Phoebe's POV
The sharpest complaints came from some well-dressed middle-aged guy who obviously carried weight in the Bailey family. The moment he opened his mouth, everyone else jumped on the bandwagon, pushing against Alistair at the door, desperate to get in.
I might have seemed totally absorbed in my phone game, but I caught every bit of the chaos outside.
The racket was driving me crazy. I paused my game, checked on Mitchell, and saw his face had better color now. The acupuncture was working.
Even the military doctors who'd been skeptical at first had shut up. They didn't want to get dragged into this mess.
Everyone understood Mitchell's body was failing, and his age made things worse. Most people could only hope to buy him a little more time.
I watched the crowd's reaction and whispered to Harold, "Too much noise. He needs quiet."
Harold wasn't exactly known for his patience, and the only thing keeping him from losing it was his worry about his grandfather.
He didn't understand medicine, but after dealing with Mitchell's condition for so long, even he could see the treatment was helping.
So when I spoke up, he nodded at Alistair.
Alistair moved fast—cleared the room and herded everyone back to the courtyard. Finally, some peace.
The time would pass quickly, but I had zero interest in awkward staring contests with the others. I kept my head down, focused on my game instead.
The upbeat game music and occasional sound effects helped me stay relaxed. I sank into the chair, completely at ease.
Harold kept watching me. In all his years, he'd apparently never encountered anyone—especially not a teenage girl—who stayed this cool and unbothered around him. It only made him more curious about who I really was.
I felt his intense gaze but didn't react.
I always kept work and personal life separate. Sure, I'd shown up partly because Harold was gorgeous, but now that I knew Mitchell had history with Buck, this was serious business.
After all, Buck barely called anyone a friend. I knew I had to give this everything, or Buck would never let me live it down.
After a while, I closed my game and moved to Mitchell. I checked his pulse, studied his face, and nodded before removing the needles.
Then I glanced at my watch. "It's working," I announced. "He should wake up soon."
Honestly, the results exceeded my expectations. At this pace, Mitchell might even wake up sooner.
Harold stayed quiet, but his expression shifted. His eyes brightened—this was the best news he'd heard all day.
Outside the door, the Bailey family had been waiting and eavesdropping. When they heard my prediction, they started snickering again, still convinced I was a fraud.
They couldn't wait for Harold to throw me out. They were sure I'd embarrassed myself completely.
The doctors looked uncomfortable. It was their first time just standing around doing nothing while Mitchell was unconscious.
Soon enough, the people outside couldn't contain themselves—they pushed past Alistair and burst in.
When Rosalyn saw Mitchell still lying there with his eyes closed, she thought she had her moment. She snapped with smug satisfaction, "Harold, it's been long enough, and he's still unconscious. What now? Ready to admit this girl's a con artist and let us call the police?"
She acted like she held the moral authority, but after Alistair had ejected her earlier, she didn't actually dare touch me.
The entire room went tense. Everyone stared at me.
But I didn't even blink. I tapped my phone one final time, finished my game by defeating the last enemy. Then I calmly slipped it into my pocket, stood up, met Harold's eyes, and said, "What's the hurry? He's already waking up."
The doctors were positioned closest to the bed. They immediately looked at Mitchell, and right on cue, his eyelids began to flutter before slowly opening.
He still seemed slightly confused, his aged eyes stiff and unfocused, but he was definitely conscious, exactly as I'd predicted.
Harold rushed over, leaned down, and said gently, "Grandpa, you're awake."
Mitchell's eyes shifted slightly. He managed a weak nod and made a soft sound.
The room fell into shocked silence. Everyone froze.
This girl—me, without even a medical license—had accomplished what the finest military doctors in all of Coralia couldn't.
Harold finally exhaled with relief. "Miss Hale, thank you. I really mean that."
I stayed as relaxed as always. My expression remained neutral as I stood there and said casually, "No problem. But just because he's conscious doesn't mean he's recovered. The pill will only work for about a month. Without regular acupuncture sessions, he'll slip back into another coma."
Then I looked at Harold, my eyes cool and sharp with a touch of mischief. "So yeah, you should find a doctor who practices acupuncture. Fast."
Of course, I was being slightly theatrical on purpose—just to keep them guessing.
Harold gave a subtle, polished smile. "Miss Hale, didn't you mention you could completely heal my grandfather within a week? Would you consider staying to continue the treatment?"
I glanced at the speechless Bailey family, then offered a dry, sardonic smile. "Me? Aren't I just some suspicious girl with no credentials and a questionable background? You people should look for someone more legitimate. Maybe even try finding Buck."
If Buck ever discovered his old friend had been ill this long, he'd definitely appear in Clearwater and cause chaos.
Harold shot an icy look at the Bailey relatives. One by one, they ducked their heads, too intimidated to speak.
Harold's fury subsided slightly. He turned back to me. "Miss Hale, please stay and treat my grandfather. I'll add another 3 million dollars to your fee. And consider this a personal favor—I owe you one. If you ever need anything, just ask."
I guessed Harold would continue searching for Buck, but it was obvious he knew Mitchell's condition couldn't wait. Judging by his expression, he had decided I was his best option, and he wasn't about to let me walk away.