Chapter 64 — Attending the Wedding
Early the next morning, just as dawn was beginning to lighten the sky, Ethan was gently shaken awake.
When he opened his eyes, Missy was already fully dressed and wearing light makeup. She looked bright and energetic—as if she hadn't been the one who had "kidnapped" him from the couch to the bedroom the night before.
"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty," she said, crossing her arms with a teasing smile. "Unless you want to start your morning answering Sheldon's endless questions about why we're in the same room."
Ethan instantly woke up halfway.
Just the thought of being interrogated by Sheldon—the relentless questioning, the inability to keep secrets, and the possibility that Sheldon would later broadcast the information like a news report—was more effective than any alarm clock.
He practically sprang out of bed.
"You're right. We should leave. Now."
Missy stood in front of the mirror fastening her earrings.
"What time does Sheldon usually wake up?"
Ethan buttoned his cuffs while answering.
"No idea on weekends. I usually sleep in pretty late on Saturdays. But it's only 6:30 right now, so I'm pretty sure he's still asleep."
They helped straighten each other's outfits.
Ethan wore a dark navy suit with a perfectly tied tie. His posture was tall and clean-cut—effortlessly handsome.
Missy wore a fitted lake-blue dress that softly traced the natural curves of her body. Simply standing there, she looked like she had her own spotlight.
Both of them silently admired the other for a moment.
Missy's gaze slowly softened, her eyes shimmering like ripples spreading across water.
Ethan swallowed unconsciously. His heartbeat quickened.
Missy stepped a little closer, the corner of her lips lifting.
"Maybe we could—"
Ethan cut her off immediately with superhuman willpower.
"No."
They crept out of the bedroom like two prisoners preparing for a jailbreak.
The moment they turned into the hallway—
"Good morning."
Sheldon's voice came from the living room.
Ethan and Missy froze instantly, like they had been hit by a flashbang.
After staring at each other for three seconds, they forced themselves to walk into the living room.
Sheldon was already fully dressed, sitting in his usual spot and eating breakfast.
Missy tried to sound casual.
"Hi, Shelly. You wake up this early even on weekends?"
Sheldon looked up.
"Since I moved here, every Saturday morning I wake up precisely at 6:15."
"I prepare a bowl of cereal, add exactly one quarter cup of two-percent milk, sit on this side of the couch, and watch Doctor Who on BBC America."
Then he frowned slightly.
"But why are you both coming out of Ethan's room together?"
Ethan replied without missing a beat.
"We were checking each other's outfits to make sure they were appropriate."
Sheldon continued his interrogation.
"You're leaving this early?"
"Yes—" Ethan started.
Missy instantly took over the explanation like a machine gun.
"Of course, Shelly! Do you know how complicated weddings are?"
"Makeup, guest check-in, greeting people, reserving time for photos, emergency dress adjustments, coordinating bridesmaid colors, organizing flower girls—being even one minute late could cause a disaster!"
"The bride might have a breakdown, the photographer might walk out, the groom might panic and run away. One mistake and the entire wedding collapses like dominoes!"
Sheldon's eyes widened more and more.
He finally raised his hand in surrender.
"Stop. I understand."
He set down his spoon.
"Then you should leave immediately. I certainly don't want the entire wedding collapsing because of me."
He paused, then added seriously,
"Especially since I must remain focused on Doctor Who. Disrupting the narrative pacing would be unacceptable."
Missy waved cheerfullyyyyyyy
"Thanks, Shelly! We won't interrupt your TV time."
Their attempted stealth escape had failed—but somehow they ended up walking out the front door successfully anyway.
Once they were in a taxi heading through the quiet streets of early-morning New York, Ethan finally relaxed.
Compared to him, Missy clearly knew exactly how to hit Sheldon's weak points.
"That verbal barrage you just launched was incredible," Ethan said, turning toward her with genuine admiration.
"If it weren't for you, Sheldon would've questioned every detail and loophole."
Missy leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, catching a quick nap. Her voice sounded lazy and relaxed.
"When you deal with Sheldon, you can't confront him directly."
"You overload his brain with information he's bad at processing. Eventually he just gives up and stops talking."
Ethan chuckled and couldn't help reaching out to gently pinch the hand resting on Missy's lap.
