A Caged Songbird's Escape: Into the Arms of a Predator novel Chapter 312

The middle-aged man beside her radiated a commanding presence—the kind that comes from years of power and makes people instinctively keep their distance.

From a nearby table, Aaron waved Elissa over. “Elissa, come here. Could you take a look at Mrs. Wilkinson and see if there’s any hope for her legs?”

The others in the private room exchanged hesitant glances.

After a moment’s deliberation, the middle-aged man furrowed his brow and finally spoke. “Mr. Blaine, we made a special trip today hoping you could help my wife…”

It wasn’t that they objected to letting this young woman try, but Suzanne’s condition had dragged on for so many years. They’d taken her to various specialists before, only to hear the same gentle but devastating verdict: there was nothing to be done; she’d never walk again.

Since then, Suzanne had refused to see any more doctors. It had taken a great deal of persuasion just to get her to agree to this one last attempt.

If this young woman failed, Suzanne would probably never agree to another examination.

Even though Mr. Blaine vouched for Elissa—said she was his student and one of the researchers behind the Murphy Group’s new breakthrough medication—everyone knew that developing medicine and healing patients were two very different things.

Elissa paid no mind to their doubts. She walked straight to the wheelchair, knelt down beside it, and asked softly, “Mrs. Wilkinson, will you let me examine your legs?”

Everyone in the Wilkinson family seemed to hold their breath.

If Suzanne refused, convincing her to see another doctor in the future would be next to impossible.

“I’m willing,” Suzanne said, her voice quiet. “But these legs… The doctors gave up on them years ago.”

Her answer was simple and direct.

The Wilkinsons stared at Elissa in shock, their attitudes shifting in an instant—suddenly, they looked at her as if she were a miracle worker.

Suzanne frowned. “What did you say, dear?”

“Mrs. Wilkinson,” Elissa replied, carefully considering her words, “I’m confident I can help you walk again, but it will take at least six months of treatment—two or three sessions each week. Once we start to see progress, we’ll need to continue with physical therapy for a while longer.”

In truth, if things went well, she expected to see improvement within four months. But this was only a preliminary assessment; she needed to leave room for any unforeseen complications.

The middle-aged man nodded for a servant to help Suzanne sit up. His imposing manner seemed to soften, replaced by a barely contained excitement. “Young lady, are you saying you’re completely certain you can cure my wife?”