CHAPTER 198: CHAPTER 198: YOU DID WELL

Sylvie’s eyes, shrouded in despair, seemed to ignite a weak flame because of Rhiannon mentioning Doctor Sterling.

Her tightly pursed lips slightly relaxed, and with a sob and a trace of incredulous hope, she murmured in repetition: "Really? Did Uncle Sterling really say that?"

"Yes, he told me himself."

Rhiannon repeated decisively, her heart pounding wildly in her chest, nearly shattering her ribs.

She saw a trace of relaxation on Sylvie’s tense shoulders, her stance facing the void, ready to leap, seemed to be pulled back by the instinct to survive and that fragile hope.

Sylvie cautiously, extremely slowly, began to turn her body, trying to shift her weight away from the dizzying height of the rooftop edge and retreat to relatively safe ground.

Her movements were stiff with fear, her small hand trying to grasp the cold, rough edge of the protective wall behind her to maintain balance.

Just as her body turned halfway and one foot was about to step back onto the rooftop ground.

Accident struck nevertheless.

The oversized, hospital-issued plastic slippers under her feet slipped sharply due to tension and awkwardness, the sole screeching against the cement surface with a jarring "squeal," completely losing grip.

"Ah."

Sylvie let out a short, terrified scream, her entire body losing balance in an instant, like a kite suddenly torn off its line by a fierce gust, plunging outward.

"Sylvie!"

Rhiannon’s pupils contracted abruptly, her mind blank, but her body moved faster than her thoughts; she darted forward with speed and strength beyond her imagination, lunging toward the protective wall’s edge.

At the critical moment, she thrust her right hand forward, desperately clenching onto Sylvie’s arm, which had just slipped from the rooftop edge and was now in free fall.

"Ugh!"

The immense downward force struck suddenly, and Rhiannon felt as if a brutal force was violently tearing at her right arm, pain shooting through her shoulder joint, her body harshly colliding with the cold, coarse protective wall, a dull ache in her chest.

She groaned, gritted her teeth, and with astonishing willpower, stubbornly did not let go.

Sylvie’s entire body was now completely suspended.

Dozens of stories high, the wind howled beneath her feet, the scene on the ground small and distorted.

Utter terror engulfed her instantly, and she let out a piercing, heart-wrenching cry, her other arm flailing wildly in the air, trying to grab onto something, only to grasp the cold air.

"Hold onto me, Sylvie, hang on tight to me."

Rhiannon yelled, exhausted, her right hand bearing the entire weight of a person falling, her knuckles white from exertion, her muscles and veins bulging fiercely, waves of pain and numbness washing over her like a tide.

She tried to pull Sylvie up, but with only one arm’s strength, she could not possibly defy gravity.

Sylvie’s body remained motionless, and the force of her fall increased due to her terrified struggle.

No, one hand won’t do.

Rhiannon did not hesitate, her left hand shot out, both hands together, tightly gripping Sylvie’s slender wrist.

Now, she was using her whole body’s strength to play tug-of-war with death.

In this position, she could easily be pulled down with Sylvie, both tumbling together.

Her body pressed tightly against the edge of the protective wall, the rough cement rubbing against her nurse uniform and skin, causing a scorching sting.

Her feet braced firmly against the ground, her body leaning back, exerting all her strength to counteract the heavy downward pull.

"Don’t be afraid, Sylvie, look at me, hold tight to me, I’ll pull you up."

"Don’t look down, look at me."

She shouted continuously, her voice distorted and hoarse from strain, sweat instantly pouring from her forehead, temples, sliding down her cheeks, dripping onto the dry rooftop ground, leaving dark spots.

Her cheeks flushed red from exertion and blood rush, her temples throbbing.

Sylvie’s cries became more and more agonizing, fear robbing her of all reason, she only struggled and screamed by instinct, which undoubtedly increased the difficulty of Rhiannon’s rescue.

Both their palms, tense and exerted to the extreme, were soaked in cold sweat.

The slippery feeling began to surface; Rhiannon could clearly feel Sylvie’s wrist slowly, bit by bit, slipping from her grasp.

"No, don’t slip, Sylvie, don’t move, I beg you not to move."

