Chapter 1 · My Ex-boyfriend's Revenge

Jayda Jordan, the nurse on duty, thought the atmosphere in the ER today was so tense that it felt like a crime scene.

Danny Brennan, the "top heart surgeon" whom the hospital director treated with extra respect, was staring intently at the woman writhing in pain on the bed.

Jayda swore she saw Danny's knuckles turn white as he gripped the patient's chart.

He looked less like he was about to treat her and more like he was ready to dissect her right then and there.

"You didn't know you were allergic to spicy food?" Danny's voice was so icy that it could chill the room.

The woman on the bed shrank down, making pitiful noises like a scared quail. "I, I did it for the prize money."

"You risked your life for cash?" Danny suddenly leaned in, his face inches from hers. Above his mask, those captivating eyes were shot through with red.

Jayda was so terrified that she barely dared to breathe.

She was about to slip out when a tearful, desperate plea came from behind the curtain. "Danny, please be gentle. You're going too deep..."

Jayda's foot slipped, and she nearly dropped to her knees.

She wondered if it was an examination or if Danny was torturing the patient.

*****

I felt like I was dying.

And I didn't mean the poetic kind of "dying". I meant my body was falling apart.

My stomach wasn't a digestive organ anymore. It was like a nuclear reactor gone rogue, exploding with some violent, anti-human fusion inside.

It was all because of that insanely spicy wings challenge.

For 700 dollars, I, Cherry Wheat, a weakling who couldn't lift a water cooler at work, downed twelve wings drenched in "devil pepper extract", in half an hour.

Now, karma was coming for me.

The blinding white lights in the ER make me dizzy, and the smell of disinfectant claws at my nostrils like a cold, relentless hand.

"Where's your family? Didn't anyone come?" The nurse's voice sounds far away, laced with impatient disappointment.

I curled up on this narrow hospital bed, clutching the sheets like it'd somehow help with the pain, trying anything to distract myself from the agony twisting up my insides.

"No... no family." I raise my hand, trembling, feeling like a fallen soldier nobody bothered to pick up. "I'll sign... for myself..."

"Stop this nonsense." A man's voice suddenly broke in.

It was low and cold, with a sharp, metallic edge, like a scalpel dragging across a steel tray.

It sounded oddly familiar.

It was so familiar that even with my stomach cramping, my scalp tingled from the shock.

I forced my face out of the pillow, struggling to focus my eyes.

Backlit by the harsh hospital lights, a figure in a white coat stood there.

He was tall and lean, with broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist.

Under the coat, he wore a crisp dark blue shirt buttoned all the way up, radiating that strict, no-nonsense, almost ascetic aura.

He wore a mask, leaving only his eyes visible.

Those eyes were charming, slightly upturned at the corners, with pupils so deep that they looked like a chilling abyss, unfathomable.

Right now, that abyss was swirling with a deadly chill that could make my blood run cold.

It was Danny, my ex-boyfriend.

He was always out of reach, the perfect pedestal type.

I dumped him five years ago with some ridiculous excuse about him being so obsessed with studying, claiming we were from different worlds.

Instinctively, I wanted to drag the blanket over my head and pray the earth would swallow me whole.

This was way too much for me to accept.

In my mind, running into my ex was supposed to be me in a killer designer dress, hanging off the arm of some rich hottie.

Then, I would bump into him at a five-star restaurant and toss out a casual, "Oh, fancy seeing you here".

Of all times, why now?

Instead, here I was, hair a disaster, face drained of colors, looking like a soggy, overcooked shrimp that had been left out too long.

And I had landed myself in the ER because I couldn't control my appetite.

"Cherry Wheat," He said my name.

His voice was so flat and cold that it felt like a judge reading out my doom.

"Oh, talk about bad timing." I forced a smile that was more painful than crying, my stomach doing somersaults again.

I blurted out, "So, uh, you happen to be here for a little sightseeing too?"

Danny didn't say a word.

He looked down at me like I was some single-celled organism who had no intelligence.

Then he turned to the nurse, who looked shocked, and said in a voice so calm that it was almost chilling, "Get ready for a gastric lavage. I'll sign for her."

My eyes went wide with panic. "Gastric lavage? Come on, that's overkill. I just... have a bit of indigestion."

"Indigestion?" Danny sneered, his sarcasm obvious even with the mask on.

He grabbed the chart from the bedside and tapped his finger right on the words "crazy spicy."

He said, "Ms. Wheat, your stomach isn't a digestive system. It's an industrial waste tank.

"If we don't clean it out, are you planning to let it stew in there till next year?"

