Chapter 540 I'm Not Martin
Hearing he was about to leave, Patricia instinctively grabbed his hand. This time, James was more stubborn than before. He swiftly shook off her grasp, turned, and began to cough violently, covering his mouth.
Patricia was certain—he had to be Martin. She had been with Martin for so long; how could she be wrong? Absolutely not.
"If you're not Martin, then take off your mask and let me see your face. Otherwise, I'll never believe you," she challenged.
After a fit of coughing, James' thin frame seemed unsteady, and he began to sway. Alan, noticing something was amiss, quickly brought over a chair and placed it behind him. James sank down gratefully, leaning against the backrest, gasping for breath until he regained composure.
Crouching in front of him, Patricia took his hand, her voice filled with concern. "Martin, are you sick? Is that why you've been avoiding me? Your cough sounds severe. What's really wrong? Why have you changed like this? Carter said you were seriously hurt. Is it because your injuries haven't healed? You don't have to worry. With today's medical advances, they can surely treat you. Please don't pretend you don't know me; don't ignore me. I miss you so much, and the kids do, too.
"Fannie was asking me just last night why you haven't appeared in her dreams. She's dying to see you. Won't you listen to me and come back with us? Maria has even started to talk; she can say 'mommy' and 'daddy' now. But she's just like you used to be."
Through her heartfelt pleas, Patricia hoped to awaken something in Martin and persuade him to return with her. As she spoke, tears began to stream down her face uncontrollably.
James felt a choking sensation in his chest as if it were stuffed with cotton soaked in water, continuously being squeezed by an unseen hand, leaving him with a sour, astringent taste and a dull pain that made it hard to breathe. Despite his discomfort, his expression remained stoic, his voice chillingly detached.
"Patricia, you might be mistaken," he said, his tone icy. "I'm wearing a mask because I'm ill—I have contagious blisters on my face. It's safer for me not to remove the mask. It's not about concealing my identity."
Patricia, however, was not easily dissuaded. "I won't believe it unless you take off the mask and let me see with my own eyes," she insisted, her conviction unwavering. She was certain of her instincts; this had to be Martin, her husband.
"Are you sure you want to see?" James asked, his voice grave with the weight of his warning about the contagious nature of his condition.
"I'm not afraid," Patricia declared firmly, her resolve unshaken, almost challenging him to reveal his face.
"Fine. I hope you'll stop this nonsense after you see my face," James responded, his voice barely above a whisper, betraying a hint of weakness.
Patricia met his gaze with equal steadiness, her anticipation palpable. Slowly, James reached for his mask, his slender fingers trembling slightly. Under Patricia's intense scrutiny, he began to peel the mask away from his face.
And there it was. His face, swollen and marred by tiny, clustered blisters, was so disfigured that his original features were utterly obscured. Patricia felt a shockwave through her mind, a tumultuous mix of disbelief and desperation. She scanned his face frantically, searching for any sign of the man she knew— a mole, the curve of his nose, anything familiar.
Yet, her search was in vain. Normally, even with significant swelling, some inherent features remain identifiable—the structure of the face, the shape of the nose, or the look in the eyes. But in James, she found none of these markers that could link him to Martin.
Doubt crept in. Had she been wrong? Was this man not her husband after all? Could this simply be a case of two people bearing a striking resemblance to each other?
But no, that couldn't be right. The resemblance was too uncanny, too precise. Overwhelmed by a rising tide of despair, Patricia felt the crushing weight of her realization.
She had clawed her way from darkness into light, only to plunge back into an abyss, her hope extinguished utterly. She didn't even have the urge to cry anymore.
James caught the expression on Patricia's face and felt a twinge of pain in his heart. However, he quickly steeled himself, readjusted his mask, and turned away with a gentle cough.
"You believe me now, right?" he managed to say amidst his coughing.
Patricia, after a moment of silence, hoarsely asked, "Why... why does your face look like that?" Despite knowing it was impolite, her curiosity got the better of her.
"That's personal, and I don't owe you an explanation," James replied with a bitter laugh. "I wear a mask for your safety."
Alan handed James a glass of water. "Take a sip, ease your throat. You've been coughing quite a bit."
"Thanks, but no," James said, pushing the glass away and instead taking a tablet from his pocket. As the tablet dissolved in his mouth, his throat was considerably relieved.
"Everything that needed to be said has been said, and all questions asked. Let's get down to brass tacks."
Patricia's attention was entirely fixed on James. Her mind went blank, unable to think of anything else. Her gaze locked on him, refusing to divert even slightly.
Frowning in displeasure, James announced, "I'll take my leave if I'm not needed, then." He stood to leave.
Alan quickly put his hand on James' shoulder. "Wait, wait, wait. I've pulled strings to get you here because we need your help to navigate this crisis."
"Run me through the company's current situation—and I mean every single detail. I want to know it all," James demanded.
Alan nodded and began to meticulously recount the latest state of affairs without missing a beat.
James listened intently, weighing every word.
Initially, Patricia's focus was solely on him. Even after confirming he wasn't Martin, she couldn't help but search for any resemblance to Martin in his features.
However, as Alan delved deeper into the discussion, Patricia found herself increasingly drawn into the conversation.
Her ire rose particularly when the topic of executives calling in sick en masse was brought up. It felt like a direct challenge orchestrated by Max—a deliberate act of insubordination—and she felt powerless against it.
"With the company in its current state, we're in dire need of every hand on deck. They know they're indispensable, so I can't just fire them. Even if I did, finding suitable replacements would be next to impossible," she lamented.
By the end of the conversation, Patricia felt a throbbing headache coming on again.
After hearing out their account, James arched an eyebrow and said coolly, "No one's truly loyal when their interests are at stake. It's all a matter of entanglement."
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