All Chapters of WIFE KICKED MILLIONAIRE MEDICAL GOD HUSBAND: Chapter 291
- Chapter 300
632 chapters
Chapter Two Hundred And Ninety One
The ballroom had transformed in the minutes since Margareta's departure. The elegant murmur of wealthy conversation had been replaced by something different—an electric energy that crackled through the crowd like static. People who had been carefully avoiding Lukas now turned toward him, their expressions ranging from curiosity to something approaching reverence.Lukas stood near where Margareta had collapsed, feeling exposed and uncertain. His hands still trembled slightly from the adrenaline, and there was a dampness on his palms that he couldn't quite wipe away."Excuse me." A woman in her sixties approached, diamonds glittering at her throat. "I'm Adriana Hoffman, Henrik's mother. I wanted to thank you for what you did. Margareta is—well, she's a force of nature. The thought of losing her—" Her voice caught."I'm glad I could help," Lukas said quietly."My daughter suffers from chronic migraines. Nothing the specialists prescribe seems to work long-term. I wonder if I might—if we
Chapter Two Hundred And Ninety Two
Elise reached them just as Sofia's fingers tightened on Lukas's arm, a subtle but unmistakable claim of territory. The two women's eyes met, and something electric passed between them—recognition, assessment, challenge. Like rival predators encountering each other at a watering hole, each measuring the other's strength and intent."Lukas," Elise said softly. Just his name, but weighted with eighteen months of absence and all the history that came before. All the mornings waking up together, all the fights about money and family and future, all the promises they'd made and broken.Up close, she was even more beautiful than he remembered. The midnight blue dress brought out the green in her eyes, those eyes that had once looked at him like he was the only person in the world. Her perfume was the same—jasmine and bergamot, the scent that used to cling to his clothes after she left for work, the scent he'd found on his pillow for weeks after she moved out."Elise." His voice came out stea
Chapter Two Hundred And Ninety Three
The silence that followed Sofia's words hung in the air like smoke. Erik's smile remained fixed, but his eyes had gone hard."An artist," he repeated, tasting the word distastefully. "That's romantic. Though I'd argue medicine should be based on science, not artistry. Reproducible results, evidence-based protocols. Not the intuition of a single practitioner.""Science without wisdom is just data," Sofia said. "And data without interpretation is meaningless noise.""My expensive toys saved hundreds of thousands of lives last year through early disease detection." Erik's voice had an edge. "Our AI platform identified cancer markers six months earlier than traditional screening. Six months. Do you know how many lives that represents?""I do. And I applaud your work. But would your AI have diagnosed Margareta's condition tonight? Would it have recognized a supplement interaction fast enough?""Our system would have flagged the supplement in her medication profile—""She took it this morni
Chapter Two Hundred And Ninety Four
Lukas stepped out onto the terrace, needing air and distance from the ballroom's intensity. The night was cool, the gardens below lit with subtle landscape lighting that made the manicured hedges look like sculpture. He could still hear the party through the open doors—laughter, music, the clink of champagne glasses—but out here, he could breathe.He'd just leaned against the stone balustrade when he heard footsteps behind him. Not the click of women's heels or the casual shuffle of someone seeking solitude. These steps were measured, deliberate, accompanied by the whisper of expensive fabric."Mr. Van der Berg."Lukas turned. The man approaching was in his sixties, distinguished, wearing traditional Arabic dress—a crisp white thobe and a black bisht embroidered with gold thread that caught the light. His bearing was impeccable, his expression warm but carrying the quiet authority of someone who had built empires and commanded respect across continents.Behind him stood a younger man
Chapter Two Hundred And Ninety Five
Lukas stood on the terrace long after Abdullah departed, the business card still warm in his palm. The gardens below stretched out in geometric perfection, every hedge trimmed to precision, every path calculated for aesthetic impact. The kind of beauty that required constant maintenance and unlimited resources.Five million euros.The number kept echoing in his mind, impossible and real at the same time. He tried to contextualize it, to make it tangible. Five million euros was more than he would earn in his entire lifetime at his current rate. It was enough to open a proper research facility, to hire staff, to expand his practice beyond the cramped storefront in Jordaan. He could help thousands instead of dozens. Fund clinical trials for herbal protocols. Document and preserve traditional knowledge before it disappeared entirely.He could buy proper equipment—extraction systems for making tinctures, storage facilities that maintained precise temperature and humidity, diagnostic tools
