Stan remained silent for a mont before speaking again. "I want to pay for her treatnt."
The receptionist blinked slightly before quickly regaining composure.
"Of course, sir."
She turned the monitor slightly toward herself and continued professionally.
"We currently have two treatnt options available."
"The standard treatnt plan includes intensive care, toxicology managent, neurological monitoring, and ergency stabilization procedures. That package costs approximately one hundred thousand dollars per day."
Stan listened quietly.
"However," the receptionist continued carefully, "there is also an elite treatnt protocol."
Her tone subtly changed as she explained.
"It includes dedicated elite dical teams, experintal neurological recovery treatnt, full private hospital lockdown, international specialists flown in daily, ard security and confidentiality contracts, advanced life-support systems, rare antidotes, and custom pharmaceutical support."
She paused briefly.
"That treatnt package costs one million dollars per day."
The receptionist had expected hesitation.
Or at the very least, negotiation.
Instead, Stan replied instantly.
"I’ll take that one."
The receptionist froze slightly.
"Sir...?"
"I’ll pay for thirty days in advance."
Her eyes widened.
"Thirty days?"
Stan nodded calmly.
"One million per day. Thirty million total."
For a mont, the receptionist genuinely struggled to process what she had just heard.
Truthfully, Stan could have paid for an entire year without issue.
But even he knew that would be far too absurd.
That kind of paynt would invite unnecessary questions and attention.
Thirty days was enough.
The receptionist swallowed lightly before speaking again.
"Sir, there’s really no need to pay the entire amount upfront. Depending on her recovery speed, she may not even require treatnt for the full thirty days."
"No." Stan waved the concern aside casually. "I want to make sure she gets the best treatnt possible without interruption."
The receptionist stared at him for another mont, visibly shocked by both the amount and how casually he treated it.
"Then, would you like to leave your contact information, sir?" she asked carefully. "Miss Don would probably want to thank you once she recovers."
"No need."
The receptionist hesitated.
"Would you at least like to leave a ssage?"
Stan shook his head.
"No."
Without another word, he completed the transfer.
Thirty million dollars.
The confirmation appeared almost instantly.
The receptionist looked utterly stunned as the paynt finalized successfully.
But before she could say anything else, Stan simply turned around and walked toward the exit.
His heartbeat had already begun accelerating.
The mont he stepped outside the hospital doors, a familiar notification appeared before his eyes.
[You’ve spent $30,000,000 on Alia Don.]
[You’ve received a 10x rebate.]
[Total rebate received: $300,000,000.]
Stan’s heart thumped violently.
Three hundred million dollars.
Even after everything that had happened tonight, the sheer scale of the number still felt unreal.
The corners of his mouth slowly lifted.
Tonight had truly been worth it.
Stan made his way toward the intensive care wing where Alia was being treated.
Since he already knew the floor, he headed straight for the elevator without stopping at the reception desk. The ride was short, but the sterile silence inside the tal box seed to stretch the seconds.
When the elevator doors slid open, he stepped into a quiet corridor bathed in pale white light. The faint hum of dical equipnt echoed through the hall, accompanied only by the occasional footsteps of nurses moving between rooms. The usual bustle of the hospital felt distant here, replaced by an almost oppressive stillness.
As Stan approached Alia’s room, his gaze imdiately landed on a familiar group standing outside.
The Vanguard team.
They had gathered near the observation window, their attention fixed on the room beyond the glass.
Emma stood at the center, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Though she maintained her usual composed posture, a trace of worry lingered in her eyes as she watched Alia’s motionless figure.
The other female guards wore similar expressions. So appeared exhausted, while others looked quietly frustrated. The atmosphere surrounding them was heavy with guilt and concern.
Seeing them, Stan let out a faint sigh.
’Looks like they’ve finally started taking their responsibilities seriously...’
The thought was harsh, but not entirely unfair.
If the Vanguard team had been even remotely competent in the first place, Alia would never have been kidnapped.
A professional security detail’s primary duty was prevention. Once their charge had already fallen into enemy hands, any successful rescue afterward was rely damage control.
Of course, the incident had ultimately worked out in his favor. The kidnapping had inadvertently accelerated several of his plans and provided opportunities he otherwise wouldn’t have had.
But that didn’t erase the fact that the team’s earlier performance had been unacceptable.
For a group entrusted with protecting an important figure like Alia, their security asures had been riddled with weaknesses. They had underestimated their enemies, overlooked warning signs, and failed to react until it was too late.
Even now, the guilt written across their faces was proof that they understood it themselves.
No amount of self-reproach could change what had happened.
What mattered was whether they learned from the mistake.
Stan’s eyes briefly swept across the group before settling on Emma.
