?Chapter 1129:


    Stan trailed after Noah, struggling to match his determined pace. They arrived at the trauma wing. A sharp, sterile scent hung in the air, tinged with the coppery trace of spilled blood.


    Suddenly, the ER doors banged open. A doctor emerged in haste, soaked with perspiration and visibly tense.


    “He’s hemorrhaging badly. We need to start a transfusion immediately! But we’re nearly out of O-negative. Nearby facilities might help, but the roads are packed. We may not have an hour—he might notst that long!”


    Stan felt the words hit like a punch to the chest. His vision swam, knees buckling beneath him. “No… no, sir! Mr. Howe!” he cried out, stumbling toward the entrance, sobs catching in his throat. “If you don’t make it… what am I supposed to do?” His voice cracked under the weight of fear.


    Noah’s jaw tightened. He shot Stan a sharp look, annoyance flickering in his eyes. Panic would solve nothing. He turned to the doctor, his voice steady and clear.


    “I’m O-negative. Use mine.”


    The doctor’s eyes went wide, as if he’d just caught a lifeline.


    Stan’s weeping stopped short. He looked up, stunned—caught between disbelief and renewed faith.


    No one wasted time asking how the two men were connected. The priority was clear: Alex needed saving.


    “Move now!” the doctor barked. “Prep for immediate transfusion!”


    Minutes stretched into hours. The crimson light above the double doors glowed steadily, a grim beacon.


    After what felt like forever, it finally blinked off. Both Alex and Noah were rolled out and ced in neighboring recovery suites. Stan had stayed put the entire time. Seeing Alex—wan but stable—finally eased the tight grip on his chest.


    He exhaled shakily, slumping back against the wall. Alex was safe. That was everything.


    Alex stirred weakly. Pain radiated through every nerve as he blinked against the overhead re. His surroundings slowly came into focus—pale ceiling, unfamiliar walls, the clinical burn of antiseptic thick in the air.


    His gaze searched the room, hopeful, then dimmed. His lids dropped partway, disillusionment settling over his features.


    Stay connected at g?lnσν???s


    His lips, cracked and dry, moved slightly. The words were barely more than a breath. “Sadie… why aren’t you here?”


    Stan stood nearby, watching as his employer emerged from unconsciousness, relief blooming in his chest. But when that fragile question broke the silence, his expression faltered. He looked away, the hint of a smile vanishing. “Ms. Hudson… she’s resting. She didn’te.”


    Whatever light remained in Alex’s face vanished. Hey still, eyes slowly closing, casting shadows across his already pale features. That familiar heartache returned—nowyered beneath the physical torment, each breath a battle.


    She didn’te. Not even now.


    Alex simmered with resentment. He’d danced on the edge of death—and Sadie hadn’t even shown her face.


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