His After The Heartbreak (BL)-Chapter 174: She Is Dying

Chapter 174 – She Is Dying

Declan's POV

The doctor just nodded again.

He didn't say a word.

Of course, he wouldn't. He knew better than to challenge me—especially now.

But right now, none of that mattered.

I stole a glance at Beatrice.

Her skin was getting paler—too pale. Her lips were dry. Her body was still. Too still. It felt like she was slowly slipping away, second by second. And the truth is—I was scared.

Really fucking scared.

"Is she going to be okay?" I asked, my voice lower this time.

He nodded again.

Just nodded.

That's it.

That little, stupid nod like he didn't understand the fire building in my chest.

I turned to him fully, anger starting to rise from deep in my stomach.

"This isn't the kind of answer I need from you, doctor."

He looked up at me, startled, but I didn't care.

"I didn't ask you to nod your head like some fucking lizard. I asked you a direct question. Use your mouth. That thing between your lips? It's not decoration. You went to school for years, didn't you? So use your words and tell me—is she going to be okay or not?"

Still, silence.

He just stared at her. Then back at me. Then back at her again.

I swear—if this man doesn't start talking in the next few seconds, I might just lose it.

At this point, I was so tempted to walk out of that ward, drive straight to his house, and shoot someone close to him then about remove the bullets myself and take the person back to him just to show the doctor how serious I was. Maybe then he'd understand I wasn't joking.

Finally, he opened his mouth.

"First thing we need to do is give her oxygen," he said. "Her breathing is weak, and if we can stabilize it, she'll have a better chance."

No shit. I already knew that. But I didn't say anything.

He continued, carefully.

"So, if you don't mind... I need to ask you something first," he added.

I gave him a sharp nod. "Go ahead."

"Before we place her on oxygen, you need to sign a document," he said. "It confirms your permission to let us proceed with the oxygen and treatment."

I stared at him.

That's the problem? A piece of paper?

"I'll sign it," I said without thinking. "You have my word. I'll sign whatever the hell you want—but put that oxygen on her now."

He blinked, unsure.

"I said now!" I snapped.

"Y-Yes, sir," he said quickly, grabbing his tools and moving toward her.

I stepped back, letting him work.

We'd talk about signatures later.

Right now, all that mattered... was keeping her alive.

The doctor nodded fast and started pushing the bed to the ward. I followed closely, my steps fast and heavy like I was stepping on every ounce of fear inside me.

She was taken into the oxygen room, and what felt like eternity passed before they finally fixed the oxygen tube to her nose.

My eyes didn't leave her.

Not even for a second.

She looked like a ghost. Like someone fighting between this world and the next.

But she was still breathing... and that alone kept me sane.

"Alright," I finally said, "Now I can sign the damn paper."

The doctor handed it over quickly. I didn't waste time. I took the pen and signed it right away like my life depended on it.

It kind of did.

He took the paper back and looked at me. "Sir... I would love to ask what happened. I need to know how this happened to her."

I nodded.

"She was on her way to somewhere important," I began, keeping my voice steady. "And we were attacked by some bastard. One of them shot her."

His eyes went wide with shock, and then I saw the panic rise all over his face.

"Oh my God!" He gasped. "I need to take her to the ER right now. She needs emergency surgery."

He shouted that last part like his lungs were on fire, then grabbed the edge of the bed and was about to start pushing it.

I stood up at once.

"What? Why?" I asked, confused and already irritated.

"She has to undergo surgery immediately," He said fast. "We need to remove whatever is left of the bullet inside her. We need to clean her up properly before it gets worse."

I frowned. "I already removed the bullet myself."

He froze. His eyes slowly turned to me, blinking hard like he didn't believe what he just heard.

"What?"

"I already took the bullet out," I repeated. "It's not inside her anymore."

He let out a shaky breath and nodded like he had heard me... but I could tell he hadn't really processed what I just said.

"Sir," he said slowly. "That's exactly why we need to take her to the ER now."

My patience was hanging on by a thread.

"What do you mean by that?" I asked sharply.

He looked at me again. Blank. Like he was trying to choose her words carefully. Maybe he was surprised I didn't already know. Or maybe he was just trying not to upset me.

But I wasn't in the mood for games.

"I do know what ER means," I added quickly. "I just didn't think she'd need to go there again. I already did the hard part. I pulled the damn thing out. Isn't that enough?"

The doctor lowered his head for a moment, then raised it slowly.

His voice was calm but serious. "It's not just about removing the bullet, sir. If any small pieces of it broke off and are still inside her, it can damage her organs. It can poison her blood. She needs a full scan and surgery. She's still in danger."

I looked at Beatrice again. Her chest rising slowly with the oxygen helping her. Her hands cold. Her lips barely moving.

I hated hospitals. I hated being helpless. But right now... I hated this feeling the most.

Like I had done everything I could... and it still wasn't enough.

I didn't say another word. I just gave a tight nod.

"Then take her," I said, my voice low. "Do what you have to do."

The doctor was still talking, but I wasn't even listening anymore. He should just take her to remove the particles so we can get it over with.

I looked at her, and all I could feel was... tiredness.

If only I had known she was going to be shot...

If only I had seen it coming...

I wouldn't have let her come with me.

Beatrice—should be somewhere safe right now, maybe drinking coffee, scrolling through her damn phone, or fighting with me like usual.

Not lying here, pale and still, with a fucking oxygen mask over her face.

"That's not a problem," I said quickly, trying to mask the pain crawling up my throat. "As long as she's going to be okay, then we're good."

"Just tell me... there's no more paper I have to sign before she can be taken into the ER, right?" I asked.

He looked at me, and then nodded slowly. "There is, sir. We still need your signature to proceed."

I almost groaned. "Let's just get moving. I'll come back to the signature thing."

"I'm sorry, sir," he said calmly, "but I can't proceed without your signature first."

And that was it.

That was when something inside me snapped.

Who the hell did this man think he was?

Does he not know where he is or who he's talking to?

Does he not know I own this place?

A random doctor... standing in front of me and wasting time like this? My patience was already thin, and now he was stretching it even further.

"It seems you want to kiss your job goodbye," I said, my voice low and cold.

He flinched like I had slapped him.

Before I could say more, someone walked into the room. I turned sharply—and saw the surgeon

Finally.

He glanced at the doctor, then looked at me.

"Why are you delaying the owner of this hospital?" the surgeon asked sharply.

The doctor's eyes widened in disbelief. He turned pale as her mouth fell open. "I-I... I didn't know... I didn't know it was you, sir."

He turned to me immediately. "I'm so sorry, sir. If I had known... I would have taken her straight to the ER. I didn't mean to waste your time. Please forgive me."

I didn't even answer him. He wasn't my priority right now. Beatrice was.

But trust me, I wasn't going to forget this. I would come back to him—when Beatrice was stable to deal with him.

Then it happened.

A loud beeping sound suddenly pierced through the room.

Beep... Beep... Beepbeepbeep.

My head turned sharply to the machine—the heart monitor.

"What the hell is that?!" I shouted, eyes darting between the doctor and the surgeon.

"What's happening? Why is it beeping like that?"

The room became tense. The surgeon's face changed instantly.

"She's dying," he said in a tight voice.

My chest clenched.

"What?" I whispered.

"She's dying," he repeated. "We're losing her... She has barely fifty minutes to live—if we're lucky."