Cassandra’s heart thudded. She wanted to believe Dr. Gon could help, that his reputation as a healer of the impossible wasn’t just hype. But the weight of her father’s secret, the mysterious Warren, and the decades-long shadow of an undetected injury gnawed at her. What was this ailment that only Warren could see? And why did it feel like time was slipping away?“Dad, please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Let Dr. Gon help. We can’t wait for someone who might not even show up.”Trump met her eyes, and for a moment, she saw the man who’d carried her through every storm—strong, stubborn, but now, undeniably vulnerable. He nodded slowly, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of his secret had finally grown too heavy to bear alone. “He’ll show up,” he said softly, a flicker of hope in his voice. “Warren needs answers only I can provide. But alright, let’s see what Dr. Gon can do.”He gestured to a lackey standing twenty meters back. “Show Dr. Gon to my room,” he instructed. “

The air in the private room of the Transcorp Imperial Hotel was thick with tension as Dr. Gon knelt beside William Trump, his fingers pressed against the older man’s wrist, searching for a pulse. The rhythmic hum of the crowd outside faded into a distant murmur, overshadowed by the gravity of the moment. Cassandra, gripping her father’s hand, watched Dr. Gon’s face with growing dread. The longer he assessed Trump’s condition, the deeper his frown became, his brow furrowing with a concern that sent a chill through her.“Ms. Trump,” Dr. Gon said at last, his voice heavy with gravity, “your father’s damaged heart is the root of his hidden ailment.” His words struck Cassandra like a confirmation, echoing Warren’s earlier claim. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if she’d misjudged the stranger. But Dr. Gon’s next words shattered that thought. “This is a chronic condition that requires slow, careful treatment. Someone has recklessly overstimulated his immune system. It may have seemed eff

The room was suffocating, thick with the weight of fear and desperation. Trump’s face, once commanding and authoritative, was now a ghastly shade of purple, contorted in agony. His labored breaths rasped like dry leaves skittering across pavement, each one weaker than the last. Cassandra Trump stood frozen, her heart hammering against her ribcage as she watched her father’s life slip through her fingers like sand. “Dad! Dad!” she cried, her voice cracking with raw panic. She spun toward Dr. Jonathan Gon, her eyes wild with terror. “Dr. Gon, why is this happening? Do something!”Dr. Gon, a man whose reputation as Ironspire’s finest physician preceded him, was unraveling. His hands trembled as he fumbled with his medical bag, his face pale, beads of sweat glistening on his brow. “I… I don’t know why this is happening,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.”Cassandra’s desperation ignited into fury. “Who are you asking? You’re the doc

The private room in the Transcorp Imperial Hotel was no longer a battlefield of desperation but a sanctuary of fragile hope. William Trump, the titan of Ironspire, sat propped against a velvet chaise, his face still pale but alive with a flicker of his old vigor. His piercing blue eyes, though clouded by recent trauma, fixed on Warren with a mixture of awe and curiosity. The air, once thick with panic, now hummed with a quieter tension—an unspoken acknowledgment of the miracle that had unfolded. Cassandra stood close to her father, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder, her gaze darting between him and Warren, the man who had defied death itself. Dr. Jonathan Gon remained on his knees, a silent figure of humbled reverence, ignored by the room’s new center of gravity.Trump’s lips curved into a slight, almost disbelieving smile. “What’s going on here?” he asked, his voice raspy but laced with the commanding edge that had built his empire. His eyes flicked to Dr. Gon, still prostrate

The air in the private room of the Transcorp Imperial Hotel felt heavy with the weight of revelations. William Trump sat on a plush velvet chaise, his broad shoulders slumped slightly, betraying the toll of his recent brush with death. His steel-blue eyes, usually sharp and commanding, now held a flicker of vulnerability as he recounted a story he’d buried deep for decades. Cassandra stood close, her hand resting lightly on his arm, her face pale with shock as she listened to her father’s words. Warren, the young man who had just saved Trump’s life, stood quietly, his dark eyes focused, absorbing every detail. Dr. Jonathan Gon, still kneeling on the cold marble floor, was a silent spectator, his earlier pleas fading into the background of this intimate moment.Trump’s voice was low, rough with emotion, as he began. “It was a long time ago, when I was just a kid—barely twenty. My older brother, Edward, God rest him, and I… we fought for the right to lead the Trump family. It was a duel