Love on the Fast Track (Derek and Norah)

Chapter 114:

After Joanna got back home, she didn’t even take a moment to sit down. Instead, she made her way directly to

Silver Boulder Private Hospital.

By then, it seemed that Norah was still buried in her work. It had been quite a while, more than a couple of

weeks, since Joanna had last laid eyes on her. The absence had left Joanna feeling quite lonesome.

She found herself puzzled over how Norah had navigated the challenges since she tied the knot with...

Joanna arrived at the hospital just as the day was nearing its close, only to discover that Norah was still caught

up in surgery.

“Dr. Wilson is still in the operating room, I'm sorry to say,” a nurse informed Joanna.

With a nod, Joanna settled herself on a bench in the hospital's lobby, bracing for the wait ahead.

“Doctor, | implore you to save my father! | will sort out the finances—just proceed with the operation! You cannot

simply stand by and watch him die. That would be too cruel!”

The corridor was soon filled with the sound of a heated exchange, drawing the attention of many.

“The issue isn't that we refuse to perform the operation. It's that, even with surgery, your father’s chances are

slim. Our facility is not equipped to handle such a complex procedure,” a doctor explained, devoid of empathy,

to a man overcwith despair.

Don’t miss out gaZnov(Jls.cem

“Go back and cherish the remaining moments with your father,” the doctor added.

“That's all you can do?” the doctor added, his voice heavy with a false sense of compassion.

The man, in a state of utter desperation, clung to the doctor's legs, sobbing, “Doctor, please, my dad can still be

saved. | beg of you, don’t give up.”

The doctor, unmoved, freed himself from the man’s grip. “I'm sorry, but | have other responsibilities...”

The onlookers exchanged whispers, their eyes filled with pity as they watched the scene unfold.

Joanna approached the man, extending a tissue. “Are you alright?”

The man’s tears continued to fall, too engulfed in grief to acknowledge Joanna's gesture.

“If there's anything | can do to help, please letknow,” Joanna offered.

Lifting his head, the man’s face was etched with lines of sorrow, his eyes reddened from crying. “My dad's

critically ill. They're saying he doesn’t have much tleft. But how? Just a few months ago, he was healthy. It's

only been a short while, and now this...”

Tears soaked his delivery uniform as he shared his struggles to provide for his aging parents.

Joanna, touched by his plight, offered a solution. “Is it the surgical fees you're worried about? | can lend you what

you need.”

Upon hearing Joanna's offer, the man halted his tears, dropped his hands, and gazed at her with a flicker of

hope. “Really? You have that kind of money? The surgery is incredibly expensive. | couldn't even raise enough by

selling my apartment.”

In his moment of vulnerability, the man took note of Joanna's necklace. He remembered seeing a similar one

before, dropped by a woman in a wealthy neighborhood.

That necklace was worth a fortune.

As the man spoke, he couldn't help but observe Joanna's attire, recognizing the luxury brands adorning her. It

dawned on him that her outfit alone was worth a significant sum.

Could it really be possible to borrow enough from her to save his father?

“Here’s my number,” Joanna said, offering him a business card with her details. “Callwhenever you need the

loan.”

The man took the card but was soon distracted by an urgent call. His expression darkened, and after a few

moments, he ended the call, looking devastated.

Joanna leaned closer, concerned. “What's wrong?”

An accident had occurred involving the man’s parents.

The man pulled out a long fruit knife from his bag, his face wild with desperation. “Ha, they're all gone! What's

the point ofliving?”

He turned toward Joanna, frustration boiling over. “Why do people like you live in luxury while we struggle in

poverty? | know your necklace and those clothes are worth more than my father’s surgery. Why? Why?”

As he brandished the knife, Joanna recoiled instinctively.

With quick reflexes honed from her prior training, she stepped back and began calling for help. “Security? Are

there no guards here?”

The commotion in the lobby escalated quickly.

“With a knife—run!” someone shouted.

“Run! Run! There's a murderer!”

The man’s focus remained fixed on Joanna, driven by a mix of envy and despair. “Why should the rich live lives

of ease while | suffer? The starving, the freezing—while you spend lavishly on jewelry. My father has passed

away, and I've lost my will to live. | want to die. With me! If not, this child will suffer the sfate!”

The boy’s mother was beside herself with grief, barely able to speak. “Please... don’t.”

“Let him go. Take me,” Joanna offered, stepping closer. Her resolve was clear in front of the gathered crowd. She

was determined not to let an innocent child suffer because of her.

“Alright. Chere,” the man commanded, turning his attention back to the child. “Stay quiet, or I'll end you

now!” The boy froze, terror-stricken.

Joanna took a deep breath and lunged at the man to push the child to safety. Then, she aimed a kick at his hand,

hoping to disarm him. But in that instant, shock registered on Joanna's face as she felt the knife pierce her

abdomen.

“Go to hell with me!” the man whispered coldly, his words a haunting echo. “I won't stand for this inequality! If |

can’t have peace, nobody will!” He fixated on Joanna with a chilling intensity. “Let's die together!” he threatened

with a twisted smile, brandishing the knife.

The man chased after Joanna, his pursuit frantic. Their chaotic path through the hospital corridors elicited

screams from bystanders. Eventually, hospital security arrived, equipped with shields and batons, and began

evacuating the area. “Drop the knife! We will take action if you don’t. The police are on their way. Surrender

now.”

Joanna silently thanked her stars for the self-defense training she had received. Without it, the man would have

surely overtaken her.

As she noticed a line of security guards offering her a chance to escape, a child’s cry pierced the air. She turned

to see the man gripping a young boy, about six or seven years old. The boy’s parents were nearby, frantic with

worry.

“Carl! Carl! Please, save our son!”

Facing the man squarely, Joanna demanded, “What do you want?”

The grip on the child loosened, the knife dangerously close to the boy's throat. A single move could end in

tragedy.

“I want you dead!” the man screamed, his voice raw with fury.

“I was trying to help you just now!” Joanna protested, disbelief flooding her. Her intentions to help had spiraled

into this nightmare.

The man’s voice was filled with rage. “Because you're filthy rich! You deserve to die! With all your wealth, why

not help those who are suffering?”