The Prison-Made Queen novel Chapter 938

Clive stared blankly at the medical chart that suddenly felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Beneath his mask, his lips trembled, but he couldn't form a single word.

His hand, still clutching the pill bottle in his pocket, squeezed so hard his knuckles turned stark white.

He looked up at the doctor, his face ashen, unaware of the brokenness in his own voice as he finally forced out a question.

"How long do I have?"

"If you don't start proper treatment immediately, you don't have much time..."

...

Clive had no memory of leaving the hospital. His mind was completely blank. He stumbled out into the streets, driven purely by muscle memory.

The biting cold air filling his lungs didn't sober him up; it acted like gasoline poured over a raging fire in his chest.

The doctor's warning—organ failure—and the nurses' cruel whispers outside the door looped in his head like a torturous melody, hacking away at his sanity.

Terror, burning rage, and the humiliating realization that he had been played and manipulated by Zeus caused his entire body to violently shake.

Clive ripped the suffocating mask off his face and gasped for air. He didn't care if anyone recognized him anymore. He had one singular objective: find Zeus.

He was going to demand to know why his own brother had done this to him.

Yanking out his phone, he slammed his thumb against Zeus's contact name.

It rang for a painfully long time before Zeus finally picked up. His voice came through the speaker with that usual lazy, indifferent arrogance. "Hello? Clive? What is it? Why are you calling me at this hour?"

The moment the cab pulled up, he threw the door open, stormed into the building, and punched the button for the penthouse.

When the elevator doors parted, he marched down the hall. The front door was ajar—Zeus was clearly waiting for him.

He shoved the door wide open.

Zeus was actually taking a rare night off from the lab. As Clive stormed in, he saw Zeus lounging comfortably on the living room sofa, a glass of expensive wine in hand. He was still wearing a sharply tailored suit, likely having just returned from a formal event.

Seeing the absolute murder in Clive's eyes, Zeus looked genuinely bewildered.

He set his wine glass down, a mix of annoyance and wariness crossing his face. "What is your problem now? Who pissed you off this time? You come bursting in here like a maniac."

Clive closed the distance between them in three massive strides. Weak and running on pure adrenaline, he was breathing heavily, his chest heaving. He locked eyes with Zeus—eyes that feigned concern but were entirely hollow. Without a word, Clive yanked the crumpled medical report from his pocket and viciously whipped it right into Zeus's face.