Sweeping Him Off His Feet Chapter 140: Missing guy from the poster

Mr. and Mrs. Wales rushed to the hospital, their hearts pounding with fear.

Upon arrival, they were directed to wait outside the operating room as the doctors worked tirelessly to save Augustine.

The minutes felt like hours, thick with tension and dread.

While they waited, the nurses handed them paperwork to sign—consent forms, ergency contacts, dical updates—each scribble of ink only deepening their anxiety.

Four agonizing hours later, a doctor finally erged, his expression calm but tired. "He’s stable now," he said. "The surgery went well. He’s not awake yet, but all we can do now is wait. He’s in recovery."

Relief washed over them like a fragile wave, but the fear hadn’t fully left. Their son had survived—but the hardest part wasn’t over yet.

Mr. and Mrs. Wales were eventually allowed to see their son, and as they stood by his bedside, the weight of guilt pressed heavily on Mrs. Wales’s chest.

"I’m the cause of this," she thought, her hands trembling as tears stread down her cheeks.

Her eyes lingered on Augustine’s pale, unconscious face. "I distracted him... I pushed him... and now my son is fighting for his life because of ."

Each quiet beep of the monitor felt like a reminder of her mistake—one she feared she could never undo.

Despite being a harsh mother, Mrs. Wales had never, even in her sternest monts, imagined seeing her son in such a fragile, critical state.

As she and her husband stepped out of Augustine’s hospital room for so air, a heavy, trembling sigh escaped her lips—one laced with guilt, fear, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness.

Mrs. Wales stood in the quiet hallway, arms folded tightly around herself, as if trying to hold everything together. But inside, she was breaking.

"Hubby, I need you to do so personal investigation for ," Mrs. Wales said, wiping the tears from her eyes as she turned to her husband with a sharp, unwavering gaze. "It’s strange... Augustine car was hit by a truck, but when the police arrived at the scene, all they found was his car. No truck, no driver—nothing."

The story she’d been told by the police didn’t sit well with her. If Augustine cared had truly been hit by a truck, then surely the truck should’ve been at the scene. Its absence gnawed at her.

Mr. Wales let out a weary sigh. "It’s a hit-and-run," he said gently. "Stop overthinking it for now. The police are already investigating to find out who owns the truck that collided with our son’s car."

Mr. Wales spread his arms and pulled his wife into a warm embrace, gently patting her back while hoping to ease the storm in her chest.

"Our son will be alright," he murmured, his voice soft and steady as he whispered above her hair. "Let’s just keep praying and hope he wakes up soon."

Mr. Wales’s words stirred sothing deep within his wife, and Mrs. Wales’s eyes brimd with fresh tears.

She had been a harsh mother, one who had hurled threats and harsh words at her son more tis than she could count—but never in her darkest thoughts did she imagine soone else would be the one to endanger his life.

As she lted into her husband’s embrace, a hot stream of tears traced down her cheeks, burning with guilt and sorrow.

***

anwhile, at Augustine’s mansion, Charles Donald lay curled into a ball on the living room couch.

He had spent the entire night there, too emotionally drained and physically exhausted to drag himself upstairs.

Sighing!

"I hate falling in love with you."

The words Charles had hurled at Augustine the previous day echoed in his mind like a curse.

He let out a sharp hiss, pushing himself up from the couch and dragging his feet toward the kitchen.

Opening the refrigerator, Charles reached for a bottle of water, trying to drown the weight of his regret with each gulp.

’I shouldn’t have confessed my feelings for him. Gush! I’m so stupid,’ Charles cursed himself. ’And I’m not even sure if it’s love I feel for Augustine or just lust,’ he added, the confusion gnawing at him.

After drinking the entire content of water, Charles hiss as he tossed the empty bottle into the trash can, the sound echoing like the finality of his own self-reproach.

And then, his phone began to vibrate from his pocket.

’I told Augustine to leave alone, so why the hell is he calling ?’ Charles fud, his thoughts racing.

Without thinking, he pulled his phone from his pocket, assuming the call was from Augustine, but to his surprise, the screen displayed an unknown number.

Charles stomach twisted with uncertainty as he stared at it for a mont longer than necessary.

Who could it be?

Charles furrowed as he picked up the phone call and placed it beside his ear.

"Hello?" he muttered, his voice tinged with irritation but before he could even finish the word, the call abruptly ended.

’Is this a spam call?’ he wondered, feeling the familiar frustration settle in.

He was about to shove the phone back into his pocket when, unexpectedly, a ssage notification flashed across the screen.

Charles swallowed hard as he opened the SMS, only to find it was still from the unknown number.

The ssage read: Aren’t you that missing guy from the poster at Target?

Charles arched his brows, confusion dawning on him.

Missing? Charles thought, his mind racing.

’Who the hell is this, and why are they asking if I’m the missing guy from a poster?’

His heart skipped a beat.

’Wait... Could this be about the projector image? Did the person who posted my picture in the projector finally decide to show my face without blurring it out?’

In an instant, Charles stomach twisted as hen beca anxious.

Questions flooded Charles’ mind as he quickly typed a response. "What poster are you talking about?" His fingers trembled slightly as he hit send.

Then, without thinking, he shoved his fingers into his mouth, anxiously awaiting a reply—hoping, praying, that it wasn’t what he feared.

And then, a ssage notification ca in and it had a text that...