Devoted Love:The Billionaire's Precious Wife

"Really? You're not pulling my leg?" Serena clearly didn't believe it, "Look me in the eyes and tell me,how much of my old self can I get back?"

"Seventy to eighty percent."

Serena was gobsmacked! It was as if lightning had struck her, and she had been shot through the heart with a thousand arrows!

Seventy to eighty percent?

She could only get back to seventy or eighty percent of her former self?

How was she supposed to play the piano now? How could she paint? How could she be the talented woman she once was?

"I talked to the doctor, and he said that with some practice, playing the piano and painting won't be an issue. It'll just be a bit tough at the start. Like when eating, holding cutlery might be a little wobbly. but

it'll get better."

"What did you just say?" Serena was even more shocked!

She thought not being able to play the piano or paint like before was bad enough, but now, even the simplest tasks like eating, picking up food, or sipping soup were out of reach?

How was she supposed to accept that?

"It's just at the beginning!" Martin stressed again, "It'll get better."

Serena's tears spilled over, "How long? How much longer will this process take?"

"Depending on how well you recover, maybe two or three weeks. In a couple of weeks, handling cutlery or a spoon for soup won't be a problem for you anymore."

Serena's emotions crumbled yet again. Two or three more weeks before she could eat like a normal person? Before she could sip soup with a spoon?

What a heavy blow!

Seeing Serena break down and cry, Martin felt his heart shattered. If he'd known, he would have kept it from her, one day at a time.

Now, watching her cry her eyes out, he felt as if his heart was being torn apart.

"Serena." Martin reached out to wipe her tears, his voice soft with comfort, "It's okay, I'll be with you. No matter how long this process takes, no matter how hard it gets, I'll be there to face it with you. I'll get you the best doctors, the finest treatments, and I'll leave no stone unturned to find even better ways to help you."

Serena sobbed into his chest.

She couldn't fathom why fate had dealt her such a hand!

She had been the daughter of a rich family for eighteen glorious years, only to be cruelly cast down from her pedestal. She thought she had hit rock bottom, unaware that fate would also take her parents

from her, mar her beauty, and rob her of the ability to do even the simplest things like eating or drinking soup!

She hadn't fallen to the bottom – she was in hell!

To her, this was as agonizing and terrifying as being trapped in the depths of hell.

Serena cried for a long time before finally asking with a quivering voice, "Will my hands have scars? And my forehead."

That was her most pressing concern!

She lifted her tearful, crystal-clear eyes to the man before her, "Tell me the truth. What did the doctor say? Tell me everything, and don't you dare hide anything."

Although Martin couldn't bear it, he eventually opted for full disclosure.

"The doctor said that the shattered glass cut deep into the dermis of your skin. The scars on your forehead and on the palms and backs of your hands can't be restored to their pre-injury state."

"With current medical technology, we can only reduce and improve the appearance of scars, perhaps through surgery or laser treatments."

"Surgery would require one to three months of recovery time, while laser treatments would mean going in once a month, and after about six sessions you might see a significant improvement. But this kind of result isn't what you're hoping for. The scars will be less visible than they are now, but if you look closely, they'll still be apparent."

Serena's tears started flowing again, "And my feet?"

Martin suddenly fell silent.

Serena had a sinking feeling in her gut, "My leg, it's not going to heal properly, is it? Right at the knee? I need to see."

"Don't look." Martin's voice was laced with compassion, "There's nothing to see right now, it's all bandaged up."

Tears streamed down Serena's cheeks as she fumbled with the blanket, her clumsy hands struggling to do what once was second nature – hitching up her pant leg.

She was frantic and furious.

"Let me help." Martin eventually said, slowly and reluctantly rolling up her pant legs to her knees.

Both knees were wrapped in white bandages, obscuring any detail, but Serena could feel the stiffness in her legs, especially the left one encased in plaster. What in the world had happened?

"My leg." Serena lifted her tearful eyes to Martin, "Is it injured?"

She remembered the moment she knelt in broken glass, repeatedly bowing her head in plea to Louisa.

Tiny shards of glass had embedded themselves deep into her knees.

The damage was done.

But what about her left leg? Why the plaster?

Martin's eyes reddened, "You just can't walk for now."

"What do you mean I can't walk?"

"The glass in your knee was deep, it reached the bone." Martin spoke with difficulty, "When you were crawling on the ground, the glass dug even deeper into your flesh. They've removed it through surgery, but you'll need a wheelchair for now."

Serena felt like she'd been struck by lightning.

No wonder she felt excruciating pain all over, particularly in her knees, as she lay feverish in that basement, deliriously drinking dirty water from a plastic basin.

Was that when the glass had buried itself even deeper?

"And there's more, the Collins family might have been a bit too rough when they hit you, one of your leg bones is fractured, hence the plaster."

Serena's eyes widened.

"The doctors have set the bone back in place, now it needs time to heal about three months. But your knees will need around six months to recover."

Perhaps fearing her despair, Martin quickly added, "After six months, you'll be able to walk. You'll just need another three months of physical therapy."

Serena was beyond devastated.

She was a thousand times, no, ten thousand times more shattered than mere collapse could convey.

This meant for the next half year, she'd be confined to a wheelchair, and even after that, she'd need another three months of rehab to regain her former strength.

"Will I make a full recovery?" The tears spilled over as Serena asked, dreading the answer, "Can I dance ballet like before? Or will it only be seventy or eighty percent of what it was?"

"With current medical treatments, you can expect to recover seventy to eighty percent."

Martin's words sent Serena into a torrent of sobs, her body shaking uncontrollably, unable to digest this devastating news.

Her hands, perhaps, she could accept not fully recovering, but her feet too, unable to dance as before?

"In nine months you'll walk normally, no one will be the wiser, but dancing won't be as graceful as it was. If it comes to that, you could always choose not to dance."

Serena's weeping intensified. In high society, how could one simply not dance?