Unlike the others, her concern seed to run deeper than professional responsibility. There was genuine remorse there, an unspoken determination to ensure that such a failure would never happen again.
At least that was sothing.
Without slowing his pace, Stan continued toward them.
The faint sound of his approaching footsteps broke the team’s quiet vigil.
One by one, the guards turned their heads.
Emma was the first to notice him.
Her eyes widened slightly before her expression quickly returned to its usual calm composure.
"Mr. Stan," she greeted.
The others straightened almost instinctively, their attention shifting from Alia’s room to the man who had played a crucial role in bringing her back alive.
Shaking his head slightly, Stan stepped closer to the observation window and looked through the glass.
Alia lay motionless on the hospital bed.
Clear tubes ran from her arms, while multiple monitoring devices remained connected to her body. The steady rhythm of her heartbeat echoed from the machines beside her, each soft beep serving as a reminder that she was still fighting.
The room itself was spotless and brightly lit, yet it sohow felt cold.
She was looking fragile and vulnerable, she even had an oxygen mask on to help her breath.
Stan’s gaze lingered on Alia’s sleeping face. Even in her current condition, she was breathtakingly beautiful.
Her delicate features remained untouched by the ordeal she had endured. Long eyelashes rested against pale cheeks, and her black hair spread softly across the pillow.
Yet that beauty only made the scene more tragic.
A woman who normally commanded attention wherever she went now lay unconscious, unable to even open her eyes.
’Such a beautiful woman reduced to this state...’
For a brief mont, even Stan felt a trace of pity.
Then footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor.
It sounded fast and urgent, forcing everyone to turn simultaneously.
Several doctors appeared around the corner.
Not one. Not two. An entire dical team.
Senior physicians, specialists, neurologists, toxicologists, surgeons, and support staff moved rapidly down the hallway. So carried tablets filled with patient data while others held dical files and diagnostic reports.
The atmosphere around them was completely different from before.
There was purpose, urgency, and determination.
The Vanguard guards imdiately noticed the unusual sight.
Emma’s brows furrowed.
"What’s going on?"
The lead doctor barely slowed as he approached.
"We are initiating the elite treatnt protocol imdiately."
The corridor fell silent. The guards blinked in confusion.
"Imdiately?" one of them asked.
The doctor nodded. "The required paynt has already been processed. Authorization has been granted."
A ripple of shock spread through the group.
Earlier, the hospital administration had been perfectly clear.
Alia’s condition had been stabilized, but the advanced treatnt plan could not proceed without approval and funding.
The procedures involved so of the hospital’s most expensive resources, specialized dication, cutting-edge equipnt, neurological treatnt programs, and consultations from top experts.
The cost was astronomical.
They had already reported the matter to Vanguard headquarters and were awaiting instructions.
Yet headquarters still hadn’t responded.
The amount involved was simply too large for anyone to authorize lightly.
Then one of the female guards suddenly rembered sothing.
Her eyes widened.
Earlier, before the confrontation with the police, Stan had casually stated that he would cover Alia’s treatnt expenses.
At the ti, everyone had dismissed the statent.
After all, who could casually pay such a staggering amount?
They all thought he was bluffing in the heat of the situation, how is it possible that he’s not bluffing?
Slowly, her gaze shifted toward him.
"He really paid..." The words escaped her lips almost unconsciously.
A chill ran down her spine.
’He actually paid...’
The realization hit her like a hamr.
Another guard swallowed nervously. "We almost arrested him..."
The corridor beca awkwardly quiet. They rembered every suspicious gaze. Every accusation, every question directed at him. They rember pointing their guns at him, treating him as one would a criminal.
Yet the man standing beside them had not only rescued Alia from her kidnappers but had also personally funded the treatnt that might save her life.
The contrast was almost embarrassing.
One guard lowered her head.
"And now he’s the reason Miss Don even has a chance to recover..."
The guilt they felt was difficult to put into words. Emma remained silent.
Her eyes rested on Stan for several seconds.
The emotions within them had changed completely. She felt sorry, like genuinely sorry. At this point she had genuine respect and gratitude.
For perhaps the first ti, she truly saw him differently.
This wasn’t rely soone who happened to help.
This was soone who had acted when everyone else hesitated.
Soone who expected nothing in return.
The fact that their client hated n so much only to end up getting saved by a man was also quite funny, but that isn’t what was on her mind right now.
Taking a step forward, she spoke.
"Mr. Harrison..."
There was a sincerity in her voice that hadn’t existed before.
She wanted to thank him. Properly.
However, before she could continue, Stan simply raised a hand.
"No need."
His tone was calm and indifferent. As though thirty million dollars were nothing worth ntioning. As though saving Alia’s life wasn’t sothing deserving of praise.
Then he turned and began walking away.
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