Cynthia’s heart pounded violently in her chest, each beat hammering as if trying to escape her ribcage. The sharp gaze of her father fell upon Antonio, and every instinct in her screamed that she needed to intervene. Her hands trembled as they rose, reaching toward him, her voice barely steady under the strain of panic and urgency. “Father… please,” she pleaded, her words quivering and urgent. “Please be calm. Antonio isn’t just in the house—he’s here to help. He can help you.” Her eyes, wide and filled with fear, searched Elias’ face for any flicker of recognition, any sign that her words were reaching him. She could see the hollow depths of his eyes, the sunken hollows beneath sharp, intelligent lids that still held the faint spark of life. Despite the weakness etched into his features, his lips pressed into a thin, bitter line, and a harsh laugh escaped him, rasping like dry paper. “Help? What help could anyone offer me?” he croaked, the sound hoarse, yet laced with stubborn d

Without wasting a single moment, Antonio pulled a crisp sheet of paper from his pocket and began writing down a precise list of herbs and natural compounds. Each one was chosen with deliberate care, selected for its specific properties—some to strengthen weak organs, others to purify the blood, and a few to boost the body’s natural defenses. His handwriting was neat, almost meticulous, the words flowing with purpose, each letter carrying the weight of knowledge and certainty. The ink gleamed faintly under the soft light of the room, the careful strokes a reflection of both skill and urgency. He paused occasionally, lifting his gaze to Elias, assessing the subtle changes in his breathing and pallor, as if the faintest detail could alter his decision. Once he finished, he handed the sheet to a nearby servant. “Go to the closest herb store. Bring everything on this list immediately. Fresh and unaltered. No substitutes,” he instructed, his voice calm yet carrying a subtle force that broo

Elias’s eyes were sharp despite the pallor of sickness, their gaze cutting through the dim light of the room with a force that belied his frail form. Each movement of his head, each twitch of his pale lips, carried a weight of authority and indignation, the stubborn pride of a man who had commanded every aspect of his life for decades. He glared at Antonio with unmistakable anger, a fire that seemed almost disproportionate to his weakened state. “I don’t want to see you in my house,” Elias said, his voice weak but resolute, carrying both exhaustion and a stubborn defiance. “Let alone by my bedside. Leave now.” Cynthia’s hands tightened around her father’s frail ones, her knuckles whitening as she tried to anchor him to reason and hope. She knelt beside him, pressing herself close to his side, her eyes wide and shimmering with both fear and determination. Her voice trembled slightly, betraying the tension that gripped her heart, yet each word was infused with firm insistence. “Father…

Cynthia’s hands shook as she clutched her father’s frail arm, the thin skin quivering beneath her fingers. Tears still streamed down her cheeks, leaving streaks on her pale face, as the enormity of the moment pressed down on her chest. The words Antonio had spoken earlier echoed ominously in her mind, repeating over and over: If I do not act now, your father could die and never come back to life again. The thought made her stomach twist, her heartbeat hammering with frantic urgency. “No! Please, Antonio, you have to act fast!” Cynthia cried, her voice breaking under the weight of desperation. Each syllable trembled as if carrying the weight of her father’s life. “I cannot… I cannot lose him! Please… do whatever you need to do—right now!” Her pleading filled the room, mingling with the faint beeping of the monitors and the soft rustle of the sheets, creating a tense, almost unbearable atmosphere. Antonio turned to her, his dark eyes calm and unwavering. There was a faint hint of rea

As soon as the butler stepped out of the room, the soft click of the door closing behind him echoed louder than it should have. Inside, the atmosphere remained thick with relief and astonishment. Outside, it was something else entirely. Tension took over. The butler did not linger in the corridor. The composure he had carefully maintained inside the room slipped the moment he was alone. His steps quickened, no longer measured and calm but urgent. His breathing grew uneven as he cast a quick glance over his shoulder, then ahead, making sure no one was nearby. The hallway was empty. Still, he didn’t relax. His hand moved swiftly into his pocket, pulling out his phone. For a brief second, he stared at it, as though gathering the courage to proceed. Then, without wasting another moment, he unlocked it and dialed a number he knew by heart. His fingers trembled slightly as he held the device to his ear. The line rang once. Twice. Each second felt heavier than the last. Then— It