The Prison-Made Queen novel Chapter 145

"Don't worry, I have professional ethics."

Mr. Dillon's expression softened slightly, but he still instructed her seriously, "This matter has wide implications. Please keep your lips sealed. Don't even mention it to Marlon."

Leilani handed the agreement back and nodded. "Relax. I'm just here to treat the patient; I won't do anything unnecessary. Now that the agreement is signed, may I leave?"

Mr. Dillon finally smiled. "You may."

He wanted to see her to the door, but Leilani insisted against it. She was just going back to give Yvonne and Hale their routine treatments and would return soon. She had become familiar with Mr. Dillon over the past few days, so there was no need for formalities.

Leilani walked out of the villa in the suburbs of Brass City. The night wind, carrying the chill of early autumn, brushed against her cheeks. She rubbed her temples and took a few deep breaths, finally feeling her head clear a little. She hadn't slept well for several days; using acupuncture to force out the poison drained her mental energy immensely.

Mr. Chilton was different from Hale and Yvonne. They were generally healthy, so Leilani could be decisive with her needles, usually taking thirty minutes to an hour. But Mr. Chilton had been poisoned with the rare Thousand-Strand Poison. Touching the wrong area could worsen his condition, so she had to think carefully with every needle placement, consuming a lot of mental effort. Although the onlookers saw her moving quickly, the internal pressure was immense. Every time she finished, her back was soaked with sweat.

As Leilani reflected on the past few days, the phone in her pocket suddenly vibrated.

Inside the villa, all communication signals were blocked. Now that she had walked out of the signal shielding range, notifications for unread messages and missed calls flooded in like a tide.

Leilani snapped back to reality, took out her phone, and unlocked the screen. Dozens of WhatsApp notifications and missed call records were stacked on the lock screen, all from the same name: Callahan.

[Where are you?]

[Pick up the phone.]

...

At the same time, thirty thousand feet in the air, inside a private jet.

Callahan stared at the "No Signal" notification on his phone screen, his eyes dark and cold.

"How long until landing?" he asked the assistant in the front row.

The assistant lowered his voice. "Forty minutes to landing."