Oops I Accidentally Ended Her Fake Perfect Life novel Chapter 27

**Across the Fallen Golden Kingdom Distant Fires by Damon S. Creed**

The effects of the snake venom were already wreaking havoc on Charles.

The skin surrounding the puncture wounds had taken on a horrifying bluish-purple hue, a clear sign of the poison’s relentless assault on his body.

As the guards hoisted him onto a stretcher, the once-respected CEO of the Foster Group was a mere shadow of his former self—drenched in blood, trembling violently as if gripped by an unseen terror.

Even in this state, he was barely coherent, murmuring her name, “Vivian…”

Yet, Vivian didn’t even glance back at him.

With a resolute turn, she walked away, every step heavy with the weight of decisions made long before this moment.

It was only through the updates from Mr. Chambers that she learned the grim truth:

The dosage of the venom had been catastrophic, inflicting severe and irreversible nerve damage.

In a matter of hours, the man who once commanded boardrooms and made headlines had been reduced to a paralyzed figure, confined to a bed, utterly dependent on others for even the simplest of tasks.

A voice message from Mr. Chambers broke through the silence of her thoughts.

His voice was thick with emotion, choked by sobs that echoed his despair.

“Ms. Bennett… please, for the sake of the marriage you once shared with Mr. Foster… just see him. Just once.”

“If you truly despise him, then… for the friendship we once had, won’t you come visit him anyway?”

Vivian couldn’t help but recall how Mr. Chambers had once braved a fierce storm, driving twenty kilometers just to pick her up when she needed him.

He had always made it a point to bring gifts to her parents during every holiday, no matter how busy his own life had become.

With a sigh that felt like a weight lifting from her shoulders, Vivian typed back, her fingers dancing across the screen without a moment’s hesitation:

[Alright. I’ll come.]

When she arrived at Ridgewood Hospital’s inpatient wing,

Vivian navigated the sterile corridors, her heart pounding with each step as she followed the thread of messages until she found Charles Foster’s room.

The door was slightly ajar, a thin sliver of light spilling out into the dim hallway.

Through the crack, a muffled groan escaped—a low, strained sound that spoke of intense suffering.

Vivian’s heart raced, her lashes fluttering as she peeked inside.

A nurse was carefully unwrapping the layers of gauze from Charles’s back.

As the dressing was peeled away, Charles let out a soft grunt, the sound thick with pain.

The venom still coursed through his veins, and under the harsh, sterile light, the edges of his wounds appeared blackened and raw, crusted with half-dried blood, like grotesque tendrils woven into his flesh.

When the cotton swab pressed against the open wound, Charles’s fingers dug into the bedsheet, his knuckles turning white from the effort.

A near-silent gasp escaped his throat, as if he were fighting against something lodged deep within him, choking off his breath.

“Ms. Bennett… are you beginning to feel a flicker of sympathy for our Mr. Foster?”

The sudden voice startled Vivian, pulling her from her reverie.

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