Chapter 3 A Miracle Worker's Touch

Gabriel's POV

I watched, transfixed, as this strange woman worked over my grandmother's lifeless body. My entire being focused on her trembling hands as they moved with surprising precision despite their unsteadiness. The room around us churned with hostility—Derek's venom, Catherine's scorn, the doctors' professional indignation—but I silenced them all with a single command.

"EVERYONE SHUT UP!"

My voice resonated through the room, crushing any hint of rebellion. Even Derek and Catherine reluctantly fell silent, though their glares could have melted steel.

The woman—supposedly Victoria but claiming to be someone named Scarlett—continued her methodical pressing of vital points on Grandmother's body. Her movements appeared clumsy to the untrained eye, but there was an undeniable confidence in her technique.

In a deathly silence, Scarlett pressed the tenth and final vital point.

And then—a miracle.

Grandmother's lips parted as she expelled a long, rattling breath, her chest heaving as life surged back into her frail body. The flatlined monitor stuttered, then beeped steadily as her heart restarted. Color rushed back into her pale face as the room fell into stunned silence.

The doctors, who moments ago had declared her dead, now stared with expressions bordering on religious awe. Derek and Catherine froze mid-tirade, mouths hanging open in perfect caricatures of shock.

I couldn't contain my elation. "Grandmother!" I moved closer, watching in disbelief as Scarlett continued working, combining massage techniques with precision movements that spoke of deep medical knowledge.

After ten more minutes, Grandmother's condition stabilized completely—blood pressure normal, heart rate steady. Though still unconscious, she breathed evenly, her complexion gradually regaining its healthy glow.

Catherine pointed a trembling finger at Scarlett, struggling to form words. "How...where did you...when did you learn...?"

The lead physician, humbled by what he'd witnessed, asked with genuine curiosity, "Ms. Langley, which medical master taught you this technique?"

Scarlett responded dismissively while packing her supplies. "I read it in an integrative medicine book. Just followed the instructions."

Her cavalier answer shattered the room's reverence, replacing it with confusion and disbelief. The miracle worker suddenly seemed more like a lucky madwoman than a medical prodigy.

I barely noticed. My attention remained fixed on Scarlett as she worked. Large beads of sweat rolled down her face, betraying her exhaustion. I suddenly remembered how I'd found her—apparently suffering from some kind of poisoning, which she'd tried to explain before I'd silenced her.

Before I could stop myself, I reached out with a handkerchief, gently dabbing away her perspiration. Our eyes met, and for the first time, I looked at her—truly looked at her—without rage clouding my vision.

She jerked away from my touch, clearly uncomfortable with the intimacy.

"Mr. Rothschild," she said firmly, "can we talk?"

Her voice pulled me back to reality. This woman had just saved my grandmother—the person I cherished most in this world—yet I'd kidnapped her, forced her into marriage, and physically threatened her. The enormity of my mistake crashed down on me.

"You need rest," I replied, my voice uncharacteristically gentle. "We can talk after you've recovered. Anytime."

As she turned to leave, she paused. "Can I have my phone back?"

I hesitated, then retrieved it from my pocket and handed it to her. Our fingers brushed momentarily, and I noticed again how her hand trembled slightly—evidence of whatever affliction had struck her when I'd found her.

After she left with my assistant, I stationed myself at Grandmother's bedside, watching her steady breathing with profound relief.

Later that night, as a thunderstorm raged over New York, I sat in the private meeting room, reviewing the information Adam had collected.

"Scarlett Ross, 22 years old, from Maple Creek in upstate New York," Adam reported nervously. "She runs a small independent pharmacy called Healing Corner in Old Brooklyn. Due to family poverty, she was forced by her parents to leave high school early to work."

He continued, detailing how she'd left her hometown at fifteen, drifted through various locations, and only settled in New York a year ago. Apparently, her reputation in Maple Creek was less than stellar, with various unsavory rumors circulating about her.

"Sir, I made a grave error mistaking her for Victoria Langley," Adam concluded, bracing himself for my wrath. "I'm prepared to accept whatever consequences you deem appropriate. We should be concerned about potential blackmail or entanglements from this... small-town girl."

I remained silent, repeatedly examining our new marriage certificate. The irony wasn't lost on me: in my quest to force Victoria back to fulfill her obligations, I'd inadvertently married a complete stranger—one who'd just saved my grandmother's life.

Standing at the floor-to-ceiling window, I watched lightning split the sky and softly said, "Not bad."

My words visibly shocked Adam and Barry. Before they could respond, a massive lightning bolt struck close to the mansion, thunder shaking the entire structure as rain poured down in torrents.

I turned abruptly. "Send someone to check on her upstairs."

They stared at me, momentarily confused.

Barry, my perceptive old butler, immediately understood. He dispatched a female housekeeper to check if Scarlett had been awakened by the thunder, instructed the kitchen to prepare a hearty meal.

"Anything else, sir?" he asked.

"Hmm," I nodded absently, my thoughts occupied by the enigmatic woman sleeping upstairs—my accidental wife who had performed a miracle.

Hours later, in the dining room, I pretended to review reports on my tablet while waiting. When Scarlett entered, she shot me a glare before sitting down wordlessly to eat. I observed her without comment, allowing her to satisfy her hunger.

Finally, she spoke. "Mr. Rothschild, I presume you've verified that this is all a misunderstanding."

She continued, meeting my gaze directly, "Though my status is humble, you've harmed me, so you must take responsibility. Isn't that right?"

I looked at her steadily, nodding slightly. "Indeed. I'm sorry."

"So," she asked with remarkable composure, "would you prefer to resolve this dispute through legal channels, or shall we reach a private agreement?"

Her directness was refreshing—so unlike the carefully rehearsed pleasantries of my usual social circle. I was curious about what terms this woman would propose.