Chapter 682

Liam Sullivan's hand holding the pen trembled slightly.

The pen tip slipped off the paper several times as he tried to sign.

He took a deep breath, gripping the pen tightly, and barely managed to write his name.

The handwriting was severely slanted.

His secretary stood nearby, watching with growing alarm.

Mr. Sullivan's condition today was far from normal.

His face was pale, his eyes bloodshot, and he seemed to have lost even the strength to hold a pen.

"Mr. Sullivan, perhaps you should rest for a moment?" the secretary ventured.

Liam tossed the pen aside, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door.

"No time to rest," he said, his voice hoarse. "Prepare the materials for this afternoon's executive meeting. Notify everyone to be present on time."

"But you—"

"Do as I say."

Liam walked out of the office without looking back.

The secretary watched his unsteady retreating figure, a strong sense of foreboding rising within.

Driving in this state...

It was an accident waiting to happen.

And indeed.

Just as Liam drove out of the company's underground garage, his vision suddenly darkened.

He had been working overtime for three consecutive days, handling various emergencies during the day. His body was already pushed to its limit.

On top of that, he had been fighting a cold and fever for the past two days, stubbornly refusing to go to the hospital.

Now, the steering wheel felt heavy in his hands.

His vision began to blur.

He shook his head hard, trying to clear his mind.

A red light suddenly lit up at the intersection ahead.

Liam slammed on the brakes—

But his foot missed.

The car careened out of control toward the roadside guardrail.

"Bang!"

A loud crash echoed.

The airbag instantly deployed, enveloping him completely.

Liam felt a sharp pain in his forehead, and then lost consciousness.

Passersby quickly gathered around.

Someone pried open the car door and pulled him from the driver's seat.

"Call an ambulance!"

"He's bleeding from his head!"

Amidst the clamor, Liam slowly opened his eyes.

He struggled to sit up, reaching a hand to touch his forehead.

His palm came away sticky.

Blood.

But his mind was still relatively clear.

"Sir, don't move. The ambulance is on its way," someone said, pressing a hand on his shoulder.

Liam pushed the hand away.

"I'm fine."

He supported himself against the car door and stood up. A piercing pain shot through his right arm.

He must have hit it during the impact.

But the bone wasn't broken, just a muscle strain.

An injury of this degree was nothing to him.

He had endured wounds ten times worse during his days navigating through gunfire and explosions.

The police car and ambulance arrived almost simultaneously.

The medical personnel tried to lift him onto a stretcher, but Liam waved them off.

"No need for the hospital."

He pulled out his phone and dialed his lawyer.

"I've been in a car accident on Maple Street. Come handle it."

After hanging up, he hailed a taxi.

Under the stunned gazes of the medical staff, he drove away.

It was already seven forty when he returned to the villa.

Liam glanced at the time and breathed a sigh of relief.

Good, Vivian probably wasn't awake yet.

He dragged his exhausted body into the kitchen.

The servants had already prepared the ingredients. Seeing him enter, they silently withdrew.

Liam frowned at the array of ingredients on the counter.

There wasn't enough time.

He could only make a simple breakfast.

He picked up an apple. As soon as his right hand gripped the fruit knife, a sharp pain shot through his arm.

Liam gritted his teeth, forcing himself to ignore the pain.

The blade slid across the fruit peel, his movements much slower than usual.

By the time he finished peeling three pieces of fruit, fine beads of sweat had formed on his forehead.

His face grew even paler.

"Young Master, Madam is awake. She's freshening up now," a maid reminded softly.

Liam paused.

So soon.

He quickened his pace, taking eggs from the refrigerator.

He heated a frying pan and poured in oil.

The motion of cracking an egg with one hand was somewhat clumsy, but the yolk landed intact in the pan.

With a sizzle, the egg white quickly solidified.

Enduring the pain in his right arm, Liam carefully flipped it with a spatula.

A golden sunny-side-up egg took shape.

He placed it on a petal-shaped porcelain plate, garnishing it with two fresh mint leaves.

He sliced the whole-grain bread and arranged it on the plate.

Poured milk into a glass.

Freshly squeezed juice.

On the silver tray, the breakfast was neatly arranged.

Simple, yet nutritionally balanced.

Looking at his handiwork, a faint smile finally touched Liam's lips.

He picked up the tray and walked toward the dining room.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Vivian came down, carrying her handbag.

She was dressed in outdoor clothes, clearly planning to go out.

Liam's eyes lit up.

"Vivian, perfect timing. Breakfast is ready," he said, his voice gentle. "Come and eat."