Chapter 109
Harry had been raised by a mother who was a doctor, and he had picked up bits of medical knowledge over the years. Seeing his father’s pale face and the exhaustion written all over him, Harry was immediately concerned.
“Daddy, are you really okay?” Harry asked, his voice laced with genuine worry. “When you’re sick, you should go see a doctor. The condition might get worse if you don’t.”
Alaric, though clearly struggling, forced a tired smile and gently ruffled his son’s hair. “I’m fine, Harry. Go eat your meal and then do your homework. Don’t worry about me.”
But Harry wasn’t so easily convinced. “You don’t look fine. You look really bad, Daddy,” he pressed, his concern deepening as he noticed how pale and weak Alaric appeared.
“I said I’m fine,” Alaric repeated, his voice faint but firm. “Go on, you need to eat.”
Reluctantly, Harry obeyed, though his eyes kept darting back to Alaric as he left the room to wash his hands. Alaric, meanwhile, moved to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, trying to shake off the creeping sense of something being terribly wrong. He stared at himself in the mirror—sweating, pale, weak. He had felt better coming out of a three-year coma than he did now. What was happening to me?
Alaric returned to his bedroom, hoping that sleep would offer some respite, but instead, it made things worse. His chest tightened, and his heart began to pound uncontrollably. His breathing became shallow, and sweat beaded on his forehead. Was he having an episode? He reached for his phone with trembling hands and dialed Cormac’s number.
“Come to my villa now,” Alaric managed to say, his voice strained.
“Hang on,” Cormac’s voice immediately responded, sensing the urgency. “I’m on my way.”
Meanwhile, Harry finished his meal and, still concerned, decided to check on his father. When he entered the bedroom, his heart skipped a beat. Alaric looked even worse than before—pale, drenched in sweat, and struggling to breathe. “Daddy, what’s going on?” Harry’s voice cracked with worry.
“You need to go to the hospital! You look really scary like this!” Harry panicked, reaching for his phone.
Alaric immediately stopped him, grabbing the phone from Harry’s hands. “No, don’t call her,” he said, his voice more forceful than usual. “I’ve already called Cormac. He’ll be here soon.”
Harry was confused. “But Uncle Cormac is a psychiatrist, not a real doctor. Mommy’s a doctor. She can help.”
“I said no,” Alaric insisted, his grip tightening around the phone. “Don’t call her.”
“Why? She’s a doctor. She can take care of you,” Harry pressed, genuinely baffled by his father’s refusal.
“I don’t want her here, Harry,” Alaric muttered, a sense of finality in his voice. “I’m not getting into this with you right now.”
Before Harry could argue further, Cormac arrived, his expression darkened with worry as he took in Alaric’s condition.
“Uncle Cormac, look at Daddy!” Harry exclaimed, voice trembling.
“I see,” Cormac responded, his gaze narrowing. “Caspian, go do your homework. Don’t worry. Your daddy has an old ailment. He’ll be fine soon.”
Reluctantly, Harry nodded and left the room, though he was still unsure of what was happening. Cormac wasted no time, quickly setting up his medical kit and examining Alaric. He listened to his heartbeat, which was erratic, and noticed how Alaric’s breathing became more labored. It was clear—Alaric was in the midst of a severe episode.
“I’m going to give you a strong injection,” Cormac said calmly, though there was an underlying urgency in his voice. “It’s going to be intense, so you need to bear with it.”
Alaric barely nodded before Cormac swiftly administered the injection. The effect was immediate—and it was worse than Alaric had anticipated. The pain hit him like a wave, sharp and brutal, and his body convulsed. It felt as if insects were crawling all over him, and then, as if his heart had been clenched by a powerful force. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, and couldn’t focus on anything except the suffocating agony.
In his fading consciousness, a blurry vision of Galatea appeared, but it was fleeting. The pain and dizziness grew worse, and Alaric’s mind started to slip away. Was he going to die?
The thought of death didn’t scare him as much as it should have. After all, he had survived worse. A bullet to the chest, for example, had barely phased him. But now, this was different. His body felt like a sinking weight, dragged down into the depths of the sea, and it felt as if he was drowning in pain.
Then, everything went dark.
When Alaric finally woke, he felt as though he had been ripped out of one world and into another. His mind was foggy, his body still aching from the intense episode. His vision was blurry at first, but as it cleared, he realized he wasn’t in his villa anymore. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled the air.
“Damn it, you scared me to death!” Cormac’s voice cut through the haze, his face twisted in frustration. “Do you know that your heart stopped? You almost died, Alaric!”
Alaric tried to sit up, his mind still fogged, his body heavy. “Where am I?” he asked, his voice raspy.
“Hospital,” Cormac replied shortly, not bothering to sugarcoat the situation.
“Hospital?” Alaric’s panic was instant. His mind raced as he realized where he was, who might know, and who might be concerned. “How long was I unconscious?”
“Two days and nights,” Cormac answered.
“Where’s Caspian?” Alaric asked urgently, suddenly fearing the worst. “He must have been terrified when he saw me being taken to the hospital.”
“I calmed him down. Told him you were going to be fine,” Cormac reassured him. “He’s okay. Now, how do you feel?”
Alaric took a deep breath, testing his body’s response. “I won’t die,” he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.
“I’m starting to think you’re invincible,” Cormac commented dryly. “With everything you’ve been through, most people would have died multiple times by now. But you keep coming back to life. It’s a miracle, really.”
Alaric barely listened. He didn’t care about the details. “Give me my phone.”
Cormac handed him the phone. Alaric immediately checked the call log. There were a few work-related calls from Silas, but nothing else. He scrolled through it, looking for one name. He found it—and then immediately tossed the phone aside.
“No,” he muttered to himself, as if trying to convince himself. “Don’t need to see that.”
Cormac watched him with a mix of sympathy and frustration. “You know, this time your episode was much worse than usual. I’m starting to wonder if each one will be more dangerous than the last. If that’s the case, how many times do you think you can survive this? Galatea—”
“Don’t mention her!” Alaric cut him off sharply, his tone bordering on anger.
Cormac raised an eyebrow but chose not to press the matter. “You’re still in silent treatment mode, aren’t you? You really should apologize to her.”
Alaric’s jaw tightened. “There are plenty of doctors in the world,” he said firmly. “I don’t need her. Haven’t I been living fine all these years without her?”
Cormac shook his head, a mixture of amusement and sadness in his expression. “I hope for your sake, Alaric, that you’re right.”