Slapped by a Noble Lady, I’m Her Lord’s Only Savior

On Christmas Eve, the snow fell heavier and heavier in Manhattan.

I am wide awake.

Tomorrow morning at eight o'clock, a highly confidential heart bypass surgery will take place in this building.

Lying on the stage was a retired federal senator who wielded astonishing power. His coronary artery blockage was extremely difficult to treat, and very few people were confident they could perform the surgery.

As the attending physician, the hospital arranged this luxurious suite for me, and even provided me with a personal butler.

According to the rules, I must force myself into a deep sleep at this moment.

But I was just looking at my phone.

The phone screen flickered softly, displaying a Christmas photo from two years ago. In the photo, Claire smiled gently, while five-year-old Ellie held a candy cane in her arms, her eyes sparkling.

It has been a full fourteen months since I last hugged them.

As a specially appointed expert of the International Society of Cardiac Surgery, frequent secret medical missions and strict confidentiality agreements have confined me to intensive care units around the world. I can snatch important figures back from the brink of death, but I can't even give my daughter a good morning kiss.

I remember Claire messaged me saying they were renting an old apartment less than three blocks from Presbyterian Hospital. Allie has a mild case of asthma, and her health deteriorates significantly in winter. With the snow falling so heavily in New York, how is Claire going to get through it all alone?

Once this idea took root, it instantly shattered my proud professional rationality.

I ripped off my tie, grabbed my coat, and rushed out of the suite. I didn't need to alert anyone; I just wanted to go downstairs, walk to their apartment building, and catch a glimpse of that window from afar.

The elevator stopped on the first floor. As soon as the doors opened, the noise of the public emergency room lobby mixed with the pungent smell of disinfectant hit me right in the face.

This place seemed like a completely separate world from the tranquil luxury of the top floor. All I could see were anxious patients and exhausted family members.

I turned up my coat collar and was about to walk through the lobby toward the revolving door when my gaze suddenly froze as I scanned the registration line.

My heart felt as if it were being violently squeezed by an invisible pair of surgical clamps.

That's Claire.

She was much thinner than in the photos, her shivering body wrapped in a thin coat. She held Ellie tightly in her arms, standing on tiptoe, anxiously watching the long queue.

With the keen intuition of a surgeon, I could tell at a glance, even from several meters away, that my daughter was in extremely bad condition. Ellie's little face was flushed red, her breathing was short and wheezing, and she lay lifelessly on her mother's shoulder.

"Sweetie, hang in there a little longer, it'll be our turn soon." Claire lowered her head and pressed her cheek against her daughter's forehead, her voice filled with exhaustion and even a hint of pleading.

My eyes welled up with tears, and my throat felt like it was stuffed with a wad of waterlogged cotton.

At that moment, to hell with the confidentiality agreement, all I wanted to do was rush over and hug the mother and daughter tightly.

I took a big step, but I had only taken two steps.

"Get out of the way! Everyone, move aside!"

A harsh, discordant shout abruptly shattered the noise in the emergency room.

Two burly bodyguards in black suits rudely pushed through the crowd, carving a path through the crowded registration line. The crowd swayed and staggered, some grumbling quietly, but swallowing their complaints upon seeing the bodyguards' imposing manner.

Immediately afterwards, the arrogant sound of high heels clicking on the terrazzo floor rang out. A woman in the latest tweed Chanel suit strode in with an air of superiority. The Van Cleef & Arpels necklace around her neck gleamed dazzlingly in the dim light.

She impatiently waved her hand in front of her nose, as if the surrounding air made her nauseous, then, with her bodyguard, she stepped over the first few people in line and headed straight for the registration window.

And it was Claire's turn at that window, after waiting in line for a long time.

"Step back!"

The bodyguard roughly reached out and shoved Claire on the shoulder.

Claire was already exhausted, and the force of the impact made her stagger back two steps, her back slamming heavily against the triage table next to her with a dull thud.

"Mommy..." Ellie, startled and feeling unwell from her illness, let out a weak sob.

Claire's face turned deathly pale, and she instinctively pulled her daughter even tighter. She bit her lip, a flicker of humiliation in her eyes, but she forced back her temper and pleaded in a low voice, "Please wait a moment, we've been waiting for two hours. My daughter has a very high fever, could you please let us go first…?"

“Public emergency rooms are such a hassle.” The Chanel woman didn’t even look at Claire, but just kept fiddling with her freshly done manicure, her tone full of contempt. “All sorts of people come up to her. It’s not like a fever will kill you.”

Seeing that his master was displeased, the bodyguard stepped forward and shoved Claire's arm again like he was chasing a stray dog: "Can't you understand what I'm saying? I told you to get out of my way!"

This time, the bodyguard's rough hand brushed directly against Ellie's burning cheek.

Ellie burst into tears, her small body trembling in Claire's arms.

Claire's eyes were red. She didn't retaliate or argue. She simply hunched over as usual, tightly protecting her crying daughter in her arms, and silently retreated to a corner of the crowd.

That practiced, submissive demeanor was like a sharp knife, piercing my pupils.

My steps faltered in place.

At that moment, blood rushed to his head, and the fatigue and guilt of the past few days fermented in his chest into a fiercely burning rage.

I slowly took off my cumbersome coat, my knuckles cracking slightly as I clenched it tightly.