Chapter 2
Three days later.
In Alexander's private villa, Oliver Taylor barged in with Daniel Wilson right behind him.
Alexander was lounging on a leather sofa in the living room, his shirt open to reveal a bandaged chest. He looked pale but still had that intense, sharp look in his eyes.
"I heard they found you next to a dumpster?" Daniel teased, an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. "Who had the guts to do that?"
Alexander shot him a cold glare. "Shut up."
Daniel chuckled, but when he pulled back the blood-stained bandage, he froze.
His eyes widened, and the cigarette fell from his lips.
"This stitching..." His voice tightened. "It's perfect."
As a doctor at an international war hospital, he'd seen countless wounds but never such precise stitching.
Each stitch was precisely spaced at 0.03 inches, blending seamlessly into the skin and leaving no scars.
"Mr. Wilson, please don't just stand there!" Oliver was wringing his hands in anxiety.
Daniel grabbed Alexander's shoulder abruptly. "Who did this? Which hospital?"
His voice trembled with excitement. "There are fewer than five people in the world with this skill!"
Alexander's eyes flickered. "I'm still looking into it."
Daniel reluctantly changed the bandage, lowering his voice. "This is the work of a special forces medic. No ordinary person could do this."
"I know." A dangerous glint flashed in Alexander's eyes.
When he found that woman, he would make sure to "thank" her properly.
Just as Daniel left, a call came in from the Garcia Villa.
Oliver answered, his face turning pale. "Mr. Garcia, he..."
Alexander snatched the phone, his voice steady. "Everything's fine."
After hanging up, he tossed the phone back to Oliver.
"Lying to Mr. Finn Garcia like that..." Oliver's voice wavered.
If Alexander's grandfather, Finn, found out about the attack, the entire Emerald City would be in turmoil.
Alexander sneered. "What have you found?"
Oliver quickly pulled up some information on the screen.
The display showed a photo of a delicate-looking girl, labeled: [Zoey, medical school intern, specializing in animal dissection.]
"So," Alexander sneered, "I was saved by a vet?"
Sweat beaded on Oliver's forehead. "Her file is encrypted by the military. This is all we could find."
He pulled up surveillance footage. "And on the day of the incident, she was the only one who passed through that alley."
Alexander stared at the screen, recalling the pair of impatient yet intensely focused eyes he had seen before losing consciousness.
A smile tugged at his lips. "Interesting."
"Mr. Garcia, the people that night didn't seem like ordinary thugs, but Zoey handled them alone and..."
Oliver's voice dropped. "And she stitched you up without batting an eye. Zoey is no ordinary person. Should we really keep in contact with her?"
"Of course." A playful glint appeared in Alexander's eyes. "She is my savior, after all."
Oliver shivered at the dangerous light in Alexander's eyes.
Alexander had barely returned to the country when he was ambushed. He was lucky to be saved, only to be found by his own men next to a dumpster.
Anyone would hold a grudge for life over that.
"Mr. Alexander Garcia, about Mr. Finn Garcia..."
"Keep your mouth shut." Alexander's voice was calm. "I want to see Zoey."
Oliver was taken aback. "Now?"
"Yes, now." Alexander strode towards the door, his black coat trailing behind him in a sharp arc.
Oliver remembered Zoey's cold, icy eyes from the surveillance footage and suddenly felt she wouldn't be easy to approach.
Alexander's grand entrance might just get him a cold shoulder.
Lunchtime, behind the medical school.
Zoey was biting into a sandwich, her pen swiftly jotting down experimental data in her notebook.
Suddenly, several shadows blocked the light.
"Zoey?" The leader twirled a metal pipe. "My boss wants an explanation."
She looked up slowly, her eyes indifferent behind thick glasses. "Who's your boss?"
"Don't play dumb!" The pipe swung towards her head. "The biker you saved two days ago! He's dead!"
The pipe stopped five inches from her head.
Zoey's left hand gripped the attacker's wrist, while the tip of her pen pressed against his throat.
The sunlight glinted off the pen; a slight push would end his life.
"First," she adjusted her glasses, "your friend died of a heart attack."
"Second," the pen tip drew blood, "you ruined my lunch."
On the ground lay her squashed sandwich, the cream filling mixed with dirt, which only worsened her mood.
The more she thought about it, the angrier she got, and she applied more pressure.
The man screamed, threatening, "If you hurt me, my friends won't let you off!"
"Are you done?" Zoey's expression was blank as she increased the pressure.
"Done...!" The thug didn't understand why she asked, but instinctively answered.
With a crisp crack, his wrist twisted at an unnatural angle.
The remaining men froze, but their mouths kept running:
"Zoey, you killed someone and still dare to be an intern here, shameless!"
"The King family was right to cut ties with someone like you!"
The pen flew from her hand, grazing the speaker's neck and embedding in the wall.
Zoey glanced at her watch. "Annoying."
The distant sound of the class bell rang, and she muttered as she walked away, "The professor's going to scold me again..."
Third floor of the medical school, surgical demonstration room.
Alexander stood at the back of the classroom, his gaze fixed on Zoey at the center of the stage, a playful smile on his lips.
Zoey had already recognized him as the talkative man she had dumped by the dumpster.
"Suture tension at 0.5 Newtons, stitch spacing at 2 inches." Her voice was as calm as reading instructions. "Avoid damaging the coronary artery."
Alexander suddenly remembered that night, her precise technique as she stitched his mangled wound.
When the anesthesia wore off, the pain made him break out in a cold sweat, and Zoey had stuffed a piece of gauze in his mouth: "Bite down, and don't make a sound."
As the class ended, Alexander and his bodyguards blocked the exit.
"Don't you think you owe me an explanation for dumping me by the dumpster?"
Zoey removed her gloves. "You talked too much, it was distracting."
Oliver gasped.
The last person who spoke to Alexander like that was already in the ground.
Alexander smiled. "I think you know who I am."
Zoey looked at him coldly. "I knew, and I still dumped you."
What a stubborn woman!
The room fell silent.
Everyone knew Alexander was the head of the Garcia Group, the youngest and most ruthless in the business world.
But Zoey's attitude was as indifferent as dealing with a stranger.
Alexander wasn't angry; instead, he was intrigued. "Your stitching technique isn't something taught in medical school."
"Practice makes perfect, after stitching up enough animals."
Alexander caught the veiled insult, chuckling, he pulled a gold-embossed card from his suit pocket, placing it on the edge of the dissection table:
"I'm here to repay you."
"Not interested." Zoey didn't even look. "I have money."
"It's not about money." Alexander leaned closer, whispering in her ear, "I can help you find out who wants you dead."
Zoey finally looked at him:
"You should be more concerned about who you pissed off."
She pushed open the door of the room. "After all, I only saved you on a whim; next time, I might not."
Alexander watched her walk away, the smile on his face growing wider.
Oliver asked nervously, "Mr. Garcia, should we follow her?"
"Plant a tracker." He rubbed the bloodstains on the dissection table. "Make sure she doesn't notice."
The next morning, a package appeared on Alexander's desk.
The tracker on the black collar was still blinking, next to a note: [To the rightful owner.]
"Mr. Garcia!" Oliver burst in. "The tracking signal shows it's in this building..."
He stopped mid-sentence, staring wide-eyed at the collar on the desk.
Alexander suddenly laughed, his fingers tracing the handwriting on the note.
Oliver felt a chill down his spine.
Zoey was definitely the first person to dare to toy with Alexander like this.
What was even more terrifying was that Alexander, the always vengeful one, now sparkled with interest in his eyes.