Love beyond the mask (Whitney) novel Chapter 150

Chapter 150 

When Whitney arrived at the scene, Braxton had already been whisked away to a private hospital, and a crowd had gathered at the gates of the Tarrington Mansion. Braxton was a pillar of the community and head of the city’s administration, and many from the police force, government, and competing corporations had all come together to speculate and gossip. 

The gravity of the situation was undeniable; if Braxton were to pass, the scandal surrounding Ludwik would be impossible to contain. 

The pressure from these political powers was immense, and there was no doubt that competitors were stirring trouble behind the scenes. 

Whitney felt her head spinning, and the cold air she breathed did nothing to calm her nerves. 

Braxton had suffered another stroke. 

Her mother had taught her acupuncture, a skill Whitney had a natural gift for, especially when it came to treating the brain. Some of her techniques were beyond the explanation of medicine, yet they worked wonders, targeting mysterious points on the body. 

As a child, Whitney had even heard her mother speak of using acupuncture to manipulate someone’s memory and temperament by controlling the nerves in the skull, a practice her mother never actually pursued. 

Years ago, it was through acupuncture that she had treated a man suffering from nocturnal epilepsy, restoring him to health. 

Clutching her hands tightly, Whitney’s gaze hardened, and she immediately instructed the driver to take her to Braxton’s private hospital. 

At the hospital, Whitney could only make it as far as the foyer. Braxton’s room was at the end of a hallway teeming with well–wishers, with Tarrington relatives standing guard at the very back. Doctors were bustling in and out as the situation grew increasingly dire. 

Whitney could only catch snippets of conversation about Braxton’s condition – a ruptured blood vessel in his brain was causing a hemorrhage, compressing the nerves. They could not operate for fear of aggravating the injury, and he was in a coma, unlikely to survive the night. 

The most esteemed neurosurgeons had been summoned, but even they were helpless, declaring Braxton’s time was near. 

Tears streaked the faces of Braxton’s relatives, who were at a loss for what to do. 

Whitney felt a surge of determination. She tried to approach but was halted by security, who mistook her for a press member and tried to usher her out. 

She could not reach the room, let alone speak to anyone from the Tarrington family! 

Desperate, she paced the hospital entrance, checking her watch incessantly. 

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Suddenly, a car pulled up, and a man with an imposing figure hurried out and dashed into the hospital. 

Bang! 

Whitney turned just in time to collide with the man. She nearly fell, but he quickly steadied her. 

When he looked up, his worried eyes met hers, and he paused in recognition. “Whitney? What are you doing here in South City?” 

“Mr. Lutz, what brings you to this hospital?” Whitney asked, looking pale and concerned. 

“A dear mentor of mine is gravely ill; he may not make it through the night. I was nearby for a function and came as soon as I heard. What about you?” 

Realization dawned on Whitney as it clicked that this private hospital was treating only one 

patient at the moment – Braxton. 

Could Bryce’s mentor be… 

Her eyes flickered with thought, then hope. She grabbed Bryce’s sleeve, urgent. “Mr. Lutz, is your mentor Braxton?” 

“How did you… Are you also…” Bryce furrowed his brow. Then his expression shifted as he pieced together why Braxton was ill. 

He looked at her with a complex intensity. “Your man has been taken into police custody. Your being here won’t change anything.” 

“It will. I can cure Braxton!” Whitney insisted quickly. 

“You?” Bryce eyed her skeptically. “Even if you want to save him, you can’t just do as you please, Whitney. Human life is precious.” 

“The doctors have given up on Braxton. They’ve written him off for the night and refuse to operate, afraid of the liability!” 

Whitney pulled Bryce toward the room, speaking with urgency. “I have a unique acupuncture technique that can stem the bleeding in Braxton’s brain. If he’s left to wait, he’ll die. Let me try!” 

“Do you even have a medical license?” Bryce asked, still shocked. 

“I have an alternative medicine license back at home.” 

Bryce shook his head, unconvinced. “You’re desperate to save that man, utterly desperate.” 

“Mr. Lutz! Please…” Whitney reached for his sleeve, but Bryce walked past her, his expression grave, and entered the room. 

Recognized as Braxton’s close protégé and the head of the Lutz Group in Banyan City, the Tarrington family knew him. With tears in his eyes, Braxton’s son led Bryce into the room. “My father may not make it through the night. He always thinks highly of you; please, see him.” 

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Bryce stiffened. Whitney’s words about Braxton’s condition were true. 

After seeing Braxton, Bryce’s face turned ashen. His mentor was on the brink of brain death, kept alive only by a ventilator. 

Rubbing his temple, Bryce stepped out into the hallway, his handsome face drawn with 

concern. 

By then, the Tarringtons had dismissed the gathering of relatives and friends. 

Whitney, forced to wait at the hospital entrance, saw Bryce smoking in the chill of the hallway. She managed to get his number and incessantly texted him. 

Half an hour later, lips pressed, Bryce stepped outside. 

Whitney stood anxiously on the hospital steps. 

He led her to a shadowed part of the hallway, his expression serious. “Is your acupuncture really effective? I’ve never heard of alternative medicine curing surgical conditions.” 

“Braxton’s intracranial case is not surgical. Acupuncture can’t treat traumatic injuries, but I’ve successfully treated my friend Natalie’s epilepsy. Please, let me try,” she pleaded. 

“If my mentor dies under your care, do you understand the consequences you’ll face?” 

Ludwik’s fate would be sealed by the next day if Braxton died. 

Whitney clung to this last thread of hope. She had to try. She had to take the risk. 

Nodding emphatically, she said, “I’ll take full responsibility if Braxton passes under my care. I’ll sign whatever you need.” 

As she stood there, her eyes gleaming with confidence and determination, Bryce felt a jolt of surprise. Squinting slightly, he wrestled with his thoughts for a moment before finally exhaling a weary sigh and cracking a wry smile. “I want my mentor to make it through this,” he admitted. “So, I’ll take a gamble with you. Follow me.” 

He led her stealthily into the doctor’s office, where they swiped a nurse’s uniform for her to slip into. Whitney donned a tight–fitting face mask for good measure. 

Guiding her to Braxton’s ward, they found the Tarringtons, a family overcome with grief, their spirits crushed. Bryce broke the silence. “We’re going in for one more visit.” 

The Tarringtons, too distraught to pay much attention, barely registered the masked nurse beside him. “Are you here to change his dressings?” One of them asked. 

Without uttering a word, Whitney simply nodded. 

“Well, go on in then.” 

Inside the ICU, Bryce closed the door behind them, his brow furrowed in concentration as he stood guard. His gaze swept toward Whitney, his voice low and urgent, “You better hurry.” 

Whitney glanced back at him, her gratitude evident. “Mr. Lutz, I know you’re taking a huge risk 

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with me, and I really appreciate it.” 

Bryce’s expression softened momentarily as he regarded her tense yet commanding presence but said nothing. 

Quickly sterilizing her acupuncture kit, Whitney approached Braxton’s bedside. His medical records, including a brain scan and MRI images, were laid out, showing the exact location of the hemorrhage and its proximity to key pressure points. 

Her hands trembled as she meticulously inserted the acupuncture needles into his skull, careful not to make a single misstep. 

Nearly an hour passed in tense silence until, miraculously, the monitors by Braxton’s bed began to show the faintest signs of life.