Chapter 136

Wendell narrowed his eyes at Katelyn, unable to believe what he was hearing. "If this isn't a threat, then what is?"

Katelyn lifted her shoulders in an easy shrug, her palms opening wide. "If that'sthe label you want to use,then I won't argue."

Her steady composure only fueled Wendell's anger, his chest rising and falling as his temper spiked. "Do you not realize I could go to the police right now?"

Resting her elbows against the table, Katelyn laced her fingers beneath her chin. "Go ahead, Professor Branson, no one's stopping you. But let's be honest. The police can't shadow your grandson every second of the day. And more importantly, I haven't lifted a finger yet. Even if you file a report, I can laugh it off as a joke. Words don't carry prison sentences."

The moment his grandson entered the conversation, Wendell's weak point was exposed.

His whole body shook with rage, his finger trembling as he jabbed it toward her. He could barely spit out a word."You-"

Amusement flickered in Katelyn's eyes as she watched his face turn crimson. Her lips curved into a sly smile while she poured a stream of wine into his glass.

Glass in hand, she stepped closer, her voice low and deliberate. "Professor Branson,your choices are simple. One road leads to opportunity, the other drags you and your family into ruin."

Without flinching at his hostile glare, Katelyn added, "You're a clever man, Professor Branson. You already know the right answer. You wouldn't really stake your grandson's life on pride, would you?"

The corners of Wendell's mouth tightened as he clamped his lips shut, too furious to speak.

Hatred for her burned inside him, but he also knew she was right-he couldn't afford to gamble. When his silence stretched on, Katelyn's confidence only grew. She could tell he was starting to waver.

Katelyn leaned in, her tone smooth and persuasive. "Professor Branson, I understand your worries.You're afraid I'll hurt the patient, aren't you? But that fear is unnecessary. This patient matters too much to me-l would never lay a hand on him. What I want is to step into Evelyn's role so his family can relax and place their trust in me. I'm not some amateur sneaking in above my pay grade. Cloverland Hospital doesn't accept anyone but the best. The only problem here is that the patient's family needs reassurance, and the quickest way to calm them is with a title they'll respect."

She added, "Professor Branson, what I need from you is simple. Stand behind me. If you do that, your grandson stays safe, and your son's and daughter-in-law's futures remain bright. Everyone gains something -your family prospers, my goal is met, and no one suffers. Can you really call that anything but a win for both of us? And if you're still uncertain, then I'll stake my entire career on this, swearing to you that no one will be harmed."

Holding out the glass of wine, Katelyn's voice softened. "Professor Branson, the longer you hesitate, the harder it becomes. Make the choice now."

Wendell's fists curled tightly at his sides, the battle in his chest twisting him in knots.

Regret pressed down on him; had he known Katelyn's true purpose, he never would have shown up.

Fear for himself meant nothing, but the thought of his grandson caught in the crossfire hollowed him out.

He knew this mess was of his own making, yet dragging his grandson into danger was unthinkable.

For a long moment, he shut his eyes, his entire body sagging as though the fight had drained from him.

When they opened again, resignation dulled his gaze.

A weary nod followed, his voice rough. "Alright. I'll go along with it."

Katelyn lifted the glass with a faint smile. "Professor Branson, you've proven yourself a man of foresight. For that,I'll drink to you."

Wendell's eyes flicked to the wine, and then back to her face, cold and unyielding. His expression carried nowarmth as he sneered, "Don't flatter yourself. I'm only agreeing because I have no other option, not because I care to deal with the likes of you."

Without waiting for her response, he spun around and marched out of the room.

As the private room door slammed shut behind him, Katelyn's grin slipped away. She turned around and tipped the wine into the trash, her gaze turning distant.

At Seraphina Villas, after handling her overseas calls, Verena slipped into the medical room to continue her surgical training.

Her hands had trembled so violently during her first try to hold a scalpel again that she had forced herself into near-daily practice, sometimes repeating the same procedure twice.

Still, the shaking never left.

Every time the blade touched the small body of a lab rat, her fingers quivered and her knees weakened until she thought she might collapse.

Once more, she stepped into the sterile surgical area.

A rat was placed onto the operating table, and she carefully moved through the motions-washing her hands, disinfecting, pulling on the gown, and slipping into sterile gloves.

When she finally reached for the scalpel resting on the tray, a chill seeped straight through the glove, racing up her arm and tightening her chest as her pulse quickened.

The trembling returned to her hands, ligh at first, and then harder to ignore.

A dry lump caught in Verena's throat, and she forced herself to swallow.

The rat on the table lay motionless under anesthesia, and she pressed her fingertip against its small abdomen as if staking her resolve, shutting her eyes tightly.

Since watching the blade only made her quiver, she decided to block out the sight altogether, letting her fingers map out the organs and limbs by feel. For most surgeons, that approach would have been reckless, maybe even impossible.

To Verena, however, it was second nature.

On a human body, she could recognize every detail blindfolded, trusting her sense of touch alone.

That was why people whispered the name Legendary Surgeon when speaking of her.

Instead of staring at the scalpel, she deliberately let her eyes close, surrendering to instinct.

Her heartbeat evened out in her chest, and the twitch in her grip eased until her hand finally stilled. The panic that had plagued her began to fade.

Relief softened her expression, and a small smile tugged at her lips as the tension slipped away.

With her eyelids shut, she guided the scalpel to the precise spot beneath her figertip and drew the first incision.

Without the interference of shaking, the procedure moved along cleanly, almost effortless.

Still,she reminded herself that this was only practice. In a real operating room, closing her eyes would never be an option.

Determined to face the fear head-on, she halted mid-procedure, opened her eyes slowly, and locked her gaze on the work in front of her.

Rather than let the trembling return, she forced herself to press on with the operation.

Deep, steady breaths filled Verena's lungs as she tried to anchor her nerves.

When the operation was nearly finished, she thought the worst was behind her, yet the shaking crept back into her hands.

This time the tremor wasn't overwhelming-it was mild, irritating but still controllable.

Her fingers clamped down on the scalpel, and for a few precious moments, the movement stilled.

She pushed through the final steps, cutting with precision before closing the incision with quick stitches. What should have been a short dissection stretched into what felt like an eternity.

Relief washed over her when she finally looked at the rat, its small body neatly sewn.

The stitches were clean and straight, a sharp contrast to the crooked lines of her earlier attempts.

For the first time in days, Verena felt a spark of pride-this was her best result yet.

The strategy of calming herself by starting with closed eyes had worked, proving she was finally making progress.