Chapter 3

"I'll go," I said, setting down my fork, my voice steady. "Why not?"

The next afternoon, I went to the hospital alone.

Not Greystone Hospital—this time, it was Stanton Hospital in Northcrest.

The head of neurosurgery at Stanton Hospital had invited me for a consultation, a rare brainstem cavernous hemangioma case. There were fewer than five surgeons in the whole country who could pull off this kind of operation.

I was one of them.

When I walked into Stanton Hospital, I was still wearing that gray hoodie.

The nurse at the front desk glanced at me and gave me a professional smile. "Who are you here to see?"

"Dr. Fabian Aguilar, Director of Neurosurgery," I replied.

The nurse paused for a second. "Dr. Aguilar is in a specialist consultation today. Do you have an appointment?"

"I'm the one here for the consultation," I said.

The nurse glanced at me, then at the computer screen, her expression subtly skeptical.

She probably thought I was way too young to be here for something like this.

I didn't bother explaining and got in the elevator.

Inside the consultation room, there were seven or eight people—all department heads in their fifties and sixties, their white coats emblazoned with the names of top-tier hospitals.

When I pushed the door open, every single one of them turned to look at me.

Fabian stood up, his face lighting up with excitement. "Victoria, you're here. Come on in and have a seat."

An older professor with gray hair pushed up his glasses and whispered, "Fabian, is this the one you were talking about? Isn't she a bit too young for this?"

Fabian grinned. "Don't let her age fool you. You all read that paper about the giant middle cerebral artery aneurysm surgery last year, right? She was the one who did it."

The room went quiet for a moment.

I sat down, flipped through the case files, and glanced at the CT and MRI scans.

I picked up a pen and circled a spot on the film. "The tumor's on the ventral side of the brainstem, right next to where the facial nerve roots exit.

"If we go in the usual way, we'll risk damaging the surrounding tissue. I suggest a far lateral approach, entering from behind the occipital condyle."

While I explained, I drew out the surgical route on the film.

Seven or eight pairs of eyes locked onto the line I traced.

No one said a word.

Three seconds later, the expert sitting on the far left nodded. "This approach is clever. It protects the brainstem as much as possible. Young lady, you really know your stuff."

After the consultation, Fabian walked me to the elevator and lowered his voice. "Vic, do you know who the patient is today?"

I glanced at him.

He said, "It's Cesar, Brice's grandfather."

I pressed the elevator button, the doors slid open, and I stepped inside.

"Got it," I said.

Before the doors closed, I caught Fabian's complicated look from outside.

I leaned back against the elevator wall and let out a slow breath, closing my eyes for a moment.

Tomorrow was Cesar's grand birthday party.

I didn't think I'd get tangled up with the Riley family this fast.

When I got back to the Frederick family, my real mother was waiting for me in the living room, holding a dress. "Vic, I picked out a dress for you to wear to the party tomorrow. Try it on and see if it fits."

It was a champagne-colored evening gown, and from the tag, it looked like a custom piece from a high-end designer label.

I took the dress from her. "Thanks," I said.

She looked like she wanted to say something else, but in the end, she reached out and ruffled my hair. "You've always been like this—not one to ask for help."

Her eyes welled up again as she spoke.

I bit my lip, stayed quiet, and headed upstairs with the dress.

Once I closed the door, I hung the dress in the closet and sat on the windowsill, lost in thought for a while.

Outside, the moon lit up the estate's back garden, making the lawn look almost white.