The Ugly Healer: The Only Prescription Is Her Comeback

"Coat, hat, mask..." Eleanor Lloyd whispered the checklist under her breath after she slipped into the blind spot of the security camera. Once she was certain she was ready, she stepped up and knocked on the door of Room 1619.

"Hello, I'm the golden—"

The rest of her introduction vanished as a rough hand seized her shoulder and dragged her inside.

Her bag slipped free and hit the floor, its contents scattering in every direction.

The sudden movement made her head spin, and before she could regain her balance, she was forced down.

Austin Carter shoved her onto the bed, his weight trapping her there while his hands moved with reckless urgency. His breath burned against her skin, heavy and uncontrolled.

Shock snapped Eleanor back to herself. She grabbed his wrist, anger cutting through the panic. "What do you think you're doing? Stop it!"

She had come to negotiate the sale of her Rh null blood, also known as golden blood, to the Murray family's heiress. She was not here for this.

With one hand, Austin caught her wrists and forced them above her head. Then he leaned down and bit into her shoulder, hard enough to break skin.

A cry tore from Eleanor as she fought back, her voice shaking. "Let go of me, or I'm calling the police!"

A bitter mix of chemicals and blood filled her senses, and dread settled deep in her chest. Something was very wrong. This man's movements were erratic, his strength unfocused. Could he be under the influence of drugs?

Austin's breathing grew rough and uneven as he gripped her shoulders, holding her down with brute force to stop her from resisting.

Pain shot through Eleanor's shoulders, sharp enough to make her teeth clench. She shoved at him with everything she had, but her strength meant nothing against his weight.

Austin paid no attention to her resistance. His hands were rough and frantic as he tore at her clothes, his mouth leaving a trail of disordered, unwanted kisses.

Panic drove her instincts. Her fingers swept the space beside her until they closed around something solid. A vase.

Without hesitation, she swung it as hard as she could and struck his forehead.

A low grunt escaped him as his body lurched sideways and collapsed.

Eleanor did not waste a second. She scrambled off the bed, stuffed her scattered belongings back into her bag with shaking hands, and ran from the hotel without looking back.

—

Nearly an hour later, Austin, who had already woken up, sat on a sofa, his expression dark and unreadable.

One long finger tapped steadily against the tabletop, each beat carrying a quiet sense of menace.

Standing nearby, Braeden Owen, his trusted subordinate, glanced at the fresh bandage wrapped around Austin's head before saying, "The woman who came in earlier was wearing a hat and a mask. We never got a clear look at her face."

He held out his phone and played the surveillance footage.

The figure on the screen was tall and slim, dressed in a trench coat and jeans.

A black hat shadowed her features, while a mask concealed the lower half of her face completely.

Austin's eyes hardened as he watched. Anyone with instincts sharp enough to avoid the cameras like that was no ordinary passerby. Whoever she was, she knew exactly what she was doing.

For the past twenty years, ever since he had been poisoned, the episodes never truly stopped.

When they struck, agony tore through him as if his bones were cracking one by one, dragging him toward madness and a violent urge he barely kept contained.

Each episode usually stretched on for five or six hours, which was why he always shut himself away before it could spiral out of control.

This time, though, it ended far too soon.

The blow to his head might have snapped him back to awareness earlier than expected.

Even so, the fact remained that she had come to his room and seen him at his worst, and he had no intention of letting her walk away without consequences.

A cold crease formed between Austin's brows as he tossed the phone back to Braeden. "Track her down using her height and what she was wearing."

Braeden straightened at once. "Understood, sir."

Austin's tone dropped even lower. "Someone tampered with my drink to trigger the episode. Find whoever served it to me tonight. Break their hands and bring them to the Carter Estate."

"Yes, sir."

Austin adjusted his clothes and checked his pockets, his expression darkening further. "My pocket watch is gone."

Shock flashed across Braeden's face. "That was your mother's keepsake. I'll have everyone in the hotel search for it immediately."

"Do it," Austin replied.

A memory surfaced, sharp and sudden. "Before I completely lost control, she mentioned the word Golden. Maybe that's her surname."

"Golden?" Braeden repeated. "Don't worry, sir. I'll find her."

Eleanor had no idea that she had caught the attention of someone as dangerous as Austin Carter.

After making it home, she immediately locked herself in the bathroom, letting the water run scorching hot in hopes that it would wash away the panic still buzzing beneath her skin.

But every time she closed her eyes, flashes of the hotel room haunted her. Fear and humiliation welled up until she couldn't hold it in—tears spilled freely down her cheeks.

Common sense told her she should march straight to the police and expose what the Murray family had orchestrated.

Her hand reached for her phone, but she stopped cold. Archie Andrews, her boyfriend, lay in a hospital bed waiting for a kidney transplant—the only thing keeping him alive was the hope that she could find a way to pay for his surgery.

Fighting the Murray family in court simply wasn't an option.

Even gathering evidence and pushing a case forward would eat up months she couldn't spare and money she didn't have.

All that effort would only slow down the real mission—raising enough for Archie's operation.

The thought made Eleanor bite down on her lip, swallowing the anger and heartbreak that threatened to rise up again.

After forcing herself to calm down, she set out for the hospital.

At the entrance of the hospital, she felt the sting of defeat all over again. Her desperate gamble to sell a rare blood type had fallen apart, and now she was back at square one.

Three years with Archie had been nothing but a string of hardships.

It started with a brutal car accident. Eleanor had poured every last cent of her parents' accident settlement into his care—over seven hundred thousand dollars spent, every bit of it for Archie's survival.

The second blow had come when Archie's business collapsed. To bail him out, Eleanor sold the only thing she had left from her parents—the family home—just to settle a two-million-dollar debt.

Now, with his life hanging on a kidney transplant, she had run out of options and hope.

She lingered at the hospital entrance, torn between pride and desperation as she debated whether to ask her scheming adoptive father for money.

As she hovered outside Archie's hospital room, hand still inches from the door, a teasing male voice floated out.

"Archie, how long are you going to keep up the act with Eleanor? The Andrews family's heir pretending to be broke—doesn't it ever get old?"

Eleanor stopped cold, disbelief rooting her to the spot. Pretending to be broke? The Andrews family's heir? What were they talking about?