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I was a renowned gynecologist, widely recognized for my flawless delivery record spanning ten years. Until that day, I was accused of malpractice during surgery, resulting in a double fatality, claiming both mother and unborn child. But the truth was, the patient was already dead when I arrived. With all the evidence – witness testimonies, physical evidence, and surveillance footage – stacked against me, I was utterly defenseless. Overnight, my reputation was ruined, and I was sentenced to death. My parents, unable to bear the immense pressure, jumped to their deaths three days after my execution. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my car, rushing to the hospital. Up ahead, traffic officers were directing vehicles at the intersection. I gritted my teeth and slammed my arm into the steering wheel. I heard a sharp *snap*, and clearly felt my right arm… fracture. Rather than waiting for death, I chose self-mutilation. One arm, for a chance at life. In the moment of my execution, only one thought consumed me: ‘Innocent.’ My name is Eliza, thirty-four years old, Chief of Gynecology at the hospital, and a candidate for Deputy Director. For ten consecutive years, I had a perfect delivery record. Even my fiancé was the hospital's top surgeon, universally acclaimed. Everyone said I was blessed with a good life. Career, love, future – everything was top-tier. I, too, believed my life was exceptionally lucky. Yet, at that very moment, my perfect life ended. But I hadn't made a surgical error, because the patient was already dead when I arrived. No one believed me. Witness testimonies, physical