Felicia closed her laptop with a soft click, raising an eyebrow as she smirked. "Don't idolize me too much. It's all just survival skills," she said lightly, though the truth ran deeper. Growing up, Felicia had been a sponge, absorbing everything—books, knowledge, medical texts, and self-taught hacking techniques—things no one could take from her. "Alright, time to check out some medical centers," she said, tossing her backpack over her shoulder. It was the same backpack she'd discarded saving Carmen; thankfully, herbs and all, she'd recovered it after the chaos subsided.
Despite helping Carmen get even—exposing the culprit behind the photos and dealing with others involved—Felicia hadn't slacked. She still made time for her homemade medicines. Once her latest batch was ready, she set out to sell it, hoping to make some extra cash. People like Stephan, who tossed money around like confetti, didn't appear every day. However, she faced rejection after rejection.
Things worsened when she encountered Harvey after being turned away from a medical center. With a smug smirk and derisive snort, he taunted, "Felicia, if Harmony Medical Center won't take you, do you really think anyone else in this city will? Let me make this crystal clear—anyone who buys your medicine is declaring war on Harmony Medical Center and, by extension, on me."
Felicia, initially puzzled by the consistent rejections despite her high-quality medicine, now understood: someone was sabotaging her. Calmly slipping her medicine back into her bag, she gave Harvey a cool, measured look. "I just hope there never comes a day when you need my help."
Harvey laughed uproariously, pointing mockingly. "Me? Needing your help? That's the funniest thing I've heard all day!"
He straightened, his tone dripping with arrogance. "Let me put it on record—if I ever stoop so low as to need help from you, I'd rather end myself! If there ever comes such a day, then I'm done living!" He then engaged in an exaggerated, theatrical display of mock-suicide, complete with mimicked coughing and blood-spitting.
Felicia remained unfazed. With her bag slung over her shoulder, she walked away without a glance. Behind her, Harvey spat in her direction, loudly declaring to nearby medical center owners, "Mark my words! If any of you let Felicia inside, you'll be making an enemy of me and the Walsh family!"
His influence proved effective. No medical center dared take Felicia's high-quality medicines. Undeterred, she doubled her prices. She knew Harmony Medical Center would eventually crumble under Harvey's management; Clive's lifelong efforts would be wasted, but she had no sympathy.
As Felicia prepared to go home, her phone rang—Noah's family. Clive's health had taken a severe turn; he was bedridden. His final wish was to see her.
Felicia agreed. She hailed a cab and went to the Walsh residence. A nervous family member met her, whispering, "Thank goodness Harvey isn't home. Felicia, Mr. Walsh Senior is inside. Please go and see him."
The irony wasn't lost on her. With Clive bedridden, Harvey had taken over, leaving Noah's family to care for him. It was their mess, and Felicia had no interest in it.
Entering the room, she saw the frail figure on the bed and froze, momentarily failing to recognize him. Then, realization dawned. She stepped forward, her expression unreadable.