Chapter 3

The night I walked out.

The Grant family's group chat blew up.

That crystal-clear scandalous photo was like a depth charge, detonating the chat and yanking everyone out of their sleep in the dead of night.

The first to react was Ethan's mother, Linda.

Normally, she was the definition of elegance, but now she was spamming the group chat with voice messages, one after another.

Every single one was full of sobbing and screaming.

"Ethan! You bastard! Who the hell is that woman in your bed?"

"Where's Claire? Where is she?"

"How could you treat Claire like this? Go find her and bring her back to me right now!"

Next was Ethan's grandfather, Christopher Grant, well into his seventies.

Christopher had a heart condition, and the shock almost triggered a heart attack right then and there.

He typed out a single message in the group chat. [You're no grandson of mine.]

The rest of the Grant family, all those aunts and uncles who used to shower me with praise, suddenly popped up in the chat.

They unleashed a flood of accusations, curses, and outright scorn at Ethan.

It was like a tidal wave crashing down on him.

It wasn't until half an hour later that Ethan finally replied in the group chat.

[I can't find her.]

His phone was switched off.

No one knew how Ethan endured the full fury of his family that night, surrounded by chaos and betrayal.

No one knew how he tore through the city, desperate and out of his mind, only to be met with the cold news that my flight had already left.

Whatever happened next was their problem, not mine.

Two years later.

Novarion, Veridia.

Presbyterian Medical Center, Cardiothoracic Surgery ICU.

"Get the defibrillator ready!"

"One milligram of epinephrine, IV push!"

"Keep up the compressions!"

The heart monitor's line went dead, a flat, hopeless streak, while its alarm shrieked through the room.

I stood at the bedside, giving orders with icy calm.

Sweat soaked my bangs, plastering them to my cheeks, cool against my skin.

"Three hundred and sixty joules, charge!"

"Everyone, clear the area!"

I grabbed the defibrillator and slammed the paddles down hard on the patient's chest.

Bang!

The patient's body jerked violently.

On the monitor, that flat line finally showed a faint, fragile pulse.

"Sinus rhythm!" the nurse exclaimed, her voice full of relief.

I finally exhaled, putting the defibrillator down; my back soaked through with sweat.

"Vitals are stable for now. Keep monitoring," I said.

I took off my mask and stepped out of the emergency room.

The hallway lights were blindingly white.

A man was waiting anxiously by the door.

He was wearing a rumpled suit, his hair a mess, and there were heavy dark circles under his eyes.

When he heard the door open, he jerked his head up.

When he saw my face, he was rooted to the spot, completely stunned.

He looked like he'd been hit by a bolt from the blue.

He was trembling from head to toe, his lips quivering, and his eyes were bloodshot.

It had been two years since we last met.

Ethan looked like he'd aged a decade.

The golden boy who once had it all now looked like a beaten stray, his pride and swagger completely wiped out.

Ethan stared at me so hard, it was like he wanted to drill a hole right through my skull.

"Claire?" His voice was so hoarse, it was like he'd been gargling with sandpaper.

I ignored him completely and headed straight to the desk, starting to fill out the medical record.

But Ethan, like a man possessed, stormed over and grabbed my white coat in a death grip.

He was so forceful, I almost lost my balance and toppled over.

"I've been searching for you for two years! Two whole years!" He fixed his gaze on me, his voice trembling with desperation.

"Why wouldn't you let me explain back then? Why did you just leave me like that?" His question felt like a bad joke, two years too late.

I stopped writing and finally looked up at him.

My eyes were flat, totally emotionless, not even a ripple.

I peeled his fingers off my coat, one by one, with icy precision.

Then, I pulled a sheet of paper from the folder and handed it to him.

It was a critical condition notice, fresh off the printer.

"Sign it." My voice was utterly detached, as if I were reciting tomorrow's weather.

"If you hesitate, she'll be gone," I added.

Ethan's eyes went wide, locking onto the flimsy critical condition notice in my hand.

That night two years ago, he wrecked everything and spent the next two years driving himself crazy with regret.

He imagined every possible way we might meet again, even pictured himself bawling and begging me to forgive him.

But when he finally ran into me at this hospital, all those dreams crashed and burned the second he saw my face.

I was wearing my sterile white coat, my eyes empty, showing only the clinical detachment reserved for patients' families, no love, no hate, just cold professionalism.

He looked at me like he was seeing a stranger who'd died and come back.

I held the critical condition notice between my fingers, its edge so sharp, it felt like it could cut straight through the two years of silence and separation between us.

The monitor in the room kept beeping, slow and heavy, like a countdown to the end.

Inside, the patient was Olivia, the woman Ethan would move heaven and earth to save.

Ethan's breathing quickened, his fingers trembling as he reached for the paper, only to freeze halfway, unable to go any further.

He looked up, locking his gaze on me with bloodshot eyes.

"Claire, do you really have to be this cold? Is there really nothing left between us, not even a shred of feeling?" he asked.

I turned away, capping my pen with a crisp, deliberate motion, no hesitation, no lingering.