She was practically pleading, her arm muscles trembling intensely from overexertion, pain and weakness spreading rapidly like a parasite.

Every second of the stalemate became unbearably long and torturous, her strength rapidly diminishing.

"Help, help!"

She shouted desperately, hoping someone would hear and come to help her.

She could feel the strength in her fingertips waning, the slippery sensation becoming increasingly clear.

The tiny wrist was about to slip completely from her sweat-soaked hand.

At this moment of despair.

A large, well-defined, steady hand, with undeniable strength, suddenly reached over Rhiannon, precisely and tightly gripping Sylvie’s arm.

At the same time, another strong arm wrapped around Rhiannon’s waist, providing a solid and stable fulcrum, easing much of the weight she was bearing.

Rhiannon barely had time to look back before she felt the force that was nearly tearing her apart suddenly lighten.

It was Simon Sterling.

She didn’t know when he had arrived on the rooftop, his breathing was a bit rapid, clearly having rushed up, beads of sweat dotting his forehead, yet the strength in his hands was frighteningly steady.

He said nothing, lips tightly pressed, his jawline taut like a fully drawn bow. He

used his core strength and professional rescue technique, coordinating with Rhiannon, exerting a powerful upward force.

"Use your strength together."

With his low, succinct command, Sylvie’s light body was effortlessly lifted by his stable strength, over the guardrail, pulled safely back onto the rooftop.

Sylvie collapsed on the ground, scared out of her wits, crying loudly.

Almost as soon as Sylvie landed, a few nurses and security guards, out of breath, rushed onto the rooftop.

Seeing the scene, they immediately reacted, quickly advancing, comforting some, checking others, carefully surrounding the limp, continuously crying Sylvie, preparing to take her downstairs for further observation and comfort.

In an instant, the once bustling and tense rooftop was left with only Rhiannon leaning against the cold guardrail, slumped on the ground, gasping for air.

Standing in front of her, Simon Sterling remained upright, though the bottom of his white coat was slightly ruffled, his breathing not yet fully calmed.

The immense shock of survival, the exhaustion following the sudden relaxation of tense nerves.

The fear of almost losing a life, a dangerous moment almost gone, now rushed over Rhiannon like a breached flood, instantly destroying all her strength and facade.

She didn’t even have the energy to stand, just sat there on the ground, her hands trembled violently out of control due to excessive exertion, palms red, with clear marks and skin abrasions from where she had gripped tightly.

Tears welled up without warning, at first silently sliding down, then turned into repressed sobs of fear, finally evolving into a loud wail.

"It scared me to death, just now, I really thought she was going to fall, I almost couldn’t hold her, I thought she was going to die..."

She cried like a lost and found child, incoherent; all her professional bearing and usual arrogance vanished, leaving only primal fear and release.

Simon Sterling stood where he was, looking down at the trembling, disheveled Rhiannon covered in tears.

Her face was full of tears and sweat, hair messily sticking to her forehead and cheeks, her nurse’s uniform smeared with dust, wrinkled, nowhere like the usually proud young lady.

He looked at her silently, his face still expressionless, though in his deep eyes, something seemed to pass by swiftly, too quick to catch.

He neither offered comfort nor any physical contact, he just quietly stood there, letting her vent her emotions.

After a while, until Rhiannon’s crying gradually turned into low sobs, her shoulders still shaking, Simon Sterling finally moved.

He reached out, not to lift her, but to pull out a clean, neatly folded pure white handkerchief from his lab coat pocket.

The handkerchief carried a faint, fresh scent belonging to him, like him, neat, restrained, without excess embellishment.

He handed the handkerchief to Rhiannon.

His movements were natural, without any deliberate or tender gestures, as if he were handing over just an ordinary item.

Rhiannon looked up with tear-filled eyes at the suddenly appeared handkerchief in front of her, then followed the distinctly jointed hand holding it, looking towards its owner.

Simon Sterling’s gaze met hers, still calm and unruffled, but beneath that deep calmness, there seemed to be a trace of indescribable complexity.

He looked at her red eyes and disheveled face, paused for a moment, then spoke clearly with his unique, calm, and steady voice.

"You did well."