A Wedding Night Gone Terribly Wrong novel Chapter 220

“What garbage are you spewing?” she demanded coldly.

Miles was practically bursting with self-righteous fury. “What’s it going to take for you to snap out of it?”

“Get lost,” Winifred snapped.

The bodyguards physically shoved Miles back. “Back off before we make you.”

The bodyguards Leland had brought from Kingsbridge were his handpicked inner circle, every single one of them over six foot three. At just under six feet, Miles was completely walled off by the three human mountains, forced to retreat in frustration.

“Winifred! Let me tell you something! Mr. Lockwood is madly in love with Miss Morgan! He treats her like an absolute queen. I’ve been by his side for eleven years, and I have never seen him care about a woman this much!”

“Miss Iris Morgan is his entire life!”

“I’m telling you to give up! For the sake of your own miserable life, stop obsessing over a man you can’t have and don’t deserve!”

The bodyguards shoved him even further away. He stood on his tiptoes, craning his neck over their shoulders to keep yelling. “Winifred, I’m saying this for your own good—”

He shouted until he was blue in the face, yet Winifred didn't even grant him a second glance.

Miles was absolutely livid. “Ungrateful bitch!” he muttered, backing into a corner and punching the wall in frustration.

By the time he exited the side door and met up with Iris’s parents, his anger hadn't subsided one bit. After he recounted the entire exchange, Lyndon and Beatrice exchanged a look of profound disgust.

“A weed dreaming of touching the sky. She’s still delusional about Holden.”

“Calling him ‘Mr. Lockwood’ with every breath—how does she even have the nerve to say it out loud? That’s my daughter’s husband!”

“She has no shame.”

The head doctor obviously knew of The International Medical Center. It was an elite, foreign-owned hospital catering exclusively to the ultra-rich. Their equipment and specialists were top-tier, designed specifically to provide flawless care for billionaires. If they had cleared him, then he was physically fine.

However, Holden was currently lying on the stretcher, looking visibly agonized and terribly pale.

In the end, the attending physician prescribed an IV drip of glucose and vitamins. It was mostly a placebo—a “comfort measure” for a patient who was medically fine but acting severely ill.

Miles helped transfer Holden into a wheelchair and pushed him down to the outpatient IV area on the first floor.

Meanwhile, Winifred had also finished her consultation. There was nothing physically wrong with her either. Of course, they hadn't checked her brain—doing a CT scan on such short notice wasn't convenient, the doctor hadn't ordered one, and she hadn't mentioned it. But besides her head, the rest of her body was fine.

Leland, still frantic with worry, badgered the doctor, detailing obsessively how she had shivered twelve separate times while sleeping in the car. Touched by his concern, the doctor prescribed a glucose IV drip to help restore her energy.

Leland gently took Winifred’s hand, leading her down to the outpatient IV area on the first floor.