Medical Center.
Late at Night.
Parking Lot.
Adam and Sandra went back and forth for a while, tangled up in whether he should be held accountable for the Tarot Card Killer mess.
No way around it.
A fixed worldview isn't the scary part. What's terrifying is a worldview that's been programmed. Like a scholar meeting a soldier—reason just doesn't cut through. As long as Sandra refused to buy Adam's explanation, he could've claimed it was a divine message from God Himself, and she'd still go, "You say your thing, I'll say mine."
As the wise Tree Man Zhou once said: Truth only exists within the range of a cannon. And tonight, Adam was seeing that firsthand. 😅
"If there's nothing else, I'll head out. You know I've been at it for three days straight—I need some rest," Adam said, too tired to keep up the verbal sparring.
People with locked-in perspectives are tough to sway. Especially someone like Sandra, who's convinced she's the heroine of the world—and has the receipts to prove it. If she wasn't, how else could she storm into the lion's den, armed with nothing but her not-so-slight frame, expose the baron's son—a successful businessman and rising political star—as a fraud, bring a murderer to justice, and clear the names of innocent victims?
I mean, the last woman who tried to take down the baron's son got poisoned! After realizing Sandra was that clueless reporter, Adam lost all interest in figuring out her real motives. No point.
A naïve sweetheart like her? Without some cosmic (scripted) destiny (cheat code) propping her up and dumbing down the male lead, how could she possibly flip the ending?
Their first meeting—the whole "drowning hero saves beauty" bit—was straight-up ridiculous. A gorgeous woman goes alone to a pool where only one guy's swimming and suddenly starts drowning?
Hmm.
After the baron's son pulled her out, she didn't dare admit she couldn't swim. Because, come on—a beauty who can't swim jumping solo into a pool? That's just begging for trouble. Even with her killer red swimsuit, it's too suspicious.
She just mumbled something about not swimming in ages and kept rubbing her long legs. The baron's son gave her a heads-up: "If you haven't swam in a while, always warm up first, or you'll cramp up and risk drowning." Fair enough.
But banking the whole plot twist on that? Total nonsense.
When the baron's son circled back to "finish the job" by drowning her again, he somehow forgot she could swim. And leg cramps from swimming don't always tie back to warming up. No warmup doesn't guarantee a cramp—Adam, as Dr. Duncan, could vouch for that. If your body's fit and adaptable, you can handle the shock without seizing up. Warmups just lower the odds, that's all.
Plus, when he pushed her in, she fought back for a bit—counts as a warmup, right? And he didn't even wait for her to stop struggling before strolling off to call the cops. Sloppy much?
At least sit in a little boat, gazing calmly at your flailing rival in the lake. Bonus points if you've got a wine glass handy—raise it toward her resentful glare, sip some fancy red with a mysterious smirk, then row back to the estate singing a tune. Take a bath, change, then call the cops with a perfectly panicked tone.
Nope. None of that.
Facing Sandra's blatant plot armor, Adam—having dealt with ex-girlfriend Magic Amy before—had already shattered any illusions about invincible cheat codes like hers. He'd stay cautious, sure, but he wasn't sweating it.
If she wouldn't listen, no point in dragging it out. Not everyone gets to hear the cry of truth.
"Rest?" Sandra smirked, her tone dripping with provocation. "You sure you'll sleep tonight? I heard you've spent most of this year holed up in the hospital, barely sleeping. Afraid to close your eyes and face those innocent victims?"
Adam's lip twitched.
All interns bust their butts learning medicine and saving lives—he just stood out more. But in her mouth, it twisted into guilt-ridden insomnia. That kind of mental gymnastics was downright terrifying.
A naïve sweetheart? No biggie. But one backed by a media machine, wielding some cosmic mandate, and gunning for him with malice? That demanded attention.
Adam decided he'd rewrite her script—make her genuinely see and embrace the truth. He'd been about to leave, but now he stopped, turned back to her taunting grin, and raised an eyebrow. "For you, I could skip a little sleep~"
Sandra blinked, then her smirk widened uncontrollably.
Heh. Men.
She knew it. No one could resist her charm forever.
"So this is the real you, huh?" she said, tilting her chin up with a smug laugh. "Plenty of guys have said that to me. Glad you're on the list too. But I'm definitely not going out with you!"
"Got it, loud and clear~" Adam grinned.
This was practically a textbook "prodigal son's redemption" moment—true love incoming. He knew the drill!
In The Big Bang Theory, when Rajesh got full of himself after landing on a "30 Under 30" list, Sheldon and the gang brainstormed replacing him with a new friend. Someone trustworthy, supportive, tech-savvy, rich, living in a cool beachside pad where they could host parties with tons of hot girls.
Hmm.
Leonard summed it up: Iron Man! In the original timeline, Sheldon and Leonard never stood a chance at befriending Tony Stark. But now? They could have an Iron Man-style buddy.
And Adam wasn't just Iron Man—he was Iron Man meets Doctor Strange. Because, you know, magic. If he had a superhero name, it'd be… Iron Doctor! Sounds way cooler than Iron Man, right? Fits him perfectly too—he's a legit doctor, after all.
So not only did Adam get the Iron Man treatment with the ladies ahead of schedule, but the lady in question was none other than the unattainable "Widow" herself. Fate's funny like that. 😎
---
Duncan Apartment.
"They're here," Juno said from the guest room, catching the sound and smirking. "Wow, things are heating up. Adam's not holding back tonight, huh?"
Hmm.
No wonder Juno's his best friend. No words, no eye contact, not even a peek—just a faint noise, and she nailed Adam's vibe perfectly.
Two hours later:
"Good thing this one's got ulterior motives, or Heather might've met her match," Juno muttered to herself.
She knew Adam's rankings. Heather topped the list—looks, figure, and chemistry with Adam, a perfect score. But tonight, judging by the vibe, this reporter was going all out.
People are selfish creatures. Chemistry's great, but sometimes reckless abandon hits different. Like how a main course might be amazing, but a little salty side dish steals the show.
And this reporter's looks and figure? Juno only caught a quick glance—glasses and all—but she could tell Sandra outshone Heather in the face department. Body-wise, they were neck-and-neck, each with their own flair. Calling her a knockout wasn't an exaggeration.
And now, Juno was doubly sure of it.
(End of Chapter)