Chapter 43: Passcode
Vyatt’s eyes darkened, his expression sour. Unice rushed out of the elevator, focused only on checking the room number. She didn’t even notice Paul walking toward her.
“Yunice? What are you doing here?” Paul followed her gaze and asked, “Who’s sick?”
She glanced at him, but she was in too much of a hurry to answer. She shoved past him and made her way toward a hallway guarded by a bodyguard. The guard raised his arm to block her like a brute. Yunice quickly unfolded the letter of introduction Wyatt had given her and said anxiously, “I have a letter! Wyatt sent me!”
Her voice trembled—she clearly wasn’t confident. It was just a piece of paper; would they really let her through?
To her surprise, the guard scanned the paper, then stepped aside without hesitation. “Go in.”
She rushed inside. Paul, watching, tried to follow, but two guards immediately locked him out like a pair of airtight doors. He protested. “Why can she go in and I can’t!”
The guard shot back, “She has a letter from Wyatt. Do you?”
Yunice hadn’t expected to get in so easily. As she ran, she peeked curiously at the note Wyatt had given her, thinking it might have some kind of symbol or details about her identity. But there were only four simple words: “Let her through.”
It hit her like a shockwave—celebrity power, made real. A true power player didn’t need fancy tricks. His name alone was a pass. She had never experienced this kind of treatment before, not even as Paul’s companion—even though the Powell family was top-tier elite.
Suppressing the spark of awe in her chest, Yunice stepped into Madam Johnson’s room. The room was full of medical staff, and the moment they saw her, their eyes made it clear she wasn’t welcome. So she flashed the letter again, this time with confidence. “Wyatt sent me!”
Outside the room, Paul was still arguing with the guards. “What, Wyatt’s such a big deal? He still answers to the Powell family! I’m the rightful eldest grandson of the Powell family. I’m not some mutt off the street. Believe it or not, I could have you kicked out of Silverburgh with a single word!”
Just then, Jordan and Wyatt turned the corner. Paul scowled when he saw Wyatt. He stormed up to him, shouting, “I warned you to leave her alone! So there’s no point in chasing her!”
Before he could get too close, Jordan stepped in and restrained him. “Stay away from Yunice! I don’t even like…”
Paul fought back, yelling, “Jordan, you too? Giving up your status to be this cripple’s lapdog? You’ve gotta be cursed!”
Jordan’s jaw clenched, his usually calm voice sharp. “Sh…”
He grabbed Jordan’s collar and glared at Wyatt like he wanted to burn him alive. To Paul, Wyatt was nothing but a thief who had wormed his way into the Powell family, stealing resources, buying off his old friend, blocking him at every turn—and now, trying to steal Yunice.
“You think Yunice would stay by your side if she knew all the crap you’ve done?” he spat.
Wyatt’s eyes went cold, silently warning him. But Paul was on a roll. “What, you gonna hit me? Can you even stand on your own? Without these dogs protecting you, you’d be crawling on the floor.”
Jordan yanked him harder. “You really looking to die?”
Paul sneered. “Touch me and see if my grandfather doesn’t have you whipped right out of—”
Wyatt’s anger faded into a quiet chill. Without acknowledging Paul, he bypassed the guards and entered Madam Johnson’s room.
Paul brushed off Jordan’s grip, eyes burning. This wasn’t over. He couldn’t touch Wyatt, but Yunice? She was still within reach. If Wyatt thought he could take what was his…
Inside the hospital room, Yunice stood at the bedside, inserting silver needles into Madam Johnson’s scalp. The other doctors and nurses had backed far away. They stood by the door, arms crossed, faces twisted with disapproval. “Shouldn’t we step in?” one of them asked. “It is Madam Johnson, after all.”
If they failed to save her, they’d be held responsible. The neurology director scoffed, voice dripping with sarcasm. “She’s ‘#jatt’s’ miracle doctor. If we interfere and something goes wrong, who’s taking the blame? Be my guest.”
That shut everyone up. Yunice was far too young, and she was using one of the hardest techniques in traditional Chinese medicine. Most practitioners spend their lives learning only the basics. And yet, here she was, performing acupuncture on someone’s brain.
But it was Madam Johnson, and no one wanted to risk being blamed. Finally, the director couldn’t take it anymore. His voice turned cold. “Miss, we know you’re trying to impress Wyatt, but you’d better consider what it’ll cost you to act tough.”