Chapter 1

Jayda Jordan, the nurse on duty, thought the atmosphere in the ER today was so tense that it felt like a crime scene.

Danny Brennan, the "top heart surgeon" whom the hospital director treated with extra respect, was staring intently at the woman writhing in pain on the bed.

Jayda swore she saw Danny's knuckles turn white as he gripped the patient's chart.

He looked less like he was about to treat her and more like he was ready to dissect her right then and there.

"You didn't know you were allergic to spicy food?" Danny's voice was so icy that it could chill the room.

The woman on the bed shrank down, making pitiful noises like a scared quail. "I, I did it for the prize money."

"You risked your life for cash?" Danny suddenly leaned in, his face inches from hers. Above his mask, those captivating eyes were shot through with red.

Jayda was so terrified that she barely dared to breathe.

She was about to slip out when a tearful, desperate plea came from behind the curtain. "Danny, please be gentle. You're going too deep..."

Jayda's foot slipped, and she nearly dropped to her knees.

She wondered if it was an examination or if Danny was torturing the patient.

*****

I felt like I was dying.

And I didn't mean the poetic kind of "dying". I meant my body was falling apart.

My stomach wasn't a digestive organ anymore. It was like a nuclear reactor gone rogue, exploding with some violent, anti-human fusion inside.

It was all because of that insanely spicy wings challenge.

For 700 dollars, I, Cherry Wheat, a weakling who couldn't lift a water cooler at work, downed twelve wings drenched in "devil pepper extract", in half an hour.

Now, karma was coming for me.

The blinding white lights in the ER make me dizzy, and the smell of disinfectant claws at my nostrils like a cold, relentless hand.

"Where's your family? Didn't anyone come?" The nurse's voice sounds far away, laced with impatient disappointment.

I curled up on this narrow hospital bed, clutching the sheets like it'd somehow help with the pain, trying anything to distract myself from the agony twisting up my insides.

"No... no family." I raise my hand, trembling, feeling like a fallen soldier nobody bothered to pick up. "I'll sign... for myself..."

"Stop this nonsense." A man's voice suddenly broke in.

It was low and cold, with a sharp, metallic edge, like a scalpel dragging across a steel tray.

It sounded oddly familiar.

It was so familiar that even with my stomach cramping, my scalp tingled from the shock.

I forced my face out of the pillow, struggling to focus my eyes.

Backlit by the harsh hospital lights, a figure in a white coat stood there.

He was tall and lean, with broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist.

Under the coat, he wore a crisp dark blue shirt buttoned all the way up, radiating that strict, no-nonsense, almost ascetic aura.

He wore a mask, leaving only his eyes visible.

Those eyes were charming, slightly upturned at the corners, with pupils so deep that they looked like a chilling abyss, unfathomable.

Right now, that abyss was swirling with a deadly chill that could make my blood run cold.

It was Danny, my ex-boyfriend.

He was always out of reach, the perfect pedestal type.

I dumped him five years ago with some ridiculous excuse about him being so obsessed with studying, claiming we were from different worlds.

Instinctively, I wanted to drag the blanket over my head and pray the earth would swallow me whole.

This was way too much for me to accept.

In my mind, running into my ex was supposed to be me in a killer designer dress, hanging off the arm of some rich hottie.

Then, I would bump into him at a five-star restaurant and toss out a casual, "Oh, fancy seeing you here".

Of all times, why now?

Instead, here I was, hair a disaster, face drained of colors, looking like a soggy, overcooked shrimp that had been left out too long.

And I had landed myself in the ER because I couldn't control my appetite.

"Cherry Wheat," He said my name.

His voice was so flat and cold that it felt like a judge reading out my doom.

"Oh, talk about bad timing." I forced a smile that was more painful than crying, my stomach doing somersaults again.

I blurted out, "So, uh, you happen to be here for a little sightseeing too?"

Danny didn't say a word.

He looked down at me like I was some single-celled organism who had no intelligence.

Then he turned to the nurse, who looked shocked, and said in a voice so calm that it was almost chilling, "Get ready for a gastric lavage. I'll sign for her."

My eyes went wide with panic. "Gastric lavage? Come on, that's overkill. I just... have a bit of indigestion."

"Indigestion?" Danny sneered, his sarcasm obvious even with the mask on.

He grabbed the chart from the bedside and tapped his finger right on the words "crazy spicy."

He said, "Ms. Wheat, your stomach isn't a digestive system. It's an industrial waste tank.

"If we don't clean it out, are you planning to let it stew in there till next year?"