THE DIVORCE GAMBIT From Dumped Wife to CEO's Forever novel Chapter 42

After all, he'd already warned Rafael.

**

Inside the sterile room, Gordon lay quietly on the hospital bed, his eyes closed. His long, thick lashes curved gracefully, like a delicate fan casting a faint shadow over his pale cheeks.

This wasn't the first time Caitlin had seen him, so she knew he was strikingly handsome. Still, even up close, his features were flawless—skin smooth as porcelain, not a single visible pore, a strong nose, sharp cheekbones, every detail as if sculpted by an artist. He looked like he'd stepped straight out of a magazine: the kind of man who made people look twice.

Caitlin leaned forward onto the edge of the bed, flipped open the medical kit, and pulled out a velvet pouch. Inside were slender golden needles.

Under the bright surgical lamp, the needles glinted coldly.

The technique she was about to use—Golden Needle Channel Activation—had been passed down for over three thousand years.

One needle for yin, one for yang.

Traditional medicine was rooted in the balance of opposites; if you mastered its secrets, you could work miracles—bring flesh back to bone, restore life to the dying.

In her previous life, Caitlin had earned her international reputation with this very skill.

She picked up a golden needle in each hand and began.

Her movements were quick and precise, barely pausing between placements. From a distance, there was a certain grace to her work—her hands moved so swiftly that they blurred, almost like a martial artist performing an intricate routine.

It was mesmerizing.

Anyone witnessing the scene would have been astounded, recognizing at once the legendary, long-lost art of Golden Needle Channel Activation.

When the needles touched flesh, hope bloomed.

Gordon, meanwhile, drifted in a fog. Everything was shrouded in mist—he couldn't see, he couldn't think, his mind felt heavy and sluggish.

Then, suddenly, a shaft of sunlight broke through the haze, illuminating the path ahead.

His thoughts, once muddled, began to clear. He felt a sense of direction, a goal. It was like the fresh breeze of early spring—bracing, new, full of promise.

He caught a faint, pleasant fragrance on the air. It was subtle and natural, nothing like the cloying scent of artificial perfumes; instead, it was cool and sweet, reminiscent of bamboo after a snowfall—crisp, with just a trace of honey.

It calmed him.

Half an hour later, nearly every major pressure point on Gordon's body was bristling with golden needles.

Caitlin reached into the kit again and took out a small white pill, gently slipping it into his mouth.

It tasted faintly of white peach—delicate, not bitter. As he swallowed, his heartbeat gradually steadied and his breathing slowed. The needles, once gleaming gold, began to turn black—a sure sign the treatment was working.

Thin wisps of white vapor curled up from his skin. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

His eyelids fluttered. Slowly, Gordon opened his eyes. Through the haze, he glimpsed a face in profile—smooth as marble, hands soft and graceful. She was impossibly beautiful, almost unreal.

He tried to hold onto the image, but quickly slipped back into unconsciousness, unsure if what he'd seen was real or just a dream.

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