"Mr. Grant, if you don't sign, you'll be solely responsible for any medical risks that follow," I said.

"As the attending physician, my only job right now is to save the patient. Everything else is none of my concern," I added.

My words were like a scalpel, cutting straight through his emotional traps and getting right to the point.

He caught the unspoken message in my words. I was Dr. Bennett, the one running the show in this ICU.

And standing before me, Ethan was just another desperate family member, out of his depth and forced to sign off on the consequences of his own mistakes.

The gap between us hit him like a ton of bricks, and all the fight drained out of him in a heartbeat.

The other staff glanced between us, their eyes full of unspoken questions, but nobody dared to say a word.

At this top-tier hospital in Novarion, nobody knew anything about my past. To them, I was just the doctor with magic hands, the one who never messed up, not even once.

I stared at him, my gaze cold as ice. It felt like time had frozen in the hallway, the silence pressing down so hard it was almost suffocating.

Finally, with his hands shaking uncontrollably, he reached out and took the paper.

When he signed, the pen tore through the paper, leaving a deep, angry gash.

Once he signed, there was nothing left for me here.

I turned and walked away, my heels clicking sharply on the tiled floor, like a countdown to the end.

Before I could get far, I heard his voice behind me again, soft, desperate, clinging to the last shred of hope.

"If you can just forgive me, I'll give you all my shares in the Grant Family Business. They're all yours."

It was like he'd just dropped a bitter joke. I didn't even break stride, just kept walking.

Those shares were worth a fortune to him.

But to me, they were nothing more than the price tag on my heartbreak from two years ago.

Then, I was a cardiothoracic surgeon. Every single day, I fought to pull people back from the brink of death.

I didn't need his compensation, and I sure as hell didn't need his cheap apologies.

When I pushed open the door to my office, I shut out all the noise from the outside world.

I leaned back in my chair, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the bustling streets of Novarion. My heart was dead calm, untouched by all that energy outside.

Honestly, I didn't get any thrill out of payback.

All I felt was a sense of relief; finally, I'd cut ties with the past for good.

As the wind swept past the skyscrapers outside, I pulled out my phone. A few unread messages popped up on the screen.

That was the law firm I contacted on the eve of my return home, regarding the liquidation of all assets left over from two years ago.

I picked up the neatly organized file. Every number in there was a reminder of what he owed me back then.

He thought his persistence was devotion, but to me, it was just a footnote in my life, something I had already moved past.

Just then, there was a gentle knock on my office door.

One of my assistants Felix Collins stepped in, looking slightly nervous and hesitant.

"Dr. Bennett, the patient's condition in the ICU has deteriorated. The family would like to speak with you," he said.

I closed my eyes for a moment, then put my mask back on.

No matter who the family was, the patient always came first. That was the one rule I had never broken.

I stood up and walked back down the hall, where the man I once loved was then just someone I couldn't stand.

This time, I walked steadily, because I knew this was the last time I'd face those broken memories.

Whether Olivia pulled through or not, this was the final showdown.

I stared at the erratic waves on the monitor and quietly made up my mind.

If Olivia had died, that would have been what Ethan got for stabbing me in the back.

If she survived, she'd haunt Ethan forever.

No matter how things played out, the victory was already mine.

I pushed open the door. Ethan was slumped on the bench, hands covering his face, shaking like a scared kid.

I walked up to him and spelled out the final plan coldly, not a hint of emotion in my voice.

"I've done everything I can. If this last defibrillation fails, brace yourself for the worst," I said.

He jerked his head up, his eyes wide with terror, like I was the judge holding his fate in my hands.

"Please, save her. I know you can do it. You've always been the best," he pleaded.

I looked at his face, twisted with panic, and a subtle wave of mockery stirred inside me.

The best version of myself was destroyed by him that night, two years ago, in our wedding house.

Now, all that was left was Dr. Bennett, cold, professional, and completely detached.

I didn't say a word. I just walked straight to the bed and put on my latex gloves.

There was nothing left to say.

The room was dead silent, except for the unsettling, rhythmic hiss of the ventilator.

I stared at the face on the operating table, the same face as two years ago. For a split second, looking into her eyes, I caught a glimpse of the person I used to be, helpless, insignificant.

Finally, I let go of everything. The scalpel gleamed coldly under the lights.

Our final showdown was finally coming to an end.

I grabbed the defibrillator and cranked up the energy.

Three hundred and sixty joules.

This was the last thing I could do for Olivia.

It was also the final closure, for myself, for Ethan, and for the love that once tied us together.

I didn't spare Ethan or Olivia a single glance.

All my attention was locked on the monitor, watching that fragile heartbeat flicker on the screen.

"Charge!" I said, my voice low and commanding.

The defibrillator buzzed so loud it made the silence feel even heavier.

"Everyone, clear the area!" I ordered, my voice calm and unwavering.

The nurses and assistants quickly stepped back.

Ethan stood frozen in the doorway, like someone had hit pause on him.

Ethan watched helplessly as I slammed the paddles against Olivia's chest.

Bang!

Olivia's body arched violently, then dropped heavily back onto the bed.