Chapter 4

The morgue door was pushed open.

The sharp click of high heels echoed through the silent room.

I had no strength to open my eyes, but I knew who it was.

That sickeningly sweet perfume was Chloe's favorite.

She stopped beside my gurney.

"Well, well, look at our genius Dr. Serena."

Her voice was dripping with triumph.

"What's wrong? Are you really waiting to die here?"

She reached out and slapped my cheek.

It wasn't light. It was meant to humiliate.

"I have to admit, seeing you like this makes me incredibly happy."

She bent down, her lips brushing my ear. Her warm breath made my skin crawl.

"Don't blame me for being cruel, Serena."

"Blame yourself for being too perfect, too much of an eyesore."

"It was like that in med school, and it was like that at the hospital. As long as you were around, Ethan would never look at me."

She paused and let out a soft laugh.

"Since you're dying anyway, I'll let you in on a little secret."

"During Ethan's mother's surgery, it was actually my hand that slipped."

"I was the one who handed you the wrong clamp that severed her artery. I did it on purpose. And when you turned around, I secretly released the hemostat."

"But you just had to be the hero. You insisted on saving her after working a twenty-hour shift, and you ended up passing out from exhaustion."

"So, I just went with the flow. I told everyone you fainted out of guilt, and I pinned the entire malpractice on you."

"See how perfectly that worked?"

"Ethan has hated you for three whole years."

I lay there, completely still.

I thought the truth would make me angry, but it didn't.

My heart remained dead silent.

Only a single tear escaped my eye, rolling down my temple.

A tear for my ridiculously tragic life.

Chloe finished speaking and stood up, looking entirely satisfied.

"Alright, I won't disrupt your final moments."

"In your next life, remember to stay far away from Ethan and me."

The clicking of her heels faded away.

My breathing grew fainter and fainter.

At 3:07 PM.

My heart stopped beating.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city.

Ethan was sitting in a high-end restaurant, surrounded by his legal team.

"Congratulations, Ethan," his lead lawyer raised a glass. "The case is as good as won. Serena's assets are completely frozen. She has no way out."

Ethan swirled the red wine in his glass, but there wasn't a trace of victory on his face.

Instead, an inexplicable anxiety gnawed at him.

"Ethan, regarding the details of the surgery three years ago..."

The lawyer babbled on, trying to take credit.

"When Serena cut off the blood supply, the vascular stapler she used..."

Ethan frowned sharply, cutting him off.

"Did you say vascular stapler?"

"Yes, according to the files, she was handed a size 7 stapler."

Size 7?

Ethan froze.

His mother's surgery was highly specific. Because of a rare arterial variation, they had to use a custom size 5 stapler.

Only the lead surgeon and the first assistant knew this.

If a size 7 was used, it meant... the tool was wrong from the very beginning?

And the person responsible for checking and passing the tools was the first assistant, Chloe.

He suddenly remembered Chloe getting drunk a few nights ago, complaining:

"Who knew that old lady's blood vessels were so damn thin..."

He hadn't thought much of it then, but now, a cold shiver ran down his spine.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Chloe's number.

No answer.

He tried again. Still no answer.

A wave of panic washed over him.

He opened a location-tracking app—for safety, he and Chloe had linked their locations.

The GPS showed Chloe was at... the suburban funeral home?

What was she doing there?

Ethan immediately called his assistant.

"Get me the security footage of the suburban funeral home's morgue from ten minutes ago. Now!"

Five minutes later, the video was sent to his phone.

On the screen, Chloe stood beside a gurney, leaning down to whisper into the ear of a "corpse."

Because there was no audio, he couldn't hear what she said.

But Chloe's twisted, triumphant grin, and the tear rolling down the cheek of the person on the table, pierced Ethan's eyes like knives.

Was that Serena on the table?

Why was she lying in the morgue?

Just then, his phone buzzed.

A text message from an unknown number popped up.

The sender claimed to be a mortician from the funeral home.

It was just one short line:

"Mr. Ethan, Serena passed away at 3:07 PM."