Saintess's Worthless Husband Turned Dragon Commander novel Chapter 258

CHAPTER 179 PART 1

The private wing of Bright Hospital fell into complete silence when Maurice Springs arrived. The branch manager of Willson Pavilion’s Far East division moved through the corridors with purposeful strides, his expensive suit perfectly tailored, his white hair swept back with precision. Every step radiated authority that made doctors and nurses instinctively step aside.

Behind him walked two bodyguards, professionals who carried themselves with the quiet competence of men who’d killed before and would kill again without hesitation. Their presence alone made the hospital staff nervous.

“No one enters my son’s room,” Maurice ordered the head nurse. “No doctors, no staff, no interruptions of any kind. If I find out someone disobeyed, they’ll regret it for whatever remains of their life. Understood?”

The nurse nodded frantically, too terrified to even verbally confirm.

Maurice pushed open the door to Quantez’s private recovery suite and entered alone, closing it behind him with a soft click that somehow felt final.

Quantez lay unconscious on the hospital bed, his face so swollen and bruised that Maurice barely recognized his own son. Machines beeped steadily, monitoring vitals that remained fragile despite hours of intensive care. Bandages covered most of Quantez’s torso. His right leg was immobilized in a cast. His breathing came shallow

and labored.

Maurice stood beside the bed for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then his hand moved to Quantez’s wrist, fingers pressing against the pulse point with practiced precision.

His dragon-enhanced senses cataloged the damage. Multiple fractured ribs, three of them broken completely. Ruptured spleen, now surgically repaired but weakened permanently. Internal bleeding that had required transfusions. And the spine, the worst injury of all, compressed vertebrae that would likely leave Quantez dependent on a wheelchair for the rest of his life.

Maurice’s jaw tightened. His son, his heir, the child he’d raised to eventually inherit his position within Willson Pavilion, had been reduced to this broken shell.

Someone would pay. Someone would suffer. Someone would learn exactly what happened when they touched Maurice Springs’s blood.

He turned and exited the room, his rage now carefully controlled but burning hotter than before.

The Willson Pavilion disciples had gathered in a private waiting area, anxiety written across every face. Celeste Harrington stood at the front, trying to maintain composure. Miles Cooper sat separately, her injuries from Marcus’s strike still causing visible pain despite treatment. The Western fighters who’d accompanied Quantez stood together, their earlier confidence completely evaporated.

Maurice entered the room, and everyone immediately stood, bowing with the synchronized precision of well trained subordinates.

“Sit,” Maurice commanded.

They obeyed instantly.

Maurice remained standing, his cold eyes sweeping across each face, cataloging expressions, reading body language, assessing guilt and innocence with the practiced eye of someone who’d spent decades managing people through fear and authority.

“Explain,” he said quietly. “Explain to me how my son ended up beaten nearly to death while surrounded by

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Willson Pavilion disciples. Explain why none of you stopped it. Explain why you all returned alive while Quantez lies crippled in a hospital bed.”

Celeste cleared her throat nervously. “Branch Manager, we attempted to intervene, but the opponent was extraordinarily powerful. Marcus Steel, the one they call the Dragon King, he possesses combat capabilities far beyond what we anticipated. Engaging him further would have risked additional casualties without achieving any meaningful result.”

“So you chose preservation over protection,” Maurice observed.

“We chose strategic withdrawal over suicidal confrontation,” Celeste corrected carefully. “If we’d all been killed or injured, Quantez would have been even more vulnerable. Our survival meant we could coordinate medical care, contact you, and prepare for organized retaliation.”

Maurice was silent for a long moment. Then he moved with speed that caught everyone off guard. His palm struck Celeste’s chest with devastating force enhanced by internal energy cultivation. She flew backward, crashed into the wall, and collapsed to the floor coughing blood.

“Strategic withdrawal,” Maurice repeated mockingly. “You dress up cowardice with tactical language and expect me to accept it? My son was being beaten, and you withdrew. That’s the truth. Everything else is excuse and rationalization.”

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