Chapter 30: The Diagnosis No One Could Explain

The first round of the National Elite Design Championship ended in a storm of applause and flashing lights. The host returned to the stage, her voice bright and melodic as it echoed through the Bright Auditorium.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she announced, "the judges will now begin scoring the first round. The competition will resume in one hour and thirty minutes. Contestants may use this time to have lunch, rest, or prepare for the second round."

The tension that had gripped the hall for hours finally loosened. Designers exhaled in relief, assistants hurried to pack up fabrics and sketches, and the audience began to buzz again. The air, once heavy with concentration, now carried the hum of laughter and conversation.

Some contestants rushed toward the dining lounge, eager to eat and gossip. Others stayed behind, huddled in corners, whispering about the results. Journalists swarmed the judges’ table, microphones flashing like fireflies. The Bright Group’s livestream continued to roll, capturing every candid moment—the exhaustion, the pride, the quiet rivalries simmering beneath polite smiles.

Inside LUXT Design’s private lounge, the atmosphere was far more relaxed.

Ana stretched dramatically across the sofa, letting out a groan that could have belonged to someone twice her age. "I’m starving," she declared.

Layla laughed, shaking her head. "You’ve been eating since morning."

"I know," Ana said, sitting up with a grin. "But competition food tastes different. It’s victory fuel."

Wade chuckled from across the room. "I’ll get lunch before you start chewing on the furniture."

"I’ll come too," Layla said, grabbing her blazer.

Mindy smiled faintly. "You two go ahead. I’ll freshen up."

Ana waved lazily. "Don’t take too long. I need someone to share dessert with."

The door closed behind Wade and Layla, leaving Mindy alone in the quiet lounge. She took a deep breath, letting the silence settle around her. The first round had gone exactly as planned. Missy’s gown had dazzled the crowd, but her explanation had left a faint crack in the illusion. A single question—one carefully placed doubt—was all it took to make people start wondering.

And doubt, Mindy knew, was far more dangerous than accusation.

She stood, smoothing the front of her cream suit, and headed toward the restroom.

The women’s restroom was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioner. As Mindy and Layla approached, soft voices drifted from inside.

"...Just make sure..."

"...No one notices..."

"...Understood..."

The conversation stopped abruptly when the door opened.

Missy and Jodey Hale turned at the same time. For a heartbeat, the four women simply stared at one another. The silence was sharp, brittle, like glass about to crack.

Jodey recovered first. Her lips curved into a mocking smile. "Well, if it isn’t Miss Wilson," she said smoothly. "I heard LUXT finally joined the competition. I hope the pressure doesn’t make you collapse."

Layla folded her arms, her expression cool. "Oh? I didn’t know peacocks could talk."

Jodey’s smile faltered.

"Instead of fluttering your feathers everywhere," Layla continued, "why don’t you mind your own fiancé? Shouldn’t you be with Mr. Adam Gray?"

The color drained from Jodey’s face.

Missy stepped forward quickly, her tone falsely sweet. "Sister—"

Mindy’s gaze slid lazily toward her. "When did you become friends?"

Missy blinked. "What?"

"I mean you and Miss Jodey," Mindy said, her voice calm but edged with amusement. "You two became quite close after last year’s competition, didn’t you?"

Missy hesitated. "We... met a few times."

Mindy tilted her head. "Interesting. Because I do wonder—Mr. Adam’s designs were far more impressive than yours last year. So how exactly did he lose?"

The question landed like a stone dropped into still water.

Neither woman spoke.

Jodey’s fingers tightened around her clutch. Missy’s smile froze, the practiced warmth slipping for just a second.

Layla’s grin widened. "What happened? Cat got your tongues?"

Mindy turned toward her. "Come on," she said softly. "We’re wasting our time."

Without another glance, the two women walked out.

The door swung shut behind them, leaving Missy and Jodey standing in silence.

Jodey’s expression darkened. "Does she know something?"

Missy frowned, her voice low. "No... she shouldn’t."

But neither of them sounded convinced.

Outside, Layla frowned as they walked down the corridor. "Something feels strange," she murmured. "Last year’s competition—did something happen?"

Mindy didn’t answer. She simply lifted a finger to her lips. "Shh."

