My coldhearted ex demands a remarriage

Chapter 133:

While fetching slippers for Kristopher and Carrie, Willow seized the moment to inquire, “The doctors are already here waiting. May I ask what concerns you today, Mr. Norris?”

Kristopher’s disgusted expression deepened, though he said nothing. Oliver gave Willow a fleeting glance, his voice sharp and dismissive. “Go do your work. This isn’t your concern.” Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and entered the living room.

Switching effortlessly to fluent German, he addressed the doctors seated on the sofa. “There’s a medical room upstairs. Follow me, please.”

Willow hesitated briefly before returning to her room. She quickly typed a message: “Mr. Norris brought Carrie back with several doctors. They’re upstairs and won’t let me go up. I don’t know what’s happening.”

The response came swiftly: “Keep observing. Report back immediately if anything happens.”

In the second-floor medical room, a female doctor gently lowered Carrie’s sweater. The swollen area revealed deep subcutaneous bleeding, a dark bruise spreading across her delicate skin. Though the injury wasn’t severe, it looked alarming.

Carrie sat motionless, like a fragile porcelain doll, lost in thought as the doctor applied medicine. Her pain seemed distant, a stark contrast to her past self. Once, she would have been tearful, pouting, and dramatically complaining to Kristopher. Since the fire, that sensitive part of her had disappeared.

Even when she’d burned her foot at Ripples Community, her initial cry of pain quickly gave way to indifference once Kristopher noticed. Kristopher had always found her dramatic. Now, with her changed demeanor, he didn’t feel the relief he’d expected.

After the initial treatment, another doctor approached with sophisticated medical instruments.

“Mrs. Norris,” he said gently, “could you please roll up your pants? I need to examine your skin growth.” Only then did Carrie realize Kristopher had brought these doctors specifically for her burn injury. She lowered her lashes, hiding the faint flicker of emotion in her eyes. He was always like this—meticulous about material things, a trait she once mistook for love.

Following a thorough examination, the doctor reported to Kristopher, “Mrs. Norris’s recovery is progressing well. The ointment not only repairs scars but stimulates skin regeneration. In a few more months, the scars will be barely noticeable.”

“A few more months?” Kristopher’s brow furrowed in disapproval.

The doctor nodded, his voice patient. “Her injuries were deep, and the affected area extensive. Achieving this level of recovery in such a short time is remarkable. Pushing beyond this pace could risk complications.”

Kristopher crossed his arms, his tone sharp. “Haven’t you developed anything more advanced?”

An older doctor stepped forward, his expression calm but firm. “Mr. Norris, recovery takes time. While there are experimental treatments, such as subcutaneous injections, they come with risks and may not yield better results than the current ointment. Sometimes, traditional methods achieve what cutting-edge technology cannot.”

Kristopher’s intense focus on results only confirmed to Carrie that this wasn’t about her scars—it was about solving a problem with money, as he always did. To him, the world was a machine, and money was the universal lubricant. If something didn’t work, it was simply because more money hadn’t been applied yet.

Breaking the tension, Carrie spoke evenly. “It doesn’t matter anymore. A little concealer is enough to hide it for the camera.”

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