The phone rang urgently, sharp and insistent. Elena Shen could hardly think straight. Her entire body was burning up, as if she were on the brink of exploding. She didn't have the luxury to hesitate—her trembling fingers hit "Answer" immediately.
The moment the call connected, Ethan Jiang's voice came through the receiver.
"Elena, are you in the restroom?"
Her legs had gone weak, barely able to hold her up. Elena clutched the edge of the sink, slowly sinking down to a crouch. She didn't have the mental clarity to wonder why Ethan, who should have still been on a flight or in a boardroom with senior executives, would have seen her message.
The heat surging in her chest and the fear clawing at her reason made her grip the phone even tighter. From the moment she realized something was wrong with the drink, to when she forced herself to stay calm and message Annie Gu, she had been hanging on by a thread. But now, at the sound of Ethan's voice, that fragile calm cracked. Panic, fear, and a grief she couldn't name surged up like a flood.
Even her voice, when she spoke, carried a tremor and a sob she didn't know was there.
"…I'm in the restroom."
Ethan paused briefly, registering the quiver in her voice. Then he spoke again, soothing and steady, as if his own world weren't on fire. As he spoke to her, he was already coordinating with his team, issuing orders to return to Huaihai City immediately.
"Elena, don't be afraid. Nothing will happen to you. I have bodyguards stationed outside the banquet hall just for your protection. Tell me—what floor are you on?"
Elena bit down hard on her lip to stop herself from crying. She had never, in all these years, felt pain like this. It was unbearable—so overwhelming she wanted to slam her head into the wall just to make it stop.
But Ethan's voice steadied her. Clutching the sink with bloodless fingers, she forced herself to describe her exact location.
Meanwhile, at the steps of his private jet, Ethan strode forward swiftly. Once he got the information, he turned to Eric Chen with a look that needed no words. Eric immediately began relaying instructions to the security team.
"Elena, the bodyguards are almost there—two minutes, tops. I'll stay on the line with you. Don't cry. Don't be scared. I'm coming."
Elena was shivering now. She hugged herself tightly, her lip bleeding from how hard she bit it. The metallic taste filled her mouth, thick and nauseating.
Her throat was dry and clogged, like soaked cotton muffling her voice. But still, she managed to hum a weak acknowledgment.
Ethan could tell she was crouched on the floor. He softened his tone even more, wrapping his calm around her like a blanket.
"Elena, can you stand up?"
"If you can, try to lock the restroom door. I'll let you know when the guards arrive. Don't open it for anyone else."
The metallic taste in her mouth grew heavier. Elena bit her tongue hard, using the sharp pain to keep herself lucid. She turned her head toward the restroom door—so close, yet it felt miles away.
She hadn't had much to drink tonight. Just a few sips of juice.
At an event like this, something so vile slipping into a drink should have been impossible.
And yet, here it was. Poison laced in the sweetness.
Someone had taken a gamble—one they wouldn't have made unless they had backup.
Swallowing down the burning in her throat, Elena gritted her teeth and forced herself upright. One trembling hand on the wall, the other clutching the sink, she took a step. Then another. Every part of her ached. Her knees buckled with each movement, but she pressed on.
She reached the door, shut it, and locked it.
Then she slumped back against the wall, sliding to the floor. Her eyes were bloodshot, vision blurred, tears pooling in her lashes. She was burning up, the fire consuming her from the inside.
But she couldn't let herself lose control. She bit her lip so hard it split open again.
Her voice was barely audible when she spoke into the phone.
"…It's locked."
Her words were soaked in pain and desperation, like a child who had been strong for too long. Ethan's eyes darkened further. Yet his voice remained gentle, unwavering.
"Just one more minute," he said.
"Just hold on, okay?"
"If it gets too hard, splash your face with cold water. But don't hurt yourself. Be good."
Elena curled into herself, burying her head in her arms. She wanted to scream, to cry, to disappear.
But Ethan kept speaking, his voice a tether to consciousness.
The car, the hospital, the doctors—everything was ready.
Just one more minute.
Only one more.
Then she heard footsteps. Fast. Loud. Rushing.
In her haze, she tried to ask if Ethan had arrived.
Before she could, the door was banged on loudly, jarring her back to attention.
"Elena!"
"Elena, are you in there?"
Her eyes widened. Her breath caught. She had no strength left, yet she clung to the phone as if it were her lifeline.
It took her a moment to recognize the voice. It was familiar.
The lock clicked. The door swung open. Adrian Jiang stepped inside, scanning the room until he saw her—pale, soaked in sweat, crumpled against the wall.
He rushed toward her.
But when he reached out, she flinched violently.
"Don't touch me!" she cried, pure instinct.
Adrian's gaze dimmed. He tried again, gently.
"Elena, I'm not going to hurt you. Let me take you to the hospital."
She didn't respond. Her mind was fog. Her body numb. The only person she trusted now—her only anchor—was Ethan.
As she recoiled a second time, Adrian moved faster, intending to carry her out by force. That's when he heard a voice from her phone.
He looked down.
She was still on the line with Ethan.
"Adrian?" Ethan's voice was cold. "Why are you back?"
"I… I came back for the charity gala."
Adrian's heart pounded. If Ethan were here in person, Adrian would be faced with the glacial, unreadable gaze of his brother—a gaze so sharp it could flay skin.
But now wasn't the time to think of that.
"She's been drugged," he said. "Badly. I'm taking her to the hospital."
A brief silence.
Then Ethan said, "The guards will be there in twenty seconds. The car's ready outside the banquet hall. Take her there."
Adrian didn't hesitate. He took off his coat, wrapped it tightly around Elena, and lifted her in his arms.
From the phone, Ethan added, "Keep the line open."
Adrian nodded and carried her quickly through the corridor.
At the turn, they brushed past a few men dressed as waitstaff—shifty-eyed and out of place. Adrian didn't stop. He moved faster.
Up ahead, the guards Ethan had dispatched finally appeared, running full speed toward them.
Elena couldn't hold on any longer. Her body finally gave out.
But her fingers never released the phone.
In the last moment before the darkness took her, she heard Ethan's voice, soft and steady:
"Don't be afraid, Elena. You'll be okay."
—
When Elena woke up again, it was to the sterile scent of antiseptic.
She opened her eyes, blinking against the harsh hospital lights.
And then she saw him.
Ethan was seated beside her bed, back in Huaihai, watching over her.
The memories crashed down on her—pain, fear, helplessness.
Tears welled up again.
Before she could think, she reached for him, throwing herself into his arms.
Ethan caught her instantly, holding her tight.
His dark eyes were still cold, sharp with rage. But his voice, when he spoke, was gentle as a breeze.
"It's okay. You're safe now, Elena. I'm here."
Outside the room, Adrian had just arrived. He reached for the door—only to stop when he saw through the glass.
Elena had thrown herself, without hesitation, into his brother's arms.
Adrian stood there silently.
And in that moment, the light in his eyes dimmed.