Chapter Two Hundred and Ninety-Six
Lukas stood at the tall window of his consulting room, watching rain streak the glass in slow silver lines. Amsterdam lay beyond it—gray rooftops, canal water the color of old pewter, the faint glow of bicycle lights cutting through the drizzle. He had just ended the call with Abdullah Al-Mansour.The man’s voice had been calm, almost gentle, the way people speak when they know money is no object and time is the only currency that matters.“She will come to you,” Abdullah had said. “Yasmin prefers familiar skies. And you, Dr. De Vries, prefer your own garden. We will make this arrangement work.”Lukas had agreed before the sentence finished. Not because of the fee—though the number Abdullah quoted made his pulse stutter—but because the girl’s file had kept him awake three nights running. Sixteen years old. Recurrent fevers no specialist could explain. Organ inflammation that flared and retreated like a tide nobody could predict. Every test clean, every scan normal, every conventional
Chapter Two Hundred and Ninety-Seven
Lukas closed the door behind the Swiss banker’s family with more force than necessary. The latch clicked like a reprimand. In the quiet that followed he could still hear the daughter’s voice—high and sharp—echoing off the walls even though she was already gone.“It tastes like dirt and regret,” she’d snapped, shoving the porcelain cup across the table so hard tea sloshed over the rim. “I’m not drinking that.”Her father had sighed the sigh of a man who bought solutions the way other people bought groceries. “Camille, darling, Dr. De Vries is trying to help.”“I don’t care. It’s disgusting.” She’d crossed her arms, lips pursed in the perfect imitation of someone who had never been told no and found the experience intolerable.Lukas had looked at the tea—golden chamomile steeped with a touch of gentian root to stimulate the liver—and felt something small and tired inside him curl tighter. He’d spent forty minutes explaining why the bitterness mattered, how the compounds needed that edge
Chapter Two Hundred and Ninety-Eight
The last patient of the day was a man named Mr. Fletcher, somewhere in his mid-sixties, with a knee that had been slowly failing him for nearly a decade. He had taken two buses to get here. Lukas knew this because Mr. Fletcher mentioned it every visit—not as a complaint, but as a kind of offering, as though he wanted Lukas to understand the full weight of what he was receiving. He paid nothing. He never did. And when he finally eased himself off the examination table, put his weight on the joint and found it holding, his face did something that Lukas had no clinical language for. It was just gratitude, raw and unguarded, the kind that makes the person witnessing it feel almost like an intruder.“Same time next month,” Lukas said, helping him with his coat.“God bless you, doctor.” Mr. Fletcher took his hand in both of his and squeezed. “I mean that. Every single time I walk out of here I mean that.”Lukas walked him to the front, watched him stop to say somet
Chapter Two Hundred and Ninety Nine
He did not sleep well.He told himself it was the coffee he had drunk too late in the day, or the rain that had finally arrived sometime around midnight and was hitting the window at an angle that made it difficult to ignore. He told himself a lot of things lying there in the dark, and none of them were the real reason, and he knew it.Sofia had mentioned Elise the way you mention a fact you have been holding in your pocket all evening, waiting for the exact moment when it would land with the most weight. Casual, she had made it sound. Offhand. As though it were simply a thing that had come up over dinner and she had nearly forgotten to pass it along. But women like Sofia did not nearly forget anything. Every word she released into the air had been considered before it left her mouth, and the words she had chosen on those front steps, at that particular moment, after that particular conversation, were not accidental.Elise had asked about him. Seemed jealous.He turned the phrase over
Chapter Three Hundred
The restaurant was the kind of place that did not need to advertise. No sign above the door, no listing in the obvious guides, just a discreet address along the Amstel that you either knew or you did not, and the knowing of it said something about you before you had even stepped inside. Lukas had dressed carefully without admitting to himself that he was dressing carefully, and when the car Sofia had sent arrived at his door he had stood in his hallway for a moment looking at his reflection in the dark window glass, trying to decide what exactly he was walking into.He still had not decided when he arrived.She was already there. Of course she was. Sofia was the kind of woman who was always already there, settled and composed and giving the impression that the room had been arranged around her rather than the other way around. She stood when she saw him, and he understood immediately why she had chosen the black dress. It was not a loud choice. It did not demand attention the way some