“Freddie, let’s go abroad for treatment. There’s still time. If we act now, we can recover-”
Before she could finish, a sharp cry escaped her lips.
Frederick had kicked her. In a flash, he lunged, seized her by the hair, and struck her repeatedly.
Doctors rushed in, restraining him. Some tried to calm him down, while others rushed Colette off for emergency treatment.
At that point, blood had pooled on the floor. Still, Frederick thought it wasn’t as much as I had bled in the car that day.
He shook off the hands gripping him, then made his way to my room.
I was still lying there, unconscious. Frederick took my hand and pressed it to his chest.
“Anastasia, please wake up. Just look at me. If you open your eyes, I’ll give you anything you want,” he pleaded.
But no one was listening to his prayer. I didn’t wake up.
After that, Frederick reached out to specialists overseas. To his dismay, every single one of them gave him the same answer after reviewing my condition.
They said my DNA had been irreversibly damaged. My cells could no longer regenerate, and there was no cure.
With each extra day I remained alive, the pain only deepened. My cells had died, and there was nothing left to replace them. No one could comprehend the depth of that agony.
Chapter 8
Within a week, Frederick had aged dramatically. The once–untouchable heir to a powerful family now looked like a wretched beggar.
Every night, he sat at my bedside, reliving the life we once had.
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