Chapter 668: Antidote

Henry drove, Susan silently leaning against the window, Manuel’s distant, angry back a persistent image in her mind.

“Henry,” she called.

He turned, his driving momentarily interrupted. “What’s wrong, Susan? Are you feeling sick? I can stop.”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“I think we…,” Susan began, looking at him. Henry gripped the wheel.

“We can’t go back to how things were,” she finally said, voicing the unspoken truth.

“Do you like Manuel?” Henry asked.

Susan interlaced her fingers, hesitant to hurt him, yet fearing unhappiness if she remained unclear. “I thought you knew.”

It was simple. “I thought you’d come back if I worked hard.”

“I tried,” Susan explained. “But the more time we spent together, the more I wanted to escape…” She searched for the right words. “Let’s… I can compensate you. Your father gave you twenty percent of the company, and you said Manuel took it. I’ll help you get it back, or even more—twenty-five, thirty percent? Is that acceptable?”

“Am I that unbearable to you?” Henry asked, his voice laced with pain.

“No,” Susan replied, “I just… I don’t know how to make things better.”

“Susan,” Henry interrupted gently.

Susan bit her lip, the familiar sting of feeling inadequate after a breakup settling in. “Didn’t we agree on a month?”

Susan was taken aback.

“When I proposed, you promised an answer within a month,” Henry reminded her. “Give me another month. If you still want to leave then, I’ll let you go.”

Susan saw the sadness and humility in his eyes. A month seemed short, but she wanted to avoid hurting him further.

“Okay,” she nodded.

Henry offered a strained smile, his gratitude outweighing his internal pain. Susan looked away, a deep remorse settling over her.

That night, Manuel sat rigidly in his car. His grim expression silenced his driver, who, despite his apprehension, wished to remind Manuel about Susan, left behind at the club. Manuel exited the car without a word upon arrival. The driver found Manuel’s demeanor unusually subdued, even for someone who’d been drinking.

His inner turmoil only intensified once home. The drug’s effects finally hit him full force. Gritting his teeth, he called Theodore.

Theodore answered, “Manuel, can’t you sleep?”

“Do you have the antidote to X?” Manuel tried to control his voice.

“What?”

“I was drugged. Get someone to bring it. I’m at home.”

“Well…”

Before Theodore could finish, Manuel hung up, assuming the antidote existed and Theodore, with his club connections, could procure it. His physical symptoms worsened, making rational conversation difficult.

Theodore stared at the disconnected phone, stunned. He knew of no such antidote; the only relief, as far as he knew, was through women. He acted swiftly, pulling out his phone to contact a woman he’d previously been intimate with. But remembering Manuel’s fastidious nature, he hesitated to send a prostitute.

Then, Susan’s name surfaced. Although he didn’t want her involved with his friend, he acknowledged Manuel’s enduring love for her—evidenced by the ten billion dollars Manuel had given Phillips Bank, agreeing to the venture capital firm's condition that he personally subsidize the investment.

Theodore called Susan.

Susan, recently home and feeling dejected after her conversation with Henry, lay in the bath, startled by the call.

“Are you sleepwalking?” Susan’s tone was sharp.

“You’re sleepwalking!” Theodore retorted.

“Then why are you calling, you freak?” she snapped, her mood already foul.

“If it weren’t for Manuel, I wouldn’t be.”

“What do you want?” Their interactions were rarely civil unless fueled by alcohol.

“Something’s wrong with Manuel.”

“What?” Susan sat up, alarmed. “Car accident?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Theodore yelled, covering his ears. “Didn’t you mean that?”

“If I did, would I be this calm? And what could I do about a car accident anyway?”

Susan sank back into the bath, silent.

“No accident. But a physical problem. Go to his place.”

“What kind of problem?”

“You’ll find out!” Theodore’s patience snapped.