In those critical moments, it was all too easy to interpret the actions of the doctors as prioritizing someone influential over the ordinary patients who were already in the hospital and desperately needed their care.
This scenario reflects a harsh reality in our society: those with wealth often possess the means to command privilege.
The way the doctors and nurses responded revealed an uncomfortable truth—status can sometimes overshadow the fundamental principles of empathy and care, especially in dire situations.
"They're quick," Aecilia remarked as she opened the car door. First, her black heels emerged, followed by her nightgown that fell just below her knees. She brushed aside a few stray strands of hair, her golden eyes scanning the crowd.
She noticed several men casting admiring glances her way, their expressions slightly flushed, yet she remained unfazed.
However, it wasn't just the men who seemed entranced; women were too.
Wait, women?
Realizing she wasn't the sole object of attention today, Aecilia shifted her gaze and spotted Avendial stepping out of the vehicle. Dressed in a crisp white shirt and wearing round black sunglasses that concealed his striking bluish eyes, he casually draped a tailored black suit over his shoulder, exuding an air of effortless elegance.
'Nope, he is definitely enjoying this,' Aecilia thought, blinking in surprise as she regarded him with pursed lips. Observing him, she sensed that he was trying to flex his charm—something she wouldn't have believed had she not seen it with her own eyes.
As they approached the car, one of the doctors, noticed that the individuals around them were dressed in clothes that seemed less extravagant compared to the wannabe-rich folks adorned with gold chains and rings.
"Sir, are your injuries deep?" the doctor asked, catching sight of the blood stains on Avendial's shirt. Although he appeared calm and composed, the doctor wondered if the wounds were not as severe as they seemed.
In that moment, the doctor was able to confirm that these individuals were indeed wealthy and influential.
Having connections with politicians and high-class society himself, he understood that the truly rich—those with enough money—do not feel the need to flaunt their wealth through ostentatious displays.
Instead, they prioritize their own comfort.
"Apologies, but you need to fill out this document," the receptionist said, approaching Avendial with a form in hand. He cast a fleeting glance at the header, which prominently read: Indemnity Form.
Avendial couldn't help but feel a tinge of amusement at the realization that no one was willing to take responsibility for the death of the man in question; even the hospital sought his signature as a guarantee that they wouldn't be liable for any complications that might arise concerning the injured individual during the funeral.
Unperturbed by the implications, Avendial prepared to sign the document. Suddenly, Aecilia snatched the form from the nurse's hand, extending her own as she demanded, with the intent to not let Avendial sign his name which might reveal his identity and create chaos, "Give me the pen."
After all, even though no one had seen Marquess Croceaus, his sign was well known among rich people given his business deals.
'Tch, jealous aren't you', The receptionist's expression unfolded into one of discontent as she glanced at Aecilia, a woman exuding confidence in her distinctive makeup—complete with black lipstick—and a stylish nightgown that suggested allusions of seduction towards the man she had approached.
It was evident that she had hoped to make an impression on him, even if her role as head receptionist mandated that she deliver a rather unceremonious document.
"Take a look in the mirror. What could I possibly be jealous of you for?" Aecilia murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, yet it carried clearly to both Avendial and the receptionist. The latter frowned, her gaze trained on Aecilia with a fierce glare and her fists clenched, torn between irritation and the desire to maintain her poise in front of the striking man before them.
Ultimately, she chose silence, unwilling to tarnish her image in front of Avendial.
'Bitch...' The receptionist took the form and nodded, turning to leave, but not before muttering a curse under her breath about the woman in black, who seemed to hold herself in far too high regard, oblivious to her own place.
Dressed only in a nightdress, it was evident to the receptionist that this woman was merely a beautiful country bumpkin, in stark contrast to herself, who prided herself on being both smart and stunning.
"Marquess, will it be possible for you to wait here?" Aecilia asked, her eyes fixed on the receptionist's back as she purposefully strode away, her steps highlighted by a deliberate catwalk.
Aecilia felt her irritation rising as she observed the receptionist's demeanor; slamming her legs together, she stomped her way further down the hospital corridor, her frustration simmering to the surface.
Since the moment that woman had entered, Aecilia's patience had worn thin.
"Fine," Avendial replied, nodding. He assumed she was merely headed to the restroom, dismissing the look of discontent and jealousy that the receptionist had shot Aecilia.
Though he had noticed the tension, he chose to ignore it, understanding that he had more pressing matters to attend to.