Chapter 74: She Is Like a Mystery
Everyone turned around, only to see a girl of about eighteen panting and walking toward them. She wore a hat, T-shirt, and ash-grey jeans, with a pair of small leather boots. The two straight, well-proportioned legs exposed mid-calf suggested she must have run over in a hurry. Fine sweat beaded on her forehead, unwiped; she panted, hands on her knees, and a fierce light burned in her eyes.
“I came.”
Monica stared, mouth agape, forgetting to wipe the tears from her pale face, utterly astonished. “Mya?”
Cedric, following behind, was also dumbfounded. He scratched his head, unsure what was happening. Turning to the man beside him, he asked, “Mr. Larson, what is Ms. Stark doing?”
Fooling around? Not at all! Myrna was not the type of girl who loved to fool around. Although young, she was far more composed than her brother, Mr. Payne. In this situation, she had no reason to make a fuss. But what was the difference between her words and nonsense?
“She was just a high school student; how could she know medical skills? Brain surgery isn’t like cutting a watermelon. She acted as if she could just do it on a whim. Wasn’t this causing trouble?”
Calvin raised an eyebrow, lowered his lashes, and a light laugh escaped his thin, vibrant lips: “Huh.” Interesting—he had thought Myrna was merely different in character from ordinary girls. Now, it seemed his perception wasn't a misconception; she was indeed unique.
Myrna just stood there, like a mystery! A female high school student telling a group of neurosurgeons from a third-class hospital that she wanted to perform surgery, leaving everyone dumbfounded.
Annette Cohen, known as the most beautiful female neurosurgeon, was the first to scoff. Arrogantly lifting her chin, she looked Myrna up and down: “You’re coming? A matter none of us doctors are sure of, you, a high school student, say you’re coming and you’re coming? If you accidentally kill someone, can you bear the responsibility?”
Bathed in the corridor light, Myrna exuded a wild, cool aura. She grunted, “Hmm, I’m in charge.”
Annette furrowed her thin eyebrows, slightly annoyed, and retorted, “What a joke, you take responsibility? With what? Treating patients is not a child’s play; you need the ability if you want to play the hero. Even the hospital doesn’t dare to take responsibility for this surgery, can you?”
“How should I stake my life on this?”
Myrna stood before them, hands in her pockets, a thin layer of sweat still damp on her forehead. She was slightly out of breath, but an air of arrogance and confidence radiated from her.
“If my surgery had failed, I would have given my life for Erick.”
Monica covered her mouth, frantically shaking her head, preventing Myrna from continuing. “Don’t talk nonsense about life and death. You’re still young; your uncle doesn’t deserve this, none of us do.”
Myrna had beautiful eyes, their shape slightly almond-shaped, with the corners tilting upwards like phoenix eyes, making her seem less obedient. Even when she lowered her gaze, the raised part of her brow bone was full of rebellion.
It was wildly unacceptable! She helped Monica to a chair, her eyes downcast, her raven-black eyelashes casting a shadow beneath her eyes. In a soft voice, she said, “I know what you and Erick are worth to me. Don’t worry; I won’t let Erick die.”
Monica’s eyes were red-rimmed; she clutched Myrna’s hand, choking on her words. Tongue-tied, she repeated the same sentence over and over: “Mya, it’s not worth it; we haven’t done anything for you.”
Myrna straightened, wiping away the tears on her face. “Stop crying.”
Having pacified Monica, she turned, her hand behind her back, her eyes a mix of wildness and determination: “Both transferring and continuing to wait are unrealistic; you guys don’t have a second option.”