Chapter 425

Her breath caught for just a second. Then, with slow, measured control, she exhaled and steadied herself.

Her hands moved with practiced precision. Allergic reactions weren’t new to her—she knew her limits. She was certain she could handle this. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in her mind.

Besides, as the nurse had reminded her, the patient’s condition was too dire to wait for another surgeon.

"Nurse, wipe my sweat," Evelyn ordered, her voice rough but unwavering.

"Right away, Dr. Hartley." The nurse quickly dabbed at the beads of perspiration forming on Evelyn’s forehead.

Her breathing had turned shallow and labored now. Her throat tightened, her skin burned with relentless itching, and heat radiated from her flushed face beneath the surgical mask. Still, she pushed forward, forcing her focus onto the procedure. Just a little longer, she told herself. The patient’s life hung in the balance—failure wasn’t an option.

"Dr. Hartley," the skeptical doctor spoke up again, his tone laced with thinly veiled mockery. "You’re overexerting yourself. If you collapse, the patient will suffer for it."

"Honestly, you should—" another doctor began.

But before he could finish, a nurse’s voice cut through. "The bleeding’s stopped! Blood pressure’s rising!" she announced, surprise evident in her tone.

"What?" The two doctors leaned in, eyes widening as they stared at the monitors.

The entire surgical team froze, disbelief shifting to awe. The patient’s vitals were stabilizing. Despite her worsening condition, Evelyn had pulled it off. Admiring glances flickered toward her from every corner of the room.

Evelyn’s focus never wavered, her hands moving with deft precision as she continued working.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally spoke, her voice strained but firm. "Prepare for suturing."

The doubtful doctor stepped forward. "Dr. Hartley, let us handle the sutures. You’ve done more than enough."

Evelyn gave a weak nod. She opened her mouth to respond, but the words never came. Her vision blurred, the operating room spinning violently around her.

Before anyone could react, her legs gave out, and she crumpled to the floor. "Dr. Hartley!" "Someone call for help!" "Is she breathing?"

When Evelyn came to, it felt like a thick wad of cotton had been shoved down her throat, choking her breath and leaving behind an unbearable, maddening itch. Her entire body burned with uncontrollable irritation.

Lifting her arm, she examined it—tiny, angry red welts covered her skin, clustered so densely they looked like a grotesque patchwork. The sight alone would’ve sent anyone with trypophobia into a panic.