Chapter 93 Go to the Hospital
She was about to spill the beans. Otherwise, the pain would kill her.
Margaret blurted out, "Raymond, I can't go on like this."
Just then, someone knocked on the door of the presidential suite, and Raymond's phone buzzed. He picked up the call and went to open the door.
Margaret's words got stuck in her throat like a bad piece of food.
Half a minute later, Raymond came back and tossed a paper bag at her.
The bag smacked her fingers, making them tingle with pain.
Sweaters, jeans, socks, and other clothes spilled out onto the carpet.
"Change your clothes and wipe off that makeup before you leave. If you're not embarrassed, I am."
Raymond threw a white down jacket at her face and headed to the bathroom to freshen up.
By the time he was done, Margaret had already changed.
She went to the bathroom to take off her makeup.
Suddenly, her liver stopped hurting, and she didn't feel the need to tell him about her illness anymore. She knew he wouldn't give a damn.
When she came out of the bathroom, Raymond was gone.
Margaret forced a smile; she thought he'd wait for her, but she was wrong.
The phone on the bedside table rang, and she picked it up.
Nightfall Club had transferred the remaining $300,000.
Now she had $1.3 million in her account.
Leaving the suite, she looked around but couldn't find her handbag.
Nothing valuable was inside. Her ID and bank cards weren't there.
She had her phone, so apart from losing a bag, she didn't lose much.
As she stepped out of The Velvet Lounge, a cold gust hit her.
Margaret walked to the nearby greenery, and her liver started hurting again.
It felt like a snake was wriggling into her liver, tearing and biting.
Margaret leaned against a street tree.
She spat out a mouthful of blood. Was she closer to death?
She wanted to cry but couldn't. Half-squatting, she spat out more blood. No one stopped to help.
The blaring car horns made her think she was in the way, so she moved with difficulty. She took a tissue from her pocket and wiped the blood from her mouth.
"Mrs. Howard, what's wrong? Are you okay?" A familiar voice called out.
Margaret's body trembled. She leaned against the tree, slowly stood up, and turned around.
A black car was parked next to her.
Alvin was in the driver's seat, window down.
"You don't look well. Need a ride to the hospital?" Alvin asked.
Margaret did need to go to the hospital. She smiled gratefully. "Thanks."
"No problem." Alvin opened the car door, got out, and then opened the back door for her. "Please."
Margaret walked to the back seat and saw Raymond, wearing a black coat, leaning back with his eyes closed.
She looked at Alvin and smiled bitterly. "I think I'll take a cab."
"Are you getting in yourself, or should I carry you?" Raymond opened his eyes, his cold gaze like a sharp sword.
Margaret pursed her lips and clenched her fists as her liver started hurting again. Then she got in the car.
Alvin closed the door, got back in the driver's seat, and started driving.
With the partition up, Margaret and Raymond were in their own private space.
Margaret kept coughing, trying to cover her lips as the taste of blood filled her mouth. She swallowed it back, not wanting to show weakness.
Raymond noticed and thought she might be nauseous just from looking at him.
He thought, 'Alright, Margaret, if that's how you feel.'
Her face was ghostly pale, and she looked like she could collapse any second.
Raymond wanted to ask what was wrong, but Margaret started coughing again, clutching her liver in pain.
"What's going on with you?" he finally asked, unable to hold back.
Margaret's throat was filled with the taste of blood; she coughed a few times and looked up at him. "Do you even care what's going on with me?"
"Just curious about when you'll kick the bucket. The urn I bought for you has been gathering dust."
Raymond tried to show concern, but his words came out all wrong.
He couldn't care about her, couldn't be good to her. He should be hoping for her death.
Margaret gave a faint, mocking smile. "For Sarah, you can't wait anymore?"
"Whatever you think," Raymond said coldly, not looking at her.
Margaret said, "Raymond, I once thought that after we got married, I'd be the happiest woman in the world. We’d love each other forever. But ever since we tied the knot, after my dad fell down the stairs, you changed."
Margaret laughed at herself, her tone light and indifferent, with endless sadness in her eyes. "Especially this year, I've cried endless tears, my heart's been shattered countless times. Maybe I was just too naive when I got married."
This year had been a nightmare, the worst in her twenty-something years of life.
Raymond had been cold to her for a year.
She was diagnosed with late-stage cancer and had nearly died several times.
Marlon had a car accident and still hadn't woken up.
Margaret, who never worried about money, had to sell drinks and smiles at the Velvet Lounge for a mere $500,000.
This year was brutal, and it wasn't even Lumina Festival yet. There were still 25 days to go.
Would she die before then, with no one finding out?
"You think playing the pity card will make me feel sorry for you? Is this another trick to get money?" Raymond laughed coldly.
Margaret laughed along, how ridiculous, why was she rambling on about this?
He didn't want to listen, and didn't care at all.
"Mrs. Howard, we've arrived at the hospital," Alvin's voice came.
She snapped back to reality; they had indeed arrived at the hospital.
"Get out."
Raymond issued an eviction order, as if he couldn't stand to see her for another second.
She didn't argue with him. Alvin got out and opened the car door for her.
Margaret got out and quickly walked towards the hospital's outpatient hall.
Alvin returned to the car and drove away from the hospital.
Raymond's face was cold, and he didn't speak.
"Sir, I noticed Mrs. Howard didn't look well. Could she be sick? Should we go back and check on her?" Alvin couldn't help but ask.
Alvin said this mainly because Margaret had been leaning against the greenery, struggling to get up.
Although he didn't know what Margaret was doing, his gut told him something was wrong with her health.
However, Raymond didn't respond, closing his eyes.
Suddenly, an image of Margaret curled up in pain on the ground, clutching his bathrobe, looking pitiful, flashed in his mind.
"Raymond, take me to the hospital."
"It hurts, it really hurts."
What was wrong with her, where did it hurt so much?
Raymond was irritated. He shouldn't care about her, but he couldn't control his feelings.
"Go to the hospital."
Raymond's face was expressionless, his tone cold.
He wasn't being soft-hearted; he was going to find out Margaret's true condition.
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