The beeping sound after hanging up was accompanied by the pattering of rain, like two heavy muffled hammers striking fiercely on Ann Vaughn’s heart.
One after another, cruel and embarrassing.
Ann Vaughn felt like rain threads drifted into her eyes, swelling with the feeling that something might spill over.
She pressed her lips tightly together, forcing that moistness back.
She was very clear that what really mattered to her wasn’t whether she could attend the banquet but Cyrus Hawthorne’s attitude—he didn’t have even a shred of respect for her.
At that moment, a black umbrella shielded Ann Vaughn from the rain overhead.
She looked up and saw an Aston Martin parked in front of her, the window rolling down to reveal Sutton Jennings’s face.
Ann Vaughn hesitated for a moment, opened the car door, and sat in the passenger seat. Sutton Jennings handed her a handkerchief, letting her wipe the moisture off her hair. Thɪs chapter is updated by NoᴠᴇFɪre.nᴇt
"Luckily you happened to pass by, otherwise I wouldn’t know when I’d be able to get a ride." Ann Vaughn said gratefully.
"It’s not a coincidence," Sutton Jennings turned the car around, his voice steady, "I saw The Whitlock Family people looking for the clinic owner at the clinic, probably concerning Mrs. Whitlock’s illness."
Ann Vaughn paused in surprise while drying her hair.
The little clinic didn’t have much fame, although it had regular clients, new ones seldom came, so it was unexpected for her that The Whitlock Family would know about it.
"Could you please take me back to the clinic? I’d like to give it a try."
Sutton Jennings, unsurprised by this answer, showed a faint smile, "I’ve already told them that if you agree, you’ll be at The Whitlock Family’s by today."
Ann Vaughn looked at Sutton Jennings in astonishment, feeling as if her thoughts had been seen through.
From the second meeting onwards, this feeling became especially strong.
Twenty minutes later, The Whitlock Family.
The Whitlock Family’s house was akin to a medieval castle, very historical, carrying an aura of solemnity and seriousness.
Sutton Jennings, as Ann Vaughn’s "temporary assistant," followed her in to prevent any unexpected situations.
Once upstairs, Ann Vaughn realized she wasn’t the only doctor invited, there were about a dozen people ahead of her, waiting to enter and examine Mrs. Whitlock.
The Whitlock Family’s steward asked her to wait a moment; when it was her turn, she could go in.
Ann Vaughn watched as each doctor walked into that door with confidence and pride only to come out dejected, blinking her eyes.
"What a joke, such matters are impossible for humans without divine intervention!"
A doctor who had just walked out of that door was furiously making his way out, carrying his medical kit swiftly, as if there was a monster chasing him from behind the door.
Almost every doctor coming out of the door bore that expression.
Ann Vaughn stroked her wrist, seeing fewer and fewer people ahead, she murmured curiously to Sutton Jennings, "I wonder what Mrs. Whitlock’s illness is."
"Don’t worry, just do your best." Sutton Jennings, always as calm as the wind, had a hint of a smile, his charming eyes slightly softened.
Ann Vaughn nodded, with a sense of challenge rising in her heart.
Half an hour later, Ann Vaughn’s turn arrived; she opened the door and entered, immediately catching the scent of medicine, discerning the names, forming a tentative estimate in her mind.
"Has Mrs. Whitlock been irritable lately, with blood in her phlegm and limbs fatigued?" Ann Vaughn sat on the chair, looking at Mrs. Whitlock, no longer glamorous as before, now weary and pallid, and asked gently, "This is a cardiac ailment, recurring and persisting, trapped in your heart, hence the prolonged recovery."