?<strong>Chapter 1057:</strong>


    Ailyn’s tense nerves suddenly eased up. She grabbed the paper cup from Nathan’s hand and handed it to Madisyn, staring at her intently.


    “Dr. Mia, thank you for all your effort. You must be thirsty. Please have a drink.”


    Madisyn’s hands trembled slightly after shepleted the grueling operation, her throat burning for hydration. Yet instinct—hard-earned through years of vignce—made her wary of epting anything from others.


    “I’ll drinkter,” she demurred.


    “Alright, Dr. Mia.”


    Ailyn exchanged the paper cup with Nathan for a warm towel. “Allow me to assist you, Dr. Mia,” she offered, moving to dab at the surgeon’s face.


    Madisyn’s instincts red with distrust at the proximity, but Ailyn was already pressing the cloth to her forehead. The operating room’s harsh antiseptic scent typically overwhelmed most surgeons’ senses, yet Madisyn’s trained nose caught an rming chemical odor. A predatory smile yed across Ailyn’s features as she watched her n unfold.


    “You…”


    The usation died on Madisyn’s lips as consciousness slipped away.


    The corridor was lined with Ailyn’s operatives. She carelessly tossed the drugged towel to Nathan, studying her copsed target with satisfaction.


    “I knew you’d refuse the water, hence the triple dose in the towel, though that telltale scent nearly gave us away.” She directed one of her men, “Move her to containment. No ess without my authorization.”


    After Madisyn was taken away, Ailyn turned to Nathan. “Eliminate all evidence. I’m off to my uncle. This will make quite the gift when my father regains consciousness.”


    “Understood.”


    Mafelen’s capital pulsed with electric life as night descended, neon signs painting the streets in brilliant hues while endless streams of headlights carved luminous trails through the darkness. Andrew’s assistant emerged from the hotel clutching a freshly signed document.


    “Mr. Klein, shall I take you back to the hotel now?” the assistant asked.


    Andrew stood motionless on the steps, his ck suit a shadow against the hotel’s bright facade. His eyes were fixed on his phone’s screen—the partnership sealed, surgeryplete, yet Madisyn’s silence spoke volumes. Another failed call attempt. His expression darkened.


    “Tell them, we’re going to the Vettel family’s manor.”


    “Alright, Mr. Klein.”


    The assistant swiftly brought the car around. Andrew sank into the backseat, eyes closed from the evening’s drinks, but his fingers remained coiled around his phone, mind razor-sharp despite his apparent repose.


    Catching Andrew’s reflection in the rearview mirror, the assistant attempted to thaw the cial atmosphere. “Mr. Klein, Miss Johns is likely caught up in social obligations. No need for concern.”


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