The Last Time I Cried Your Name novel Chapter 574

Franco looked up, his dark eyes unreadable. Protecting patient privacy was basic professional ethics for a doctor, but not all doctors could uphold it under pressure.

Those who couldn't be swayed by money might lack firm principles elsewhere, and those unafraid of authority often had vulnerabilities that could be exploited. Only a rare few could completely detach themselves from the crushing presence of someone at the top of the food chain.

Dr. Ian Cavanaugh was one of those few.

Franco had known about Cavanaugh for a long time. Last night, sitting in the passenger seat of Hans's car, the angle had prevented him from getting a good look at the man's face.

Cavanaugh was the first psychiatrist he had ever sought out for Petty. He had sent people searching for him for a long time to no avail, yet somehow, the Green family had tracked him down.

No one would have guessed that the most renowned genius in the field of psychology was working as a lowly resident in a rundown hospital.

A man like him was hard to break. He had no obvious weaknesses, didn't lack money, was deeply respected for his sheer brilliance, and held no fear of power.

Prying information out of his mouth would not be an easy task.

But Franco desperately needed to know her current condition.

His fingertips, which had been resting on the armrest of the sofa, paused in mid-air. He spoke in a low, resonant voice. "I am..."

"My apologies, Mr. White," Cavanaugh interrupted politely, his tone lazy and his posture looking like a man dead on his feet. "Petty mentioned she was never married, so you definitely can't be her ex-husband. In what capacity are you asking, Mr. White?"

Franco's Adam's apple bobbed. "I'm her ex-boyfriend."

"Oh." Cavanaugh nodded as if it all made perfect sense. "And?"

"Ex-boyfriends don't fall under the category of family, which means I'm even less inclined to disclose Petty's medical condition to you. If you want to know so badly, you can ask her yourself. She lives in your house, doesn't she? Do you two just not speak?"

He truly was a master psychiatrist.

Just then, the phone Cavanaugh had left on the table began to ring.

The caller ID read: Petty.

Cavanaugh glanced at the man sitting across from him. The moment Franco saw the name on the screen, his expression grew unreadable.

Cavanaugh picked up the phone and swiped to answer, his peripheral vision catching Franco's fingertips lightly tapping against the sofa's armrest.

Franco couldn't hear what Petty was saying on the other end; he could only hear Cavanaugh's replies.

"...Yeah, I'm out getting tea... Sure, whatever you decide. I'll follow your lead, of course."

Franco took in every little movement, but he didn't seem to care.

"Since she's coming, I won't keep you any longer, Dr. Cavanaugh."

Cavanaugh slipped his phone back into his pocket and asked casually, "You're giving up, Mr. White?"

"I already have my answer." Franco lit a cigarette.

His bottomless dark eyes seemed shrouded in an ethereal mist. His voice was hoarse. "What do I need to do?"

A hint of scrutiny cut through Cavanaugh's lazy demeanor. This man's emotional depth was terrifying.

"Just try to minimize your contact with her."

After delivering his advice, Cavanaugh glanced around the room. He stood up, walked over to an oak table against the wall, picked up a pen, and quickly scribbled a string of numbers onto a notepad.

He tore the sheet off, walked back to Franco, and placed it on the table between them.

"If you ever have any psychological issues you need to consult on, Mr. White, you can call me directly. Please don't 'invite' me like this ever again. It's terrifying."