Missy didn't open her eyes. She simply hooked her fingers around his in response, lightly squeezing his hand.
---
The Wedding
The wedding was being held at a historic luxury hotel on Manhattan's Upper East Side.
At the entrance stood an elegant gold-trimmed welcome sign. Written across it in flowing script were the words:
"Welcome to the Wedding of Sarah Brightman & Mark Whitmore."
The grand ballroom glittered beneath enormous crystal chandeliers. The air carried the refined fragrance of white lilies and champagne.
Guests in elegant attire chatted quietly while uniformed waiters moved gracefully through the room carrying silver trays.
Everything about the setting announced the enormous cost of the event—and the considerable wealth of the host family.
When Ethan and Missy entered the hall together, dressed for the occasion, they immediately drew more than a few glances.
Ethan's suit fit perfectly, making him look tall, sharp, and effortlessly handsome.
Missy's figure-hugging dress accentuated her natural curves and confidence. Simply standing there, she seemed to attract attention like a spotlight.
"Wow," Missy murmured to Ethan as she looked around.
"Looks like Sarah finally fulfilled the bold promise she made back in high school—she was going to marry a billionaire someday."
Ethan thought for a moment.
"But she's not as pretty as you."
Missy raised an eyebrow.
"That sentence somehow makes me both happy and sad at the same time."
Before they could continue their conversation, the bride herself appeared.
Sarah—wearing a custom wedding gown and a sparkling diamond necklace—walked toward them with the groom, Mark, on her arm.
Her face radiated the triumphant joy of someone who had achieved exactly what she wanted.
"Missy! Darling, I'm so glad you came!"
They hugged briefly. Sarah then gestured around proudly at the lavish decorations.
"Look at all this—amazing, right? Mark's father arranged everything for us."
She looked affectionately at her husband.
"After the wedding, Mark will officially take over the family's Asia operations. His father finally feels confident enough to hand things over."
The groom, Mark, wore an expensive suit that fit him well. Yet his slightly leaning posture, overly polished hair, and the faintly smug smile at the corner of his mouth all gave him the unmistakable air of a playboy.
Ever since he noticed Missy, his eyes had been glued to her.
He seemed almost incapable of looking anywhere else.
"Hi, Missy," Mark said, taking her hand and shaking it gently—though he didn't seem eager to let go.
"You're even more beautiful than Sarah described. I guess Texas scenery really is as charming as they say."
Sarah's smile froze for a fraction of a second.
Ethan frowned slightly, his eyes narrowing. A faint trace of shadow energy gathered at his fingertips.
Missy calmly withdrew her hand, her smile flawless.
"Thank you for the compliment, Mark. But I should remind you—the most charming scenery today is standing right next to you."
She lightly touched Sarah's arm.
"And she doesn't look like someone who enjoys others admiring her 'trophy.'"
Sarah playfully tapped Mark's arm.
"Darling, watch yourself."
Mark chuckled awkwardly and withdrew his gaze—though he still stole occasional glances at Missy like a boy fascinated by a new toy.
Missy then stepped slightly aside and gently pulled Ethan forward.
"Oh, right. Let me introduce you—this is my boyfriend, Ethan."
She said it casually.
"He runs his own clinic—Rayne Clinic. Nothing compared to big shots like you successful businessmen, but he works very hard. We get by."
Ethan politely shook hands with both Sarah and Mark.
Mark's smile stiffened for a moment.
"Ah… a private clinic. Starting your own business—that's impressive."
Sarah nodded politely.
"Nice to meet you."
At that moment, a subtle commotion arose near the ballroom entrance.
A group of people surrounded an elderly man as he walked in.
He had silver hair and a composed, dignified expression. His tailored dark-gray suit fit him perfectly. Though he looked slightly tired, his presence carried unmistakable authority.
Sarah was still chatting with Ethan about medicine and his clinic.
But the moment the old man heard the words "Rayne Clinic," he paused.
Then he walked over, the group following behind him.
His eyes passed over the others and landed directly on Ethan.
There was a brief flash of contemplation in his gaze.
Then he spoke.
"Mark, are these your friends? Introduce me."
Mark jumped slightly.
"Dad! I—I didn't do anything! These are Sarah's friends—"
The old man didn't even wait for him to finish.
He stepped forward and shook Ethan's hand warmly.
