Chapter 6


    Investment project?” Izabe frowned. If he really had that kind of business mind, her grandpa


    wouldn’t have handed the Salotti Group over to her.


    All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org.


    ‘Just send the money over, I need it urgently”


    “I can give you the money, but you have to send me the project documents so I can take a look,”


    Izabe said


    What kind of dad takes orders from his daughter like this? n felt humiliated and cursed at


    Izabe over the phone, calling her a useless daughter and saying that she should have been


    aborted. After some harsh words, he tried to y the victim.


    These good cop, bad cop tactics were nothing new to Izabe. After listening, she simply replied,


    “Anything else you want to say? I’m busy here, so I’m hanging up if there’s nothing.”


    “No, don’t hang up, I’m sending it to you!” n quickly stopped her, afraid she would change her


    mind.


    After hanging up, Izabe waited for the files n sent. When they arrived, she forwarded them to


    her assistant to print out a copy and make her a cup of coffee in the meantime.


    When the documents were delivered, Izabe scanned through them until a steaming cup of coffee


    was ced on her desk. The coffee’s rich aromal filled the air, but even the high–quality taste


    couldn’t mask its bitterness.


    She had a sweet tooth and used to need a sugar cube just to take a pill. Now she relied on bitter


    coffee to stay awake and focused.


    Taking a sip before continuing to review the documents, Izabe found n had invested in a real


    estate project. It seemed legit at first nce, with detailed ns, certificates, and a reliable team.


    But not even half an hourter, n called to hurry her for the money.


    Her assistant knocked on the door, and Izabe multitasked, one ear on the phone and the other


    giving instructions to her assistant.


    “Ms. Salotti, Dr. Felton is downstairs looking for you.”


    Why is Presley here? Izabe hurriedly replied and hung up the call, her mind now focused on the


    unexpected visitor.


    “Bring him up, and have someone make tea for us.”


    While her assistant fetched Presley, Izabe transferred two million dors into n’s ount. She


    stared at her phone, waiting for a word of thanks from her dad, but never came. She mockingly


    laughed and tossed the phone onto her desk.


    “Ms. Salotti, Dr. Felton is here,” the assistant announced, and Izabe ushered her out of the office


    as Presley entered,


    “Sit over here.” Izabe led Presley to the cozy seating area near the floor–to–ceiling windows.


    As soon as he walked in, Presley smelled the strong coffee aroma and looked at the half–finished


    cup, frowning. “Why are you still drinking coffee?”


    “Am I not allowed?” Izabe pushed a cup of tea towards him, asking casually. “What’s the matter


    today?”


    Presley sat down. “It looks like you’vepletely forgotten what I told youst night.”


    Izabe’s outstretched hand froze, and she quietly sat back on the sofa, head hanging like a child


    who had done something wrong.


    “You have to go to the hospital with me today, no matter what


    Ignoring Presley, Izabe continued staring at the withered nt. “What for?”


    “A thorough examination, to determine a treatment n, and to be hospitalized.”


    Presley studied Izabe closely, unable to imagine how someone who used to be afraid of


    injections could endure stomach cancer pain.


    Izabe shook her head. “Presley, my disease is like this nt, its roots are rotten, no treatment will


    work.”


    “Be, without trying, how can you know it won’t work? You can work day and night and spend four


    years trying to please a man who doesn’t love you. Why not spend a little time on your health?”


    Presley felt it was a waste that Izabe, who wasn’t even 24 years old, neglected her health.


    Izabe yearned to be brimming with witality, enjoying the best moments of life, and free from the


    shackles of ackluster marriage and the torment of


    cancer.


    Presley affectionately patted her head, reminiscent of their past. “With the advancements in medical


    science today, as long as you don’t give up and undergo treatment and surgery, there may be…”


    His words trailed off as he noticed the reddening of Izabe’s eyes


    Stroking the withered leaves, Izabe whispered, “So, tell me, what is the sess rate of the


    surgery? Is it 50%, 20%, or perhaps a mere 0.1%?” Presley remained silent, his lips pursed in


    solemn contemtion.


    “Forget it,” Izabe forced a crooked smile, that shred of hope isn’t worth it.”


    She understood what Presley meant. Who wouldn’t want to live and have a healthy body? But she


    had never heard of anyone survivingte–stage stomach cancer…


    Izabe clenched her hand, crushing the dry leaves which fluttered to the ground through her


    fingers.