Elizbeth's toes barely brushed the floor. The back of her head throbbed from hitting the wall. She gripped Carlton's iron wrist with both hands, trying to pry his fingers apart.
"I... was... saving you," she forced out, the words scraping painfully through her crushed windpipe.
Carlton let out a dark, mocking laugh. His eyes were filled with absolute contempt. He squeezed his fingers tighter.
Elizbeth's face turned from red to a sickly shade of purple. The lack of oxygen forced hot, physiological tears out of the corners of her eyes. They tracked down her cheeks, dropping onto his knuckles.
Suddenly, Carlton froze. His jaw went slack, and he blinked in confusion.
The agonizing, brain-splitting pain that had been torturing him for months-the pain that usually took hours of heavy sedation to even dull-was completely gone. His head felt incredibly clear.
Shock flashed across his face. His grip on her throat involuntarily loosened.
Elizbeth seized the moment. She ripped his fingers away from her neck and slid down the wall, collapsing onto the floor.
She clutched her throat, coughing violently. She sucked in huge, greedy gulps of air, her chest heaving.
Carlton stood over her, his expression a chaotic mix of suspicion and disbelief. "Explain," he commanded coldly.
Elizbeth swallowed hard, soothing her raw throat. She tilted her head up and met his gaze without flinching.
"Let me take your pulse," she demanded.
Carlton's brow furrowed. His entire body rejected the idea of this mystical nonsense. He didn't move an inch.
But the unprecedented clarity in his head made him hesitate. Slowly, his face hardening into a scowl, he extended his thick wrist toward her.
Elizbeth pushed herself up onto her knees. She reached out and pressed her three middle fingers against his strong, steady pulse point.
She closed her eyes, tuning out the room. She focused entirely on the rhythm of his blood.
Within seconds, her eyebrows pulled together in a tight frown. His pulse was chaotic, violent, and highly aggressive.
This wasn't a natural neurological disease. It felt like a severe rejection response caused by a foreign, synthetic substance.
Elizbeth opened her eyes and pulled her hand back. Her expression was grave.
"Your pulse isn't from an illness," she said, her voice steady and laced with absolute clinical certainty. "It's the chaotic signature of a complex synthetic biotoxin attacking your nervous system. Standard medicine can't even detect it, let alone treat it."
The moment the word "biotoxin" left her mouth, the tiny flicker of confusion in Carlton's eyes twisted into immediate, dark suspicion.
He felt like an absolute idiot for letting a gold-digging woman trick him for even a second. A hot wave of fury washed over him.
Carlton snatched his wrist back. A cruel, mocking smirk twisted his lips. He was convinced she was just a con artist playing for time.
He pointed a rigid finger at the open door. "Get out!" he roared, his voice shaking the walls. "Don't ever bring your pathetic parlor tricks near me again!"
Elizbeth stood up, taking a step toward him. "Carlton, you have to listen to me, the acupuncture principle-"
Carlton grabbed the heavy crystal ashtray off the side table and hurled it at the doorframe next to her head.
The crystal shattered into a hundred pieces. A sharp shard of glass flew back and sliced across Elizbeth's cheek.
A thin line of bright red blood welled up on her pale skin.
Elizbeth stared at him, the sheer violence of his rejection stabbing her in the chest. The light in her eyes dimmed.
She didn't say another word. She crouched down, her hands trembling slightly as she picked up her scattered silver needles from the carpet. She slid them back into the leather roll.
She stood up, gave him one last, hollow look, and walked out of the hostile room.
Carlton watched her thin back disappear down the dark hallway. He slammed his fist into the wall, a sudden, inexplicable irritation clawing at his chest.
