Fated love: the unwanted bride -
Chapter 1005 - Chapter 1005 Chapter 1005 It Might Be Like This for a
Chapter 1005: Chapter 1005: It Might Be Like This for a Lifetime Chapter 1005: Chapter 1005: It Might Be Like This for a Lifetime Charles McIntosh nodded, “I’ll be there in a moment.”
Sylvan Cheney fell into deep thought.
Cerebral congestion, suddenly waking up, the likelihood of amnesia is high, but he didn’t know whether it would be temporary or permanent.
Sylvan Cheney furrowed his brow tightly and threw off the covers to get out of bed.
His head still throbbed slightly, and the pain in his chest hadn’t subsided.
“Mr. Cheney, please don’t go, I’ll make the trip and report back truthfully,” Charles McIntosh quickly said.
“Prepare the car,” Sylvan Cheney ordered and walked into the dressing room.
“…” Charles was helpless.
Sylvan Cheney quickly changed into a white shirt, with two buttons at the collar undone, his complexion was pale, but it couldn’t hide his inherent aura.
Precious, stern.
As he left, he happened to run into Joan Harry.
“Mr. Cheney, are you going out? It’s very hot outside, can I do anything for you?” Joan Harry quickly said.
This body had not yet recovered, why did he need to go out? Was it something important?
“You go back first,” Sylvan Cheney said.
“Oh, okay, then take care of yourself,” Joan Harry knew Sylvan Cheney had a habit of being resolute, “Mr. McIntosh, please, take good care of Mr. Cheney.”
“Understood.”
Sylvan Cheney and Charles McIntosh walked shoulder to shoulder downstairs.
Behind them, Joan Harry sighed, what could be so important that it outweighed his own health?
How could he bear it if this continued?
She knew Sylvan Cheney was busy with work and social engagements.
But he shouldn’t overexert his body like this…
Charles drove to another hospital, and along the way, Sylvan Cheney had already called Chris Fern’s chief physician.
Chris Fern had woken up not long ago and was sitting silently on the hospital bed, motionless.
After examination, it was confirmed that Chris Fern indeed had amnesia and couldn’t remember anything.
However, the doctors weren’t sure when he might recover his memory.
If something significant stimulated him, he might recover in a day or two; without it, he might remain this way for life.
Sylvan Cheney’s expression grew darker, his eyes unfathomably deep, like the waters of a profound pool, bottomless.
Entering the hospital room.
Chris Fern was standing by the window, the light blue curtains half-drawn. He stood silently, alone not speaking.
After nearly half a year in bed, he had grown even thinner.
Already lean by nature, he now appeared gaunter, an oversized hospital gown hanging loosely.
The attendant had tidied his hair, which indeed looked neat and unchanged from before.
Sylvan Cheney and Charles McIntosh entered the room together, with the doctor following behind.
Hearing the noise, Chris Fern turned his head, his gaze surprised and unfeeling as he looked at Sylvan Cheney.
His complexion was pale, void of any healthy color, but he still looked particularly young, appearing much like an eighteen or nineteen-year-old boy.
Especially with his slight, messy fringe, which accentuated his youthful innocence.
Chris Fern looked blankly at Sylvan Cheney and Charles McIntosh, not speaking.
The only person he was relatively familiar with now was the doctor behind them; since waking up, the person he had seen the most was that doctor.
“Chris Fern,” Sylvan Cheney called out and stepped forward.
“Who are you?” Chris Fern’s head began to throb faintly, his face etched in pain.
This man, he couldn’t remember him.
There wasn’t the slightest trace of familiarity.
“He is the Mr. Cheney I’ve told you about,” the doctor stepped forward and comforted Chris Fern, “Do you remember him?”
Chris Fern shook his head blankly, his eyes devoid of any spirited luster.
His pupils constricted, his gaze scattered.
He truly didn’t recognize any Mr. Cheney.
“It doesn’t matter,” Sylvan Cheney said indifferently, “If you don’t recognize him, just cooperate with the doctor’s treatment.”
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