He Lost His Mind When He Broke My Rules Chapter 07
“Wait!”
Dylan hesitated, cursing himself for being ridiculous.
It was just something I’d made up. Why was he taking it seriously?
But my last words–don’t regret it–echoed in his head over and over. He couldn’t ignore it.
Finally, at the moment when the nurse’s hand was about to touch the infusion tube, he still stopped
suddenly.
“Stop! Get the hospital director here. Now!”
When the dean heard the news, he hurriedly came,
thinking that there was something wrong with the postoperative recovery, and asked with a smiling face.
But Dylan pointed at the IV bottle, voice sharp.
“Test this fluid. I want a full analysis of every
ingredient.”
The director didn’t dare delay. He ordered an urgent
exam.
Less than fifteen minutes later, the director turned
pale, bowing repeatedly.
“Mr. Sterling, I’m so sorry. This was our mistake.”
“This nurse is a new intern. She mixed two
incompatible drugs by accident.”
“If this had been injected, you would have gone into
shock within minutes–no time to save you.”
He yelled at the intern and begged Dylan for
forgiveness.
But Dylan didn’t hear a word. His mind went blank,
muttering.
“It was true… all of it.”
He suspected I’d set it up, but investigation proved I’d left the country the afternoon before. I’d never
contacted the nurse.
Dylan forced down his panic and tried to rest.
Three days later, on his way home from the hospital, a truck suddenly drove against traffic and headed
straight for them.
At the last moment, he remembered another rule:
Avoid the Third Bridge on your way home.
Dylan jerked the wheel just in time. The car crashed
into the guardrail.
He stumbled out, trembling, sweat soaking through his
shirt.
Clara was right. She really could see death.
This time, he didn’t hesitate. Ignoring his pain, he
screamed at his bodyguards and driver:
“Find that rule list! No matter what it takes!”
But the hospital trash had already been taken to the
city dump.
Guards and servants dug for two days before finding a
pile of torn paper.
Dylan held the pieces like they were treasure, carefully bringing them back to the mansion.
He spread them on the table, planning to glue them
back together.
He turned to get supplies. When he looked back, the
table was empty.
The pieces were gone.
Dylan’s eyes widened. He searched the house like a
madman.
Then he smelled burning. He ran to the garden.
Chloe knelt by a fire, poking it with a stick, a few scraps
at her feet.
When she saw Dylan, she smiled proudly.
“Dylan, Clara divorced you. She can’t control you with
those stupid rules anymore.”
Don’t worry, I burned them all. No one’s going to boss
you around now.
She tilted her chin, waiting for praise.
Instead, she got a hard slap across the face.
Dylan threw himself at the fire, putting it out with his
bare hands.
Most of the paper had turned to ash. Only a few torn
pieces remained.
Holding the scraps, he spun around and grabbed Chloe
by the throat, eyes violent.
Are you crazy? Those were going to save my life! How
dare you burn them?
“Who gave you the right?”
Chloe gasped for breath, crying.
Dylan, I didn’t know they meant that much!
Clara’s still out there. Just make her write another one!
“Write another?”
Dylan pressed his fingers to his aching forehead,
forcing himself to calm down.
Right. The only thing that mattered was finding Clara.
If he could get her back, everything could be fixed.
He turned to order his men to search–only to crash into the rushing butler.
The butler held an envelope, head bowed.
“Mr. Sterling… Mrs. Bennett left this for you before she left.”