Hudson: The Secret Doctor

4

It wasn't a marriage built on love—Freya had no emotional connection with him, and she felt uncomfortable around strangers. Early on, she told Hudson she needed time to adjust and asked for space. Respecting her wishes—and bound by an oath—Hudson agreed.

But over time, Freya only grew more distant. Hudson kept a low profile, often staying home and handling the cooking and housework, which made Freya lose even more respect for him. The more she saw him as weak, the more disgusted she became.

And so, five years passed—without them ever truly becoming a couple.

Now, with nowhere else to go, Hudson found himself wandering into a public park. He’d planned to check into a hotel for the night, but when he got to the entrance, he remembered: he didn’t have a single cent to his name.

The park was still busy with people. Hudson found a quiet gazebo, sat down, and closed his eyes, thinking carefully about what to do next. So far, he’d learned enough—some pieces of the puzzle were finally coming together.

A sudden sound broke through his thoughts. Opening his eyes, Hudson saw an elderly man with gray hair practicing boxing nearby. Each punch echoed with force.

Hudson recognized it instantly: the man was a martial artist. But something was off—his breathing was uneven. He’d clearly suffered serious injuries in the past, ones that had weakened his foundation. It was now affecting his health, and it looked like he didn’t have much time left.

Next to the old man was a young woman in athletic wear, watching him intently. She looked to be in her early twenties, with a high ponytail and sharp, striking features. Her proportions were perfect—even in simple workout clothes, she had an elegant air about her.

After the old man finished his set, the girl stepped in. Her form showed some training, but her moves were clumsy and unrefined—obviously still a beginner.

Hudson watched for a few minutes before closing his eyes again, uninterested. The sun was setting now, casting long shadows across the park. People began to leave.

Then—

"Is that him?"

A group of five men suddenly appeared a short distance away.

"That’s the guy!"

They charged toward the gazebo and surrounded Hudson.

He opened his eyes, frowning slightly. "Can I help you?"

The man in front—bald and built like a bouncer—ignored the question. Instead, he turned to the others and barked, “Don’t mess this up. Finish the job and there’s a hundred grand each.”

Without a word, the four men pulled out daggers, eyes glinting with violence.

Hudson stayed calm. These thugs were small-time—he could tell with one look. "Who sent you?" he asked evenly.

He could see it in their eyes—real killing intent. Whoever hired them wasn’t looking to scare him; they wanted him dead.

But that’s what puzzled Hudson. Since coming to Beverly and marrying Freya, he’d kept to himself. He rarely left the house. Sure, he’d secretly helped Freya handle some serious issues behind the scenes, but no one had ever seen his face or knew what he’d done.

He didn’t have enemies here.

So who wanted him gone?

The bald thug grinned darkly. “You want to know who sent us? Ask the Grim Reaper yourself!”

He lunged forward, dagger aimed straight at Hudson’s chest.

A sharp sound rang out as a small stone flew through the air—fast and precise.

"Ahhh!" the attacker screamed, dropping the knife. Blood poured from his injured hand as he cradled it, howling in pain.

The others froze in shock.

Hudson turned his head. It was the old man from earlier. He was standing tall, eyes cold, his hand still in mid-throw.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the young woman shouted as she ran over. Her voice rang clear across the park. “Attacking someone in broad daylight? Ever heard of the law?!”

The bald guy let out a cold snort and said, “Little girl, I suggest you mind your own business.”

The girl scoffed and stepped forward confidently. “When someone needs help, I don’t just stand by. I’m stepping in.”

Having recently taken up martial arts, Ivory Lewis was feeling confident. She saw this as the perfect opportunity to test herself—these street thugs were ideal practice targets.

The bald man’s expression darkened. “Fine. You wanna get involved? Take her down first!” he barked.

The four thugs charged at Ivory.

They may have looked tough, but they were just street punks. Ivory, despite being relatively new to martial arts, was far more skilled than they expected. In just a few exchanges, she had knocked three of them to the ground, and the bald man soon followed.

Realizing they were outmatched, the bald guy exchanged a quick glance with the one thug still standing, clearly ready to retreat.

But before he could move, Hudson’s foot slammed into his chest, pinning him to the ground.

“Who sent you?” Hudson asked coldly.

The bald man stayed silent.

Hudson wasn’t in the mood to waste time. He bent down, grabbed a dagger from the ground, and plunged it into the thug’s right palm.

“Aaagh!”

The thug screamed, clutching his hand in agony, but Hudson didn’t let up. He pressed his foot down again, forcing the man flat against the pavement.

“Still not talking?” Hudson asked, raising the blade again, now eyeing his other hand.

“I’ll talk! I’ll talk!” the bald man cried out, panic setting in.

He couldn’t believe this guy was supposed to be a pushover. Didn’t Enzo say he was just a pathetic loser? This was anything but that.

“It was Enzo,” the thug admitted through clenched teeth. “He hired us.”

Hudson was genuinely surprised. He’d only met Enzo once, and now the guy had sent people to kill him?

First the public humiliation, and now a hit? That was a death wish.

Hudson made a mental note. He’d deal with Enzo later—no rush. He had his own code: show respect, get respect. But if someone tried to destroy him, he’d return the favor threefold.

His eyes shifted back to the bald man. Without a word, Hudson moved fast and sliced the tendons in the thug’s left hand before he could react.

Another scream.

Hudson didn’t even flinch. He turned toward the other thugs. If they had the guts to try and kill him, they’d better be ready for the consequences.

Just as he stepped forward, the old man who had been practicing nearby walked over.

“Young man,” the old man said calmly, “sometimes it’s better to show mercy. He already told you what you wanted. No need to cripple them all.”

Hudson turned to him and asked coldly, “You’re trying to tell me how to handle this?”

“How can you talk like that?” Ivory snapped. “My grandfather stepped in to help you, and you talk to him like that? Seriously?”

The old man wasn’t fazed by Hudson’s words. He gave a patient smile. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do,” he said. “But these men were just following orders. They’ve been punished. Cut their tendons, and you’re ruining their lives.”

Hudson rolled his eyes and didn’t respond. He stepped toward the next thug.

“No, please! I get it—I was wrong! Please, help me!” the thug begged, crawling toward the old man for protection.

Seeing Hudson wasn’t backing down, the old man stepped between him and the thug, face now serious.

“Are you really going to stop me?” Hudson asked, his tone sharp.

The old man’s eyes widened slightly. His body tensed. He didn’t answer.