Her smile was faint, almost playful. "Everything will be revealed soon."

Layla blinked, caught between curiosity and confusion. Before she could ask another question, her phone rang.

"Vice President," she said, glancing at the screen. "I’ll take this."

She stepped aside, leaving Mindy alone.

The corridor opened into a wide balcony overlooking Bright City’s skyline. The afternoon sun glinted off the glass towers, scattering light across the horizon. A cool breeze swept through, carrying the faint scent of rain and metal.

Someone was already there.

Adam Gray sat near the railing, his wheelchair positioned to face the city. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were distant, thoughtful. His bodyguards were nowhere in sight. Neither was Jodey.

Mindy hesitated for a moment, then walked forward. "Mr. Gray."

Adam turned slightly. His expression remained calm, polite. "Miss Wilson."

"Your first-round design was beautiful," she said.

He nodded once. "Not as beautiful as yours."

Mindy laughed softly. "Thank you."

For a moment, they simply stood there, the wind tugging at their clothes, the city stretching endlessly below.

Then Mindy spoke again, her tone quiet but certain. "I can help you walk again."

Adam froze. His eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"I said," she repeated, "I can help you stand."

The silence that followed was heavy.

Finally, Adam gave a faint, humorless smile. "Miss Wilson, are you making fun of a cripple?"

Mindy shook her head. "I’ve never joked about medicine."

Something in her voice made him pause. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t sympathy. It was conviction.

"My grandfather is Jasper Wilson," she said. "I studied under him since I was little. He taught me traditional medicine—diagnosis, pulse reading, the body’s hidden language. I’ve met many specialists through him."

Adam’s expression shifted slightly.

"You know President Knight," she continued. "When he lost the use of his legs, I helped connect him to a doctor—a specialist in rare conditions. Together, we treated him."

Adam’s eyes sharpened. Everyone in the upper circles knew about Layton Knight’s miraculous recovery. Many had tried to uncover the identity of the mysterious doctor who had achieved the impossible. None had succeeded.

"You helped treat President Knight?" he asked quietly.

"I helped him find the right person," Mindy said. "The doctor who treated him is... unique. Difficult to find. But I learned enough from my grandfather to recognize certain patterns. And I can tell you this—your condition isn’t what you think it is."

Adam frowned. "President Knight suffered an accident. My case is different. Every specialist I’ve seen reached the same conclusion. They all said it’s psychological."

Mindy’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "Of course they did. They were looking in the wrong place."

She extended her hand. "May I?"

Adam hesitated. There was something unsettling about her calmness, something that made him feel as though she already knew the answer. Slowly, he offered his wrist.

Her fingers were cool against his skin. She closed her eyes briefly, her expression serene. Then she crouched slightly, pressing several acupuncture points around his knees with practiced precision.

Two minutes passed in silence.

Finally, she released him and straightened. "It’s exactly as I thought."

Adam’s voice was low. "What is it?"

Mindy met his gaze. "Tell me," she said softly. "You often feel short of breath, don’t you?"

His pupils contracted.

"You struggle to sleep. Painkillers barely help. Some mornings, you can’t even move your legs. And lately, your appetite has been fading."

Each word struck like a hammer.

Adam stared at her, stunned. "How... No one told you that."

"They didn’t need to," she said. "It’s all written in your pulse. My grandfather taught me to read the body’s signals. The body never lies."

Adam’s hands tightened on the armrests of his wheelchair. For the first time in years, someone had described every symptom perfectly—without medical records, without questions, without hesitation.

Mindy’s expression grew serious. "What I’m about to say will sound unbelievable," she said quietly. "But listen carefully."

The wind shifted, carrying her voice like a whisper.

"You’re not suffering from a psychological illness. The problem is in your blood."

She paused, her eyes steady.

"Someone has been poisoning you."

The world seemed to stop.

Adam’s breath caught. "Impossible."

"I expected that answer," Mindy said calmly. "You don’t have to believe me. But pay attention to what you eat. What medicine you take. And..." Her gaze darkened. "...don’t trust everyone around you."

He stared at her, his voice barely audible. "What are you implying?"

"I’m not implying anything," she said. "I’m warning you."

