It's all messed up.
Beryl drooped her head despondently, her gaze falling on her own feet. A surge of heat rose in her eyes, a mix of grievance, anxiety, and helplessness sweeping over her in an instant. Everything ultimately pooled in her eyes, turning into clear, crystal-like tears.
She didn't think so, nor did she want to make a deal with him. She was really grateful. No one had ever helped her like this since she was a child. She suddenly didn't know how to express it, how to deal with it, and how to make him misunderstand her in the worst way.
Marcellus left. What...what was she supposed to do?
As Marcellus burst out of the hospital, he was clearly still angry. Standing at the hospital's entrance, he looked back at the inpatient building and took a swing in the air.
He was absolutely livid!
For more than thirty years of his life, he'd been indifferent and insincere to women. When had he ever felt this upset? Never. This was a first, and the feeling was far from pleasant.
He sat down on a nearby step, ignoring his image. He pulled out his phone, his temper flaring, and called Mike, "Front of the hospital, get your ass here now!"
He hung up the phone with a snap. Less than half a minute later, a black business car parked smoothly by the roadside. The driver, shaking slightly, got out and opened the car door, waiting by the side.
"Back to the Red Cauldron," Marcellus walked over grumpily, got into the car, and barked.
Mike reminded him in a low voice, "Mr. Perkins, Dean Anderson wanted to see you, he asked if you could spare some time..."
"No time!" Marcellus rejected it without even thinking. He had to get away from this godforsaken hospital immediately, or just the memory of Beryl's words could set him on fire.
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