Luke Quinton’s voice was cold and devoid of emotions. 

He was speaking to Harvey Lane, his personal doctor and best friend. Harvey glanced at me, and a flicker of unease crossed his face. I was lying motionless on the hospital bed, my face ashen. 

After hesitating momentarily, Harvey tried to persuade Luke. “Luke, Natalie’s mother has always treated you like her own son. Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding? Why don’t we wait a bit more? I’m worried that Natalie—” 

A loud crash echoed through the air, followed by Luke’s roar. “How can it be a misunderstanding? Melanie Smith was a homewrecker! Natalie is no better! If she had any self-respect, she wouldn’t have slept with me six years ago! 

“She’s just a toy to me—always eager to please at the slightest gesture. I’ve already done more than enough for her.” 

Harvey sighed at Luke’s rage, and his shoulders dropped in resignation. “Fine. Just don’t regret it later.” 

Luke sneered. “Regret? I don’t know the meaning of that word!” 

Harvey sighed again as he shook his head, and he looked at me with pity in his gaze. 

“By the way, I just examined Natalie’s legs. Although they were crushed, the damage isn’t as severe as it looks. She’ll need surgery, but she should be able to dance again soon with proper rehabilitation.” 

Luke’s expression darkened. “Why bother? Amputate them. Make sure she never stands again!” 

Harvey sucked in a sharp breath and frantically said, “Isn’t that too much, Luke? Natalie just lost her mother, and now you’re taking away the one thing she’s most proud of? If you stop her from dancing again, isn’t that the same as killing her?!” 

Luke gently brushed a stray lock of hair from my forehead. His touch was soft, but his words were sharp.