My Ruthless Ex Demands by Eva Blackwood Episode 166

Following a thorough examination, the doctor reported to Elijah, “Ms. Sandra’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?” Elijah’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.”
Elijah crossed his arms, his tone sharp. “Haven’t you developed anything more advanced?”
An older doctor stepped forward, his expression calm but firm. “Mr. James, 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.”
Elijah’s intense focus on results only confirmed to Elizabeth 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, Elizabeth spoke evenly. “It doesn’t matter anymore. A little concealer is enough to hide it for the camera.”
Elijah’s gaze shifted to her, his voice tinged with indifference. “I suppose if the scar remains, you’ll keep holding it against me.”
Ah, so that was it. He wasn’t concerned about her well-being—he was simply wary of old grievances resurfacing.
Elizabeth understood—the physical scar might heal, but the emotional wound remained unaddressed.
Just then, the door creaked open, and Willow stepped inside, balancing a tray with a bowl of soup. Her attempt at warmth was as transparent as the crystal-clear broth. “Ms. Sandra, I made some soup for you.”
Willow had spared no expense, garnishing it meticulously with cranberries. It wasn’t out of genuine care—Elizabeth knew that well.
During Elizabeth’s absence, such delicacies would typically end up in Willow’s own kitchen. Now, she sought to curry favor.
Elizabeth’s phone buzzed on the table, cutting through the moment. She glanced at it briefly. “Leave it on the side table. I’ll have it later.”
Willow hesitated before setting the tray down, her eyes darting around the room as if cataloging every detail.
Elizabeth unlocked her phone, intending to convert a voice message into text. But her thumb slipped, and the audio began playing aloud:
“The new script looks good, but the romance needs more drama and tension. Otherwise, it won’t hold the audience’s interest…” She quickly stopped the playback, but the damage was done.
Elijah’s eyes narrowed. “A script?”
Elizabeth ignored him, typing a reply without so much as a glance in his direction.
Meanwhile, Willow edged toward the door, her hand sliding into her pocket. She discreetly dialed a number, her movements subtle as a whisper, and lingered just within earshot.