The surgery took longer than George Stanford had initially estimated.
It was a torturous five hours, where every minute and every second seemed to stretch on endlessly.
This was true for Sophie Sullivan, and it was also true for Thomas Shannon.
After a quick breakfast and lunch in the medical office, Thomas Shannon stood resolutely outside the operating room the entire time, waiting for Sophie to come out.
Because he didn’t know when the surgery would end, Charlie River didn’t dare to ask him to rest for a while. After all, Thomas was still injured. If he went to rest and the surgery on the maniac finished in his absence, what would he do then?
So, Charlie River didn’t speak rashly. He knew that if he did, he would surely be met with displeasure. It was better not to say anything from the start.
Charlie River never expected that the maniac would have such charm.
At first, he thought she was just a simple plaything, a temporary novelty for the Young Master.
However, as things stood now, she had become so important that the Young Master waited outside the operating room door for hours just to see her come out.
All these changes made Charlie River rethink his view of the maniac.
He remembered overhearing whispers among the maids, who wondered if the maniac might become their mistress one day.
Previously, when Charlie River heard such talk, he would have merely dismissed it with a smile. In his heart, the answer had been a firm no. But now, seeing Young Master Shannon’s determined expression, even Charlie River himself wasn’t so sure anymore. Whether the maniac would become their mistress in the future was uncertain. Anything was possible. What was certain was that Amelia Shaw had been utterly defeated. Nowadays, her continued presence was only due to the Young Master’s curiosity. He wanted to know what she and Frank Mitchell were truly up to together. The design drawings were fakes that Thomas Shannon had deliberately placed in his study, waiting for her to steal them. After so many days, there was still no movement from Frank Mitchell, which was indeed suspicious.
Invisibly, it seemed as if the ticking of a second hand echoed in his heart.
Thomas Shannon sat in a chair, his long, narrow eyes slightly closed as he feigned sleep.
He seemed extremely patient, waiting calmly and composedly. He had complete confidence in the surgery’s outcome.
Although Old Mr. Standford was foul-tempered and stubborn, his medical skills were renowned as formidable in the field. There was no surgery George Stanford was unwilling to perform, and no face he couldn’t restore. He felt very much at ease leaving the maniac in his care.
Finally, as the sixth hour was about to begin, the operating room door opened.
George Stanford, along with a nurse, wheeled Sophie out.
Thomas Shannon stood up. His handsome face showed no trace of joy, anger, or anxiety; his emotions were perfectly concealed. "How was the surgery?"
"Very smooth." George Stanford lowered his mask, his face etched with fatigue. "She’ll wake up once the anesthesia wears off. There’s no need to worry."
Thomas Shannon nodded thoughtfully. "You’ve worked hard."
"Young Master Shannon, you’re too kind," George Stanford said. "I’ll go rest now. If there are any problems, call me anytime." ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ noveⅼfire.net
Sophie was wheeled into a room in the medical office. Her face was wrapped in thick gauze, through which bloodstains seeped, dyeing a patch of the gauze crimson.
It looked particularly ghastly.
She lay silently on the bed, still unconscious as the anesthesia had yet to wear off.
Thomas Shannon sat down by the bedside, watching her quietly.
Sophie was lost in a long, intricate dream, the complexities of which made her head ache slightly.
She wandered in darkness for a very long time.