"Forgive me for intruding. I happened to overhear your conversation."
"Are you Dr. Ethan Rayne? The one who runs Rayne Clinic on Seventh Avenue in Brooklyn?"
Ethan looked a little surprised but nodded politely.
"Yes, I am Ethan Rayne. Nice to meet you, Mr. Whitmore."
"Wonderful! I never expected to meet you here!"
Old James Whitmore looked genuinely excited. He clasped Ethan's hand firmly.
"I only learned about your clinic in detail last night. I have… some concerns regarding my health, and I was hoping to consult you privately if possible."
"Would you have a few minutes now?"
There was an urgency in his eyes—as if this matter were far more important than the wedding currently taking place around them.
Ethan glanced at Missy.
Missy raised an eyebrow and gave him a playful look that clearly meant Go on—the host is asking.
Then she lightly pressed Ethan's arm.
"Go ahead, Ethan. Not everyone gets personally invited by Mr. Whitmore."
Turning to Sarah, she smiled.
"Besides, I'd love to catch up with Sarah."
"After all, Mark will soon be running the Asia division. As the future lady of the house, she'll probably have to go with him. Who knows when I'll get another chance to see her."
Sarah looked extremely pleased by that remark.
Mark stood beside them, looking awkward and silent, not daring to interrupt his father.
---
Ethan followed James Whitmore into a quiet study next to the ballroom.
The thick carpet absorbed their footsteps. Once the door closed, the noise and laughter from the wedding vanished instantly.
Whitmore's polite social expression faded away, revealing exhaustion and suppressed worry.
He gestured for Ethan to sit. They faced each other across a mahogany desk.
"Dr. Rayne, I'll be frank."
He lowered his voice, tapping his fingers unconsciously on the desk.
"My medical team believes I may have… Alzheimer's disease."
"The symptoms are still subtle. But I can feel it. Memories slipping away like sand."
"Sometimes words reach the tip of my tongue…"
He paused, searching for the right phrase.
"…and they simply disappear."
The room grew heavy with silence.
Ethan's expression turned serious.
"I'm very sorry to hear that, Mr. Whitmore."
Whitmore exhaled slowly.
"I've seen many illnesses in my lifetime—cancer, heart attacks, strokes, even AIDS. None of them frightened me."
He looked up, a trace of unease in his eyes.
"But Alzheimer's is different."
"It doesn't just take my life."
"It takes… my self."
His voice dropped even further.
"It will slowly strip away my judgment, my memories, my thoughts. Eventually I won't even remember who I am."
"That's worse than death."
Ethan sat silently for a moment.
A thought crossed his mind:
For these powerful businessmen, the greatest fear isn't cancer or AIDS.
It's waking up one day and not knowing who they are.
Whitmore continued.
"I don't have much time to hesitate. While I can still think clearly, I must arrange the company—and deal with my… well…"
He sighed, a complicated mixture of affection and frustration in his voice.
"…my useless son inheriting it."
"You saw Mark. He's spoiled, immature, and not particularly capable. But he's my only heir."
"That's why I pushed him to marry quickly and begin taking over parts of the business."
"I'm hoping responsibility will force him to grow up… before I completely lose my mind."
He paused.
"Dr. Rayne, I only heard about your clinic yesterday through certain channels—and the 'miracles' associated with it."
"I never expected to hear about you and then meet you at my own son's wedding."
"Perhaps God arranged it."
"Or perhaps it's simply the rarest stroke of luck in my life."
"But if a miracle is possible…"
"I'm willing to trade every bit of luck I have left for it."
Ethan nodded slowly.
"We can schedule a full evaluation at my clinic. I'll give you an honest assessment."
Whitmore exhaled deeply.
"Thank you."
"Could it be Monday next week? The sooner I know whether there is hope—and how much time I have—the sooner I can prepare everything."
Ethan agreed.
Whitmore looked instantly relieved.
He stood up and took a black-and-gold hotel keycard from his jacket pocket, handing it to Ethan.
"This is the best suite in the hotel. Consider it an advance expression of my gratitude."
Ethan blinked in surprise.
"That's far too generous—"
"Not to me," Whitmore interrupted gently but firmly.
"And certainly not compared to what you might be able to do."
He shook Ethan's hand again.
"See you Monday, Dr. Rayne."