Chapter 508 Encounter
The morning air was cool, a mix of disinfectant and fresh greenery.
Sunlight filtered through the thin mist, casting dappled shadows on the hospital's tree-lined path.
George walked with a custom black cane, each step precise and measured, the sound of his shoes lightly tapping against the stone path. His black trench coat swayed gently in the breeze, outlining his tall, slender frame.
Streams of data flashed across the lenses of his smart glasses, and the AI system in his earpiece provided steady navigation. "Turn right in sixty feet, heading towards the outpatient building."
Just as he was about to turn, he heard a deliberately suppressed gasp from his right, accompanied by a sudden, strong scent of jasmine perfume.
Before George could react, a soft body collided heavily with his chest. His right hand instinctively lifted, catching the slender wrist of the other person, the touch overly delicate.
"I'm so sorry, I was so careless." The woman's voice carried just the right amount of panic, with a slight upward lilt at the end, hinting at a barely noticeable expectation.
George's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly as he quickly withdrew his hand, his fingers tightening around his cane, his voice cold as ice. "It's fine."
He had always disliked being touched by strangers, especially women.
Wanda, however, seemed oblivious to his resistance, stepping forward again, close enough that they could feel each other's breath.
Her voice suddenly filled with surprise. "Mr. Russell? Oh my, what a coincidence!"
George subtly shifted to the side, creating some distance, his voice clearly detached. "Do we know each other?"
Wanda laughed lightly, her manicured nails brushing against her temple. "Of course you don't know me, but I've seen you in fashion magazines before. I never expected to meet you at the hospital." Her tone was so familiar, as if they were old friends.
George was silent for a few seconds, a blue light flashing across his smart glasses. He finally responded coolly, "Thank you for the compliment."
With that, he deftly maneuvered around her, his cane tapping the ground as he continued along the stone path.
His back was straight and distant, as if the encounter had been nothing more than an insignificant interruption.
Under a nearby tree, a group of young nurses in pink uniforms whispered excitedly, their eyes darting to the spot where the collision had occurred, their faces flushed with excitement.
"Oh my gosh! Isn't that George Russell?" one round-faced nurse whispered, covering her mouth.
"That's him! I heard he suddenly went blind recently, such a shame," another nurse chimed in, her eyes filled with pity. "But he's still so handsome, his profile is just perfect."
"Who was that beautiful woman talking to him? They look so good together!"
"I think that's Dr. Salazar from the psychology department. I heard her family is really wealthy, and she's so gentle. A lot of patients like her."
Wanda stood still, a dangerous smile slowly forming on her lips, painted with dark red lipstick.
She watched George's retreating figure, her fingers unconsciously stroking the metal clasp of her handbag.
At the same time, her phone vibrated in her pocket, displaying an encrypted message: [Proceed with the plan, don't disappoint me.]
The sender was identified by a single letter: M.
George exited the hospital, the cool breeze brushing against his cheeks. The cloying scent of perfume still lingered, making him feel slightly nauseous.
From the third-floor window of the main building, Emma's hands tightened around the thermos she was holding, the plastic handle digging into her palm.
Michael stood half a step behind her, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses as he focused on the couple below.
"Looks like George is doing better," Michael's voice was almost too gentle. "He's already got a lovely companion."
Emma's eyelashes fluttered. From her vantage point, she could clearly see Wanda practically glued to George's chest, and the usually aloof George hadn't immediately pushed her away.
The sunlight cast a golden glow on the pair, a sight so beautiful it hurt her eyes.
Just days ago, George had held her hand and said, "I can't watch you die."
Now, he was letting another woman cling to him.
"Grandpa is still waiting for his soup," Emma suddenly turned, her voice barely audible. She quickly walked towards the elevator, her pace increasing until she was almost running.
Michael followed at a leisurely pace, a faint, inscrutable smile on his lips.
In the hospital lobby, George stood at the information desk, asking for directions to the ophthalmology exam room. His cane tapped lightly on the floor, creating a rhythmic sound.
The voice in his smart glasses suddenly alerted him. "Someone is approaching quickly from ten feet to your left."
George was about to ask who it was when he heard the sound of his smart glasses disconnecting.
He instinctively turned, hearing familiar footsteps, a unique rhythm of someone trying to walk lightly but unable to control their urgency.
A faint scent of jasmine passed by, fleeting.
Emma?
George whipped his head around, but all he heard was the sound of footsteps fading away.
He reached out, but his hand grasped only air.
"Sir? Do you need help?" a nurse's voice came from the information desk.
George's hand slowly lowered, his knuckles white. "No, thank you."
In the inpatient elevator, Emma stared intently at the floor numbers as they changed. The mirror reflected her red-rimmed eyes and Michael's meaningful expression.
"He saw me," Emma's voice trembled slightly, "but pretended not to recognize me."
Michael sighed softly, "Maybe he has his reasons?"
"Reasons?" Emma suddenly laughed, a sound more painful than crying, "When he was holding another woman, he didn't seem to have any reasons."
The elevator stopped at the top floor. Emma rushed out without looking back, tears finally streaming down her face.
She didn't see Michael's hand slowly retracting, nor the calculating look in his eyes.
An hour later, George finished his exam and left the consultation room.
His smart glasses had just reconnected, broadcasting an urgent notification. "Detected ten feet to your left, approaching: Emma Jones."
His expression changed dramatically. So, it was her!
What had she seen? What had she misunderstood?
"Where is she now?"
"Sorry, limited access, unable to query."
George punched the wall, his knuckles bleeding. He pulled out his phone, dialing a number he knew by heart.
After a long wait, a cold automated message played. "The number you have dialed is temporarily unavailable..."
Meanwhile, in the VIP room on the 17th floor, Emma watched the incoming call display flash repeatedly before slowly pressing the reject button.
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