise of The Abandoned Husband

Pain seared through my chest like molten iron, radiating outward in waves that left me gasping. I'd experienced pain before—broken bones, knife wounds from business rivals gone rogue—but nothing like this.

"Mr. Vance, please try to remain still," the doctor said, pressing a stethoscope against my chest.

We'd barely made it back to Havenwood City. The hospital's emergency team had stabilized me with medications, but the agony persisted. Every beat of my heart felt like it might be my last.

"What's happening to me?" I demanded through gritted teeth.

The doctor's expression remained professionally neutral, but I caught the flicker of concern in his eyes. "Your heart is severely strained. The tests show significant blockages. We've done what we can with conventional medicine, but..."

"But what?" My voice cracked embarrassingly.

"You need specialized treatment beyond what we can offer."

Isabelle Ashworth stood silently in the corner of my hospital room, her face a mask of composure. I hated that she was witnessing my weakness, but I needed her.

"Knight," I managed to say. "I need Liam Knight."

The satisfaction in her eyes was subtle but unmistakable. "I'll see what I can do."

---

An hour later, my personal assistant reported back: "We can't locate Mr. Knight, sir. He's not at his residence."

Another wave of pain crashed through me, stealing my breath. The medication was barely taking the edge off.

"Find him!" I shouted, then immediately regretted the exertion as pain lanced through my chest again.

Isabelle stepped forward. "William, I'll handle this personally. But you should know—Liam doesn't respond well to demands."

I wanted to argue, to remind her who I was in this city, but another wave of pain silenced me. I nodded weakly.

"Take me to his home," I told my assistant. "If he won't come to me, I'll go to him."

The doctor protested, but I silenced him with a look. I wasn't going to die in this sterile room waiting for help that might never arrive.

---

The journey to Knight's residence was humiliating. I had to be supported between two of my men, each step sending fresh spasms through my chest. Isabelle walked ahead, her back straight, refusing to look at my pathetic state.

Knight's home was modest but well-kept. Nothing like the mansion I'd expected for someone who had caught Isabelle Ashworth's attention. Another wave of pain hit me as we reached his door, nearly bringing me to my knees.

"He's not home," one of my men reported after knocking repeatedly.

"Break it down," I ordered through clenched teeth.

Isabelle turned sharply. "You will do no such thing." Her voice carried an authority that surprised me. "I have a key. Liam gave it to me for emergencies."

Of course he did. I bit back a bitter retort as she unlocked the door.

Inside, the home was simple but impeccably clean. Medical texts and ancient scrolls were organized neatly on shelves. A faint herbal scent hung in the air.

"We'll wait," Isabelle said, gesturing toward a couch.

My legs gave out as another wave of pain crashed through me, and I collapsed onto the cushions. My assistant rushed to my side.

"Sir, should I call the hospital again?"

"No," I snapped. "Just find Knight."

Hours passed. The pain ebbed and flowed like a tide of fire. My men searched the city, returning periodically with no news. Night fell, and still no sign of Liam Knight.

"He's avoiding me," I muttered, sweat beading on my forehead.

Isabelle, who had been sitting quietly in an armchair, looked up from her book. "Liam doesn't play such games. He's likely working or cultivating."

"Cultivating," I scoffed, then winced as the effort sent fresh pain through my chest. "Julian Hawthorne is a true cultivator. Knight is just—"

"Careful, William," Isabelle interrupted, her voice soft but sharp. "You're in his home, seeking his help. Perhaps now isn't the time for comparisons."

The night dragged on endlessly. Each breath was a struggle, each heartbeat a gamble. By dawn, I was a shell of myself, drifting in and out of consciousness as the pain consumed me.

Through the fog of agony, I heard the front door open.

---

I closed the door behind me, exhausted but satisfied with my night's work. The formation array by the mountain stream had worked better than expected, allowing me to absorb slightly more spiritual qi than usual. It wasn't much—barely a drop in the vast ocean I needed to cultivate—but it was progress.

The sound of voices in my living room stopped me cold. Intruders?

"Liam," Isabelle's familiar voice called out. "You're finally home."

I relaxed slightly but remained cautious as I stepped into the living room. The scene before me was unexpected: Isabelle sitting calmly in my reading chair, and on my couch, William Vance—looking like death itself.

His normally impeccable appearance was in shambles. His face was ashen, dark circles under his eyes, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. Two men I recognized as his personal guards stood nearby, while another man—his assistant, judging by the tablet in his hand—hovered anxiously.

"What's going on here?" I asked, my gaze moving between Isabelle and Vance.

"Mr. Knight," Vance's assistant stepped forward. "Mr. Vance has been suffering from severe chest pains. The hospital couldn't help him, and he insisted on seeing you."

I looked at Vance, remembering our brief medical consultation weeks ago. I had warned him about his heart condition, advised against travel. He had dismissed me then—just as he'd dismissed me in Isabelle's home yesterday.

"Where have you been?" Vance demanded weakly, his voice a shadow of its usual commanding tone. "We've been waiting all night!"

"I don't answer to you," I replied coolly. The old Liam might have apologized, might have rushed to help. But I was no longer that man.

Isabelle rose, approaching me with graceful steps. "Liam, I hope you don't mind that I used my emergency key. William's condition became critical yesterday after he ignored your warning about traveling."

Her eyes conveyed a message: *This is a test. Show him who you truly are.*

I nodded slightly to acknowledge her unspoken words. "I was cultivating at a remote location. I needed solitude."

Vance's assistant stepped forward aggressively. "Do you understand who you're dealing with? Mr. Vance could buy and sell you a hundred times over! He's been suffering all night while you were playing at cultivation!"

The room fell silent. Even Vance seemed surprised by his assistant's outburst.

Isabelle's eyes narrowed dangerously, but before she could speak, Vance pushed himself up from the couch, wincing visibly.

"Knight," he gasped, "I need your help. Whatever your fee, I'll pay it. Just make this stop." Another spasm hit him, and he clutched at his chest, his face contorting.

I studied him dispassionately. This was the man who had mocked me, who had compared me unfavorably to Julian Hawthorne, who had dismissed my medical knowledge as worthless.

"My fee?" I echoed, feeling a cold anger rise within me. "You think this is about money?"

"What then?" Vance rasped. "Name your price, damn it! I'm dying here!"

I stepped closer, looking down at the suffering man. "You dismissed my warning. You mocked my abilities. You questioned my worth. And now you expect me to drop everything and serve you?"

The room grew tense. Vance's men shifted uncomfortably, unsure whether to intervene.

"Please," Vance whispered, his arrogance finally crumbling under the weight of his pain. "I was wrong."

I felt no satisfaction from his suffering. But neither did I feel the desperate need to please that had characterized so much of my life before. I was changing, growing into someone who commanded respect rather than begged for it.

"William Vance," I said, my voice steady and cold, "you are not the most important person in this room. You are not entitled to my time or my skills. As for treating your illness, I'm tired now and don't want to serve you. Please leave my home immediately!"