Tied By The Red Thread Of Love Chinese Drama

Honestly, she had no clue that day was about to blow her whole world to pieces. There she was, hunched behind her laptop, drowning in that blueish glow, when fate decided to drop in—disguised as a phone call that just wouldn’t quit. Relentless. Like, seriously, take a hint.

Elena Olivia Johnson, eyes all sharp and hazel, locked onto her screen like it was the last life raft in a storm. The blueprint up there? Yeah, that wasn’t just some file—it was her ticket, the big one, the thing her whole career was dangling on. And then, bam—her cell goes off, yanking her out of the zone. Thanks a lot, universe.

She grabbed the phone, didn’t even bother with the caller ID. Probably just another work thing, or maybe her father. Who knew? She was still half-typing, blocking out the chaos of the office around her.

“Hello?” she mumbled, barely moving her lips. Her fingers kept dancing over the keys, multitasking like a pro. Didn’t bother checking who it was. Could've been anyone.

“Good afternoon. Is this Miss Elena?” The voice—man, it was deep, steady, and had this weird vibe, like she should know it but couldn’t place it. Her eyebrows bunched up. Suspicious.

“Yeah, that’s me,” she shot back, hitting save with a little more force than necessary.

No warning, no little tingle at the back of her neck, nothing to tip her off that things were about to go sideways. And then—

“Mr. Johnson...”

That name. It hit her, sharp and cold, like someone just cracked open the window in January.

Her breath snagged, sharp and ugly. That stupid blue pen—she must’ve knocked it, ‘cause it skittered off the desk, but, honestly, she barely noticed with her head buzzing like a wasp nest. Something heavy just—sat—on her chest. Not like anxiety, not like nerves. More like someone dropped a concrete block on her sternum and told her to deal with it.

She jerked up so fast her chair went flying and smacked the floor with a bang that echoed way too loud. For a split second, Elena just—stopped. Like her body forgot how to move. Heart punching her ribs, breath completely stuck.

Her face went sheet white. Her heartbeat? That thing had lost all sense of rhythm—felt more like it was trying to break out of her ribcage. Panic, real and raw, clawed its way up and she just…couldn’t stand still anymore. Her hands shook so hard she nearly dropped her bag, but somehow she grabbed it, bolting for the door. People stared. Whispered. She didn’t care, couldn’t even hear them.

She was out of there, running like she was being chased by something invisible and mean. Her pulse thudded in her ears, louder than anything else—like, you know when you’re at a concert and you stand way too close to the speakers? Like that.

“Elena!” Crap. Elvano’s voice, sharp as a slap. She barreled right into him, scattering his paperwork everywhere. Normally, she’d have stopped. Helped him pick up his stuff, maybe laughed it off. Today? No chance. She was barely holding it together, swallowing back tears hard enough it hurt.

Outside, she flagged down a taxi. Her own car sat right there, mocking her, but there was no way she could drive like this. She’d end up wrapped around a tree, and today was already bad enough. Taxi it was. Just get away.

Inside the taxi, Elena just couldn’t sit still—her knee was going a mile a minute, fingers twisted so tight her knuckles looked like they might burst through her skin. And those eyes? Constantly flicking out the window, desperate for some kind of sign that, hey, maybe things would be okay.

She muttered a silent prayer—“Please, please let everything be fine”—and caught herself gnawing on her lower lip, trying not to let the fear punch a hole straight through her chest.

By the time the taxi pulled up, the hospital was already swarmed—people everywhere, ambulances blinking like some twisted Christmas display. That building just sat there, five stories tall, not exactly buzzing but not dead quiet either. Like it couldn’t decide whether to freak out or hold its breath.

She barely waited for the cab to stop before she bolted out, making a beeline for the glowing ‘Emergency Room’ sign. It looked both comforting and terrifying at the same time.

Standing in front of the information desk, she felt like the floor might drop out from under her. Her hands shook so bad it was a miracle her voice worked at all.

“Um, excuse me, my dad—Mr. Johnson—did he go into surgery? Is he okay?” Her words tumbled out in a jumble, eyes darting between anyone in scrubs or a name tag. Didn’t really matter who answered, as long as someone did.

The whole nightmare had started with a phone call—a shaky voice explaining her dad had a heart attack at work and they needed to operate, like, yesterday. She didn’t think twice before saying yes, do whatever you have to do.