The Devil Who Claimed Me

At the clinic...

Remy was just about to leave. He locked the cupboards, gathered his things, and picked up his bag.

The door burst open with a loud bang.

"Doctor! Help. Please—someone help my son."

A tall man rushed in, carrying a boy in his arms. His wife stumbled behind him, panic written all over her face.

Remy froze for a second. Then his eyes landed on the boy.

His lips were tinged blue. His chest heaved unevenly as he struggled to breathe. His small fingers twitched weakly, and his head lolled against his father’s shoulder.

"What happened?" Remy asked.

"He suddenly couldn’t breathe," the man said, his voice shaking. "He was fine a few minutes ago, then he started gasping..."

Remy noticed the rashes on his body. He immediately realized it was a severe allergic reaction.

"Put him on the bed," Remy ordered sharply, pointing at the bed in the corner.

The man rushed forward and laid the boy down carefully.

The mother rushed over. "Jack, my son. Open your eyes... Talk to me..." Her voice cracked, and she started sobbing.

"Step back," Remy ordered, pulling the partition halfway. "Let me examine him."

The man pulled his wife back, though she resisted.

"His pulse is weak," Remy muttered, already checking the boy’s wrist. His fingers tightened.

"It’s irregular, too. His skin is turning cold."

The allergic reaction was progressing fast.

Remy’s expression turned solemn as he sensed the gravity of the situation. "I need Mila."

He grabbed her phone and called someone. The call was connected after a few rings.

"Hey, listen," Remy said, urgency lacing his tone. "Send Mila to the clinic. It’s urgent."

"What?" came the irritated voice from the other end. "She just returned—"

"Look, there is an emergency here. I need her. Now."

"Okay..." The man sounded hesitant. "I’ll tell her."

Beep.

Remy turned back immediately. The boy’s breathing had worsened. He was gasping for air.

"His airway is compromised." He quickly reached for the emergency tray.

"What did he eat?" he asked.

"I—I don’t know," the mother stammered. "He came home from playing. He said he was itching... I didn’t think it was serious."

Her voice dissolved into sobs. "When he complained he couldn’t breathe, I panicked..."

She couldn’t say any further.

Remy turned to them. "It’s a severe allergic reaction. You should have been careful about what the boy eats."

The woman started sobbing harder. But the man’s eyes burned with fury.

"Now you know the problem," he barked. "Do something. Save him. Why are you waiting?"

"Mr. Black, please calm down. I’m trying. I also called my colleague. She will be here soon."

"You said it’s an allergic reaction. Then start the treatment already," the man shouted, his loud voice echoing inside the clinic. "Why are you delaying?"

"If you keep shouting, I can’t check the patient properly. Please wait outside."

"I’m not going out," he snapped.

Mila rushed in and saw the man yelling at Remy. "What’s going on?"

"Mila..." Remy grabbed her hands. "Thank goodness you are here. We have an emergency."

He gestured to the man standing beside him. "Mr. Black’s son has developed a severe allergic reaction. The boy is critical. His skin is turning pale. He is struggling to breathe. And most importantly, his pulse is very weak. It’s alarming. That’s why I called you."

"Let me see the boy first," Mila said.

"He is there." He led her to the bed.

"You?" The mother scowled at her.

Mila froze. She recognized the woman instantly.

It was the janitor.

’So the boy is her son?’ Mila thought.

"This is Dr. Mila," Remy said quickly. "I called her to handle this."

"No." The woman stepped forward, blocking Mila. "I don’t want her touching my son."

"What?" Remy frowned, disbelief crossing his face.

Even Mr. Black was stunned. "What are you doing?" he thundered. "Move and let her check him."

"No..." The woman stood firmly in her place. "I don’t trust her. Doctor Remy will examine my son."

"What’s wrong with you?" Her husband cast her a confused look. "Stop making trouble here. Come out and let them check him. He needs help..."

"I said I trust only Dr. Remy," she snapped, her voice breaking.

Mila’s jaw tightened.

The woman had mercilessly threatened her last night, telling her they would make her bear the consequences of her mistakes. She had sounded confident. But now, all her arrogance vanished.

’So this is what fear looks like when it’s your own child,’ Mila thought bitterly. ’But what about my pain, my fear, and my restlessness?’

Anger surged. For a brief second, she wanted to grab her, shake her, and expose everything. But she swallowed it.

This wasn’t the time. She needed to treat the boy first. Besides, she had another motive.

"Why are you refusing her?" Remy demanded.

She avoided his gaze. "You’ve been here for years. I trust you. I don’t know her."

That was her excuse. She was afraid Mila would hurt her son to get even with her.

Remy exhaled sharply and turned toward the boy, quickly assessing him. His brows furrowed deeper.

"His breathing is getting worse," Remy exclaimed. "His pulse is dropping. His heart is under stress."

He looked back at the woman.

"I’m telling you this clearly. She is the best person to handle this right now."

The woman hesitated.

Remy’s voice turned firm. "If his heart collapses, I won’t be able to save him alone."

A heavy silence fell.

The boy’s breathing hitched again. He rubbed his chest and choked. "It’s painful. I can’t breathe.

That was enough.

"Fine." The woman finally allowed Mila to treat her son. She stepped back.

Just as Mila walked past her, the woman grabbed her arm and stopped her. Leaning slightly toward her, she warned, "If anything happens to my son, I will kill you."

Mila didn’t react, didn’t flinch. She held her gaze coldly.

"Step aside."

The woman gazed at her one last time before stepping out.

Mila moved instantly.

"Oxygen," she ordered.

Remy was already on it.

A mask was secured over the boy’s face, oxygen flowing as Mila checked his airway.

"Severe anaphylaxis," she said. "Airway swelling, poor perfusion."

She grabbed the epinephrine injection and injected the medication into the boy’s thigh.

"Prepare the IV line," she added.

Remy quickly inserted the IV while Mila monitored the boy’s pulse again.

"Weak and erratic," she said.

Both of them worked in coordination. The seconds ticked like a countdown.

The boy’s chest movement deepened just a little.

"His breathing is stabilizing," Remy said.

"Good... His pulse?" Mila asked.

"Still weak—but picking up," he replied.

She administered antihistamines and corticosteroids through the IV.

Another minute passed.

The boy coughed weakly.

"His airway is opening," Remy said.

Mila checked his pulse again. "Hmm, it’s stabilizing."

The bluish tint on the boy’s lips began to fade slowly.

Mila looked at him. "He is out of immediate danger. Keep the oxygen steady. I’ll go talk to the parents."

She stepped out.

"How is he?" Mr. Black asked the moment he saw Mila. "Is he awake?"

"Not yet. But he is responding."

"Can I see him?" he urged.

Mila gave a curt nod. "Yes, but only from a distance."

"Thank you." The man rushed in.

The woman was about to go after him when Mila stepped forward and blocked her way.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, her expression dangerous. "Step out of my way. I need to see my son."

"Your son is out of danger," Mila said in a low, threatening tone. "But you and your boss are not safe anymore."

The woman scowled at her. "What do you mean?"

Mila leaned in closer and whispered, "Dominic has launched a secret mission to destroy Marco."