Chapter 711
Chapter 711:
“I’ve got a private doctor,” Rutherford said after a pause. “I’ll send him over. Don’t worry—your friend’s in good hands.”
Relief washed over her. “Thank you, Mr. Schoenberg.”
After the call, Sharon gave her a long look from the driver’s seat. “You don’t even like the guy, and now you’re asking him for favors? You’re racking up debts, Stella. How are you gonna pay him back?”
Stella leaned back with a sigh. “I’ll deal with that when the time comes.”
“You’re really going all-in for a stranger?”
Stella glanced at the unconscious man stretched out in the backseat. “We’ve already brought him this far. Might as well see it through.”
Besides, she had a hunch he knew something about the accident. Something important.
Within the hour, they reached her apartment complex. After parking in the underground garage, the two women wrestled the man out of the car and into the building.
Inside, thick curtains shut out the city lights. The air smelled of cleaning alcohol and faint medicinal powder—not exactly cozy, but it would do. Stella got to work.
Fast, she cleaned his wounds as best as she could, holding her breath until the doctor arrived.
When the doctor finally showed up and saw the extent of the injuries, he froze for a second.
“Doctor, is it bad?” Stella asked, anxiety creeping into her voice.
The doctor frowned. “Gunshot wound. First priority is getting the bullet out.”
Stella’s eyes widened. Sharon looked equally stunned.
No wonder the bleeding wouldn’t stop—he still had a bullet lodged inside him.
For the next hour, the room was filled with tense silence and the occasional clink of metal. The doctor worked meticulously, sweat dripping from his brow as he pulled the bullet out and closed the wound.
When it was finally over, Stella let out a long breath. “You’ve been a lifesaver tonight, Doc. You want to crash here and head out in the morning?”
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The doctor shook his head. “No need. As long as he doesn’t spike a fever, he’ll pull through.”
Stella walked him out, then returned with a glass of warm water. She moved quietly, not wanting to disturb the heavy silence.
On the bed, the man lay deathly still. His face was pale, eyes tightly shut. No telling when he’d wake up.
Stella let out a yawn, and Sharon suggested, “Let’s get some rest. He’s probably not waking up tonight anyway.”
The two of them headed back to the master bedroom, freshened up, and settled into bed.
Since there was an unfamiliar man in the house, Sharon didn’t feel comfortable leaving Stella alone, so she stayed the night.
By morning, the man finally stirred, his eyes blinking open as his focus sharpened.
He was now dressed in the new clothes Stella had arranged for him the night before—slightly tight-fitting, but they suited him and gave off a rugged charm.
Seeing him step out, Stella asked gently, “Why are you up? Does your wound still hurt?”
.
.
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