Chapter 455

The physician scrutinized him for a long moment before finally speaking. "Ms. Whitmore's condition has deteriorated considerably. If her emotional instability persists, her body may trigger a defensive rejection response. In that case, we may need to consider a second transplant."

In previous consultations, the doctor had recognized that Serena wasn’t truly ill. As a private facility accustomed to indulging the melodramas of wealthy lovers, they had dismissed such theatrics. But now, the severity of the situation warranted a stern warning to Adrian—lest he react explosively later.

With deliberate precision, Adrian plucked the cigarette from his lips, tapping it against the edge of the ashtray before crushing it out. His piercing gaze locked onto the doctor. "And what happens to the original heart if a second transplant becomes necessary?"

"Pardon?" The question caught the doctor off guard. He had anticipated concern for Serena, not the organ itself. After a brief hesitation, he replied, "A second procedure would render the original heart nonviable."

Adrian's frown deepened. "Is it possible to re-transplant the original heart into another recipient?"

The doctor’s pen hovered midair. "Highly improbable. Any rejection would compromise its functionality beyond repair."

Adrian stood abruptly, his expression hardening. "Prioritize preserving the heart."

"But some of the stronger immunosuppressants could do more harm than good to her," the doctor cautioned.

Adrian's face remained unreadable. "At all costs, preserve the heart."

"Understood, Mr. Blackwood." The message was painfully clear—Adrian cared more about the heart inside Serena than Serena herself.

Later that night, after one too many drinks, Vivian and Audrey were pleasantly buzzed. One sprawled across the coffee table, the other slumped against the couch, murmuring incoherently.

Adrian returned home in the dead of night. Stepping into the living room, he took in the chaos—empty bottles, spilled liquor staining the pristine carpet, and half-eaten takeout scattered about. His expression darkened instantly.

Pausing in the doorway, he pulled out his phone and dialed Dominic, his voice icy. "Get to Seabreeze Villa now and collect your woman."

Startled awake by the sharpness in Adrian's tone, Dominic bolted upright in bed. Still groggy, he fumbled for his clothes, not entirely sure which woman Adrian was referring to.

Circling the wreckage, Adrian stopped beside Vivian, who was mumbling under her breath. His name surfaced occasionally amid less-than-flattering remarks.

When he touched her shoulder to lift her, her eyes fluttered open. Spotting the polished leather shoes in front of her, she scowled.

He expected her to either ignore him or snap at him. Instead, she weakly shoved at his leg, clad in tailored trousers. "Move. You're ruining the carpet."

Adrian exhaled sharply. "Now you care about the carpet? You've treated it like a dumpster."

Vivian glanced around—empty bottles, beer stains, and discarded chicken bones tangled in the fibers. A flicker of guilt crossed her face, and she straightened slightly, as if trying to shield the mess from his view.

(Continued...)