Sweeping Him Off His Feet Chapter 79: I don’t need any help!

Charles’s legs trembled violently, his heart hamring against his chest as the entire room blurred and spun around him.

His breathing grew uneven, each inhale feeling heavier than the last.

Mr. Wales felt a sharp sting in his chest, an unfamiliar weight settling over him.

Charles’s words had struck him like a bolt of lightning which was impossible to ignore.

"I... I know there’s nothing I can say to justify my actions, and there’s nothing I can do to erase what my wife and I have put you through." Mr. Wales murmured, stepping closer to Charles.

His voice wavered, laced with sothing almost like regret.

"I know you care for my son, but my wife despises you. I should be standing up for what I know is right, but..."

"Sir, please... can I go now? I’m not feeling well," Charles mumbled, his breath uneven as he struggled to steady himself.

He bent slightly, placing his hands on his knees, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath.

A wave of dizziness washed over Charles, making it even harder to stay upright.

"Charles Donald, are you alright?" Mr. Wales asked, his voice laced with concern as he placed a firm hand on Charles’s shoulder, lowering his head to get a better look at his face.

Charles flinched at the touch, his vision blurring as dizziness clouded his senses. "Can you... can you please step back?" he stuttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Beads of sweat ford across Charles forehead, trickling down his temples, while the blood from his nose dripped steadily onto the floor, staining the polished surface beneath him.

Even though Charles used his hands to cover his nose, it was still unable to prevent blood from escaping his hand.

Charles was feeling cold and hot at the sa while his eyes were rolled up, almost as if he was having a concussion.

Mr. Wales’ hand trembled as he pulled his phone from his pocket, his movents frantic with a growing sense of urgency.

"I’m calling 911," he declared, his voice shaking with alarm as he fumbled with his phone, panic twisting his features.

"Sobody—"

"Don’t!" Charles stated with a firm voice. "I’ll be fine so don’t call anyone."

Mr. Wales reacted with swift urgency, shrugging off his suit jacket and frantically waving it at Charles in an attempt to cool him down. "Hold on, Charles!" he urged, his voice cracking with desperation as he struggled to make the call. "Help is on its way."

"You don’t have to—"

"I’m calling soone to make sure you’re safe," Mr. Wales stated firmly before turning his head and shouting, "Is anyone there? I need help!"

His voice echoed through the hallway, cutting through the distant chatter of employees.

Though Mr. Wales and Charles had already moved away from the utility room, his urgent plea drew the attention of the cleaners nearby.

"Umm, Mrs. Wales, I think I just heard Mr. Wales calling out—"

"Help! Soone! Anyone!"

Before the head staff cleaner could complete her phrase, the loud call of Mr Wales was heard once again.

Mrs. Wales turned sharply, her brows furrowed in confusion as she hurried toward the source of her husband’s voice.

Her heels clicked against the floor with urgency, but as she neared, her expression shifted from confusion to shock.

Mrs. Wales eyes beca wide open as she took in the sight before her—Charles hunched over, sweat-drenched, his breath labored, and blood dripping steadily from his nose onto the pristine floor.

"What is going on?" she demanded, her voice laced with annoyance as she turned to Mr. Wales for an answer, then back at Charles, struggling to make sense of the situation.

’Is he trying to create a scene because I fired him?’ She inwardly questioned herself as a scoff rolled out of her mouth.

"Call 911!" Mr Wales demanded, his voice rising with terror as he t his wife’s gaze. "If we don’t do anything, he’s going to die right here. He’s seriously ill."

The sharp authority in Mr. Wales’s voice made Mrs. Wales instinctively nod, as if compelled by his seriousness.

Then, as reality sank in—the sight of Charles trembling, his skin pale, and the blood steadily dripping from his nose—her composure cracked.

"Soone help!" Mrs. Wales scread, her voice no longer cold and commanding but laced with fear.

The sight unsettled her in a way she hadn’t expected.

The blood, the way his body swayed as if he could collapse at any mont—it all sent a chill through her, creeping under Mrs. Wales skin in a way she couldn’t ignore.

Quickly, Charles forced himself to stand firm, his body trembling as he steadied his footing. "I... I don’t need your help or pity," he spat coldly, though his voice wavered.

Charles swayed slightly, his vision blurring, yet he pushed himself forward, determined to walk away from Augustine’s parents.

Each step felt heavier than the last, but his pride wouldn’t allow him to collapse in front of them.

The cleaning staff, who had been waiting near the utility room, rushed toward the commotion.

However, the mont they saw Charles—his pale face, the blood staining his white hoodie, the way his body seed on the verge of giving out—they all froze in stunned silence.

"I said... I said I don’t need the help of anyone," Charles spat, his voice strained as he swung his hands wildly, pushing the air as if to ward off anyone who dared to co closer.

Charles movents were erratic, his balance unstable, but he refused to let anyone touch him. His breath ca in ragged gasps, and his body burned with exhaustion.

"What the hell is going on?" one of the staff mbers exclaid, eyes darting between Charles and the small pool of blood on the floor.

"Have you called 911?" another voice cut in, filled with urgency.

"Was he sick before?" soone questioned, their tone laced with worry.

"Did he get into a fight just now?"

"Hey! Why would you ask such a question?" another snapped. "How can Charles possibly fight within the few minutes that he left our presence?"

"I have a feeling that he probably did this to himself," a doubtful voice muttered.

"What the hell are you saying?" soone else shot back, their voice sharp with disbelief.

The commotion swirled around Charles, but to him, everything sounded distant—like voices trapped in a tunnel.

His body swayed again, dangerously close to collapsing.

So of his colleagues rushed off to find help from other workers in the building, their hurried footsteps echoing through the hall.

Others use their jackets as fan to blow cool air onto Charles, in hopes of stabilizing him.

anwhile, the remaining staff stood frozen in panic, whispering among themselves, their voices tinged with uncertainty.

"What should we do?"

"Should we try to move him?"

"Maybe we should let him sit first."

"What if he collapses completely?"

The tension in the air was suffocating, and despite the frantic efforts around him, Charles barely felt any of it.

"I... I don’t need the help of you all—?"

Before he could complete his phrase, Augustine imdiately called out his na from a distance.

"Charles!"