"Miss Tiffany," The blonde woman frowned as she looked at Tiffany, "If we don't treat your wounds soon, they'll become internally infected.
At that point, your life could be in serious danger."
Life in danger?
That was exactly what she wanted.
Tiffany remained motionless, her gaze fixed on the window, her expression blank.
She didn't utter a word.
"Miss Tiffany?"
"Miss Tiffany..."
The blonde woman tried again, her voice laced with concern.
Still, Tiffany gave no response, as if she couldn't hear a thing.
With a helpless sigh, the woman shook her head.
Neither medicine nor food—Tiffany refused to take anything.
Even when forced, she would spit out whatever was given to her.
Her condition wasn't improving.
In fact, it was only getting worse.
Are all San Francisco women this stubborn?
"We must inform Mr. Antonio immediately," the blonde woman turned to the maid in uniform beside her, her brow furrowed.
"If this continues, she won't last much longer."