Her tone softened, but her words cut deeper. "Even your fiancée."

Adam’s breathing slowed. His eyes turned cold, unreadable.

Mindy continued, her voice steady. "And investigate last year’s competition. You changed your fabric during the final round, didn’t you? That wasn’t an accident. You should find out why."

Adam’s head snapped up. "How do you know that?"

Mindy smiled faintly. "I know many things. My grandfather taught me to observe—to notice what others miss."

She turned to leave, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. After a few steps, she stopped and looked back.

"If one day you decide you want treatment," she said, "you know where to find me. I can connect you to the doctor who helped President Knight."

Then she walked away, her figure disappearing into the corridor.

Adam sat motionless, the wind tugging at his sleeves.

For a long time, he didn’t move.

Then he reached for his phone.

"Steven Marsh," he said when the call connected.

"Boss?" came the immediate reply.

"Come here," Adam said, his voice colder than steel. "Immediately. I’m outside. And don’t tell anyone. Especially not Jodey."

Steven hesitated only a second. "I’ll be there in two minutes."

Adam ended the call and stared out at the city. The sunlight glinted off the glass towers, sharp and blinding.

Poison.

The word echoed in his mind like a curse.

Back at LUXT’s station, the atmosphere was deceptively calm.

Ana sat cross-legged on the sofa, happily demolishing a plate of desserts. Layla had returned from her call, reviewing the schedule for the next round. Wade was discussing fabric logistics with one of the assistants.

Everything looked peaceful.

But Mindy’s thoughts were far away.

She leaned back, her gaze unfocused, her mind drifting to memories that didn’t belong to this lifetime.

Adam Gray.

She had never met him personally before today, yet she knew exactly how his story ended.

Two years from now, the headlines would announce his death after years of declining health. The world would mourn the loss of a genius designer. His grieving wife, Jodey Hale, would inherit his entire fortune.

Everyone would pity her.

Until one year later, when the truth surfaced.

Adam hadn’t died from illness. He had been murdered.

Jodey, together with her high-school sweetheart Ethan—one of Adam’s trusted bodyguards—had slowly poisoned him over several years. The poison was rare, almost mythical, undetectable in routine blood tests. Even the world’s best hospitals had failed to identify it. By the time anyone realized, Adam was already gone.

This time, Mindy intended to change that fate.

But only if Adam chose to believe her.

She closed her eyes briefly, remembering the faint tremor in his pulse, the subtle irregularity that her grandfather had once taught her to recognize. Jasper Wilson had always said that the body whispered its secrets to those who listened carefully enough.

And Mindy had learned to listen.

Her thoughts drifted back to the restroom encounter.

In her previous life, she had overheard Missy and Jodey whispering before the final round of the competition. She hadn’t understood their words then—just fragments, half sentences, the sound of nervous laughter.

Later, she had overheard Adam’s assistant mention that someone had spilled coffee over his prepared gown. He had been forced to remake everything using different fabric. His final score had dropped by two points—just enough to lose the championship.

At the time, Mindy hadn’t thought much of it.

Now she knew better.

This lifetime, she had already warned him. The rest depended on him.

Neither Mindy nor Adam realized that two people had witnessed almost the entire conversation from a nearby corridor.

Layton Knight stood in the shadows, his expression unreadable. Mike stood beside him, silent, his eyes wide.

Layton had come looking for Mindy, intending to speak with her between rounds. Instead, he had stopped when he heard her voice on the balcony.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But the words had frozen him in place.

Poison.

Treatment.

He had listened to every word, his mind struggling to piece together what he was hearing.

When Mindy walked away, he didn’t follow. He simply stood there, staring at the balcony where Adam still sat motionless.

Mike swallowed hard.

For the first time since seeing her again, he realized that the woman he had once called his wife had become someone he could no longer understand.

The wind swept through the corridor, carrying the faint scent of jasmine—the same scent that had once lingered in his home.

But now, it felt distant.

Untouchable.

And as the city lights flickered to life beyond the glass, Layton Knight understood one thing with absolute clarity.

The woman he had once thought he controlled was no longer within his reach.

She had stepped into a world he couldn’t follow.

And she was no longer the one who needed saving.

She was the one rewriting destinies.