Rise of The Abandoned Husband

Chapter 188 - 188 - A Bulletproof Arrival and a Doctor's Disdain

"Shoot me," I said coldly, the golden light of my Saintly Body Skill still shimmering around me. "Right in the chest."

The hijacker's eyes widened, but his finger squeezed the trigger without hesitation. The shot rang out like thunder in the confined space of the cargo hold.

The bullet struck me squarely in the chest. There was no pain, just a peculiar sensation of pressure as the projectile made contact with the energy barrier surrounding my skin. The bullet flattened against my chest and fell harmlessly to the floor with a soft clink, leaving nothing but a small white mark on my shirt where it had hit.

"Impossible," the smaller hijacker whispered, his face drained of color.

His partner wasn't convinced. He fired again—twice, three times—each bullet meeting the same fate as the first. My body didn't even flinch from the impacts.

"My turn," I said, moving forward with deliberate slowness. No need for speed now; the terror in their eyes told me they wouldn't resist.

The larger hijacker dropped his gun and fell to his knees. "Please, don't kill me! I have a family!"

"Should have thought of them before you decided to terrorize innocent people," I replied, binding their hands with zip ties I found in a nearby toolbox.

When I returned to the passenger cabin with both criminals in tow, the atmosphere had shifted dramatically. The passengers stared at me with a mixture of awe and fear, clearly having heard the gunshots below.

"Is everyone alright?" I asked, my gaze sweeping across their faces.

No one answered. I handed the bound hijackers to the air marshal who had finally emerged from wherever he'd been hiding during the crisis.

Kathleen approached me, her expression unreadable. "You could have been killed."

I nearly laughed. "No, I couldn't."

"Why did you help us?" she asked quietly. "After how these people treated you?"

I glanced at the passengers who now avoided my eyes. Before our departure, I'd offered medical assistance to a sick child, only to be mocked and dismissed as a fraud by the same people now cowering in their seats.

"I didn't help them," I clarified. "I helped you."

The plane landed safely thirty minutes later, met by a swarm of police cars and ambulances. As the authorities took our statements, I noticed the hijackers being escorted into separate police vehicles—all except one. The largest of them, the man who'd shot me repeatedly in the cargo hold, somehow slipped away during the commotion.

"They're saying one got away," Kathleen murmured beside me.

I shrugged. "Not my problem anymore."

A group of passengers had gathered near the terminal entrance, pointing in my direction and speaking animatedly to reporters who had already arrived on the scene.

"He refused to help protect us!" one woman was saying, her voice carrying across the tarmac. "He only cared about the celebrity!"

"He provoked them! We could have all been killed because of him!" added the businessman who had suggested sacrificing Kathleen to save himself.

Kathleen's face darkened with fury. "Are you kidding me? After what you did for them?"

"I told you—I didn't do it for them."

"Still..." She shook her head in disbelief. "How can they twist things like that?"

"People rewrite history to make themselves the heroes of their own stories," I replied. "It's nothing new."

She studied me for a moment. "You know, most people would be upset."

"I stopped caring what 'most people' think a long time ago." I turned away from the scene. "Shall we go? I believe your father is waiting."

Kathleen's limo was already idling nearby, her staff having arranged everything despite the chaos. As we settled into the plush leather seats, she gave me a sidelong glance.

"That was..." she hesitated, searching for the right word, "satisfying, in a way. Seeing them exposed for what they really are."

I raised an eyebrow. "Enjoying others' moral failures isn't exactly virtuous."

"I never claimed to be virtuous, Mr. Knight." A small smile played at the corners of her mouth. "Though I am grateful."

The drive to the Hansen family estate took nearly an hour, winding through increasingly exclusive neighborhoods until we reached a sprawling compound surrounded by towering iron gates.

"Welcome to my childhood home," Kathleen said as the gates swung open. "It's been years since my father moved back here permanently."

The estate was impressive even by my standards—and I'd seen my share of wealth since my powers had awakened. The main building was a stone castle in the European style, surrounded by perfectly manicured gardens and smaller outlying structures. * is the home of this chapter

"My stepfather renovated it to look like his ancestral home in Scotland," she explained. "My father hates it, but the medical staff insisted he stay here where they could monitor him properly."

As we approached the entrance, a butler appeared to escort us inside. The interior was just as opulent as the exterior—marble floors, priceless artwork, antique furniture that belonged in a museum.

"I'll need to ask for your phones and any electronic devices," the butler said stiffly. "Family policy."

I handed over my phone without complaint. Kathleen did the same, though with visible reluctance.

"Father's paranoid about corporate espionage," she explained as we followed the butler through a maze of corridors. "No electronic devices allowed in the main house, especially near his chambers."

The butler led us to a set of massive oak doors guarded by two men in suits that didn't quite conceal the weapons they carried.

"Ms. Hansen and guest to see Mr. Harding," the butler announced.

One guard nodded and opened the door, revealing a large room that had been converted into a medical suite. Hospital-grade equipment lined the walls, and the air smelled of antiseptic and expensive cologne.

In the center of the room stood a thin, balding man in a white lab coat. He glanced up at our entrance, his eyes narrowing when they settled on me.

"Ms. Hansen," he acknowledged with a slight bow, "I wasn't expecting you to bring... guests."

"Dr. Pierce," Kathleen replied coolly. "This is Liam Knight, the physician I told you about."

The doctor's lip curled in undisguised contempt. "Physician? Based on what credentials, exactly?"

"His results speak for themselves," Kathleen replied before I could answer. "He's cured conditions your entire team couldn't even diagnose."

Dr. Pierce sniffed. "Anecdotal evidence is hardly scientific, my dear. I'm sure your friend here has convinced you of his... abilities, but your father requires actual medical care, not parlor tricks."

I remained silent, studying the medical equipment rather than engaging with the doctor's hostility. I'd faced this reaction countless times before—established medical professionals viewing my methods with suspicion and derision.

"Where is my father?" Kathleen asked, glancing around the room.

"Resting," Dr. Pierce replied. "And I won't have him disturbed by this... charlatan." He stepped directly in front of me, physically blocking my path. "I've heard of you, Mr. Knight. Your 'miraculous cures' have become something of a joke in serious medical circles."

"Is that so?" I asked mildly.

"Indeed. A true physician from Pyro—one my disciple knows well—has examined your so-called 'cures' and found nothing but placebo effects and statistical anomalies. At best, you're a fraud. At worst, you're endangering lives."

I raised an eyebrow but said nothing. His opinion meant nothing to me.

"Dr. Pierce," Kathleen's voice had taken on a dangerous edge. "My father requested this consultation specifically."

"And as his primary physician, I have the authority to refuse treatments I deem potentially harmful." The doctor crossed his arms. "This man will not lay a finger on Nikhil Harding while I'm in charge of his care."

The door behind us opened, and a younger man in a lab coat stepped into the room. "Doctor, I've brought the test results you—"

He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening as they fixed on me. The clipboard in his hands clattered to the floor.

"Liam?" the young doctor gasped, his face displaying pure shock. "What are you doing here?"

Dr. Pierce turned to his assistant, confusion replacing his previous smugness. "Maxim, you know this man?"

But Maxim Huxley just stared at me, looking as though he'd seen a ghost.