Maimed Me for a Fake Heir, Now They Beg

I opened my eyes to the blinding glare of a shadowless lamp.

The familiar scent of disinfectant permeated the air. There was also the beeping from a heart rate monitor that made one anxious.

I had been trapped in an operating room.

Matthew was lying on the operating table. He was deathly pale. His chest had been cut open, but the surgery had been temporarily stopped because of the excessive bleeding.

A few young doctors were huddled in a corner, wearing matching helpless expressions. It was obvious that Terry had spent a fortune on them to be my assistants.

Terry, Heather, and Winona were staring at me through the observation window. They didn't look concerned at all for my well-being. In fact, I could tell that they wanted me to get started as soon as possible.

Winona's voice echoed from the speakers in the operating room. The tone of her voice made it clear that there would be no room for compromise.

"The surgical tools are next to you, Jamie. You're the only one who can stitch up Matthew's aorta. Stop playing dead. If you fail to save him, I promise that you'll be trapped in this operating room for the rest of your life."

I looked down at my trembling right hand. I slowly picked up a scalpel and murmured, "I bet you never expected this to happen, huh, Matthew?"

Matthew remained unconscious even as I leaned down next to his ear. I lowered my voice so that only the two of us could hear what I was saying.

"You took everything from me in my previous life and left me to die in prison. In this life, I'll be personally sending you to the pits of hell."

Terry furiously slammed his fist against the glass when he noticed that I was stalling. "What the hell are you waiting for, Jamie?" he roared. "Hurry and stitch up the tear in his aorta! He's going to die if you don't do something soon!"

I lifted my head and shot a radiant smile at them through the glass.

A chill ran down Heather's spine when she looked at me. She subconsciously gripped the hem of her shirt.

"What's the rush?" I asked as I lifted my shaking hand. "You know that my hand is ruined, don't you? Every move that I make will be testing the limits of Matthew's survival."

I intentionally slowed down my movements, using my left hand to clumsily pick up the needle.

Truth be told, I had already trained my left hand during my time in prison. In fact, my left hand's precision far exceeded my right hand's.

But I had to pretend that I was struggling with the procedure. I wanted them to personally witness how their precious Matthew was led away from hope and toward destruction.

Most importantly, I was waiting.

I was waiting for the drugs coursing through Matthew's veins to take effect.

…

A month ago, through the dark web, I used the persona of an overseas medical expert to send a "God's Reagent" to Matthew, who was desperate for success.

I knew that Matthew would be consumed by his own greed. He wanted to captivate the entire world once again during next week's international academic conference, so I knew that he would inject himself with the reagent.

The drug that I sent him caused terrifying hallucinogenic effects under certain high-pressure circumstances.

"Jamie Lachman, you lunatic! What the hell are you doing?" Winona shrieked.

Matthew had started spasming violently on the operating table. Although he was supposed to be under the effects of a heavy dose of anesthetic, his eyes suddenly flew open. His eyes were hazy and filled with terror.

"Stay back! Don't kill me! I've learned my lesson, Leon!" he shouted.

His voice sounded particularly shrill in the silence of the operating room.

I set down the scalpel so I could take a good look at Terry, Heather, and Winona. They were wearing matching horrified expressions.

"The show's about to begin!" I exclaimed.