I hung up the phone and walked back to the apartment I shared with Adrian—or rather, the apartment I shared with both Adrian and Dean. I moved like an automaton, my limbs heavy, my mind a blank, buzzing void.

Inside, I started packing. Not my clothes, not my books. I walked through the rooms, gathering every single thing Adrian had ever given me. The first-edition copy of Gray's Anatomy, the delicate diamond necklace, the stupid oversized teddy bear he'd won for me at a carnival.

Each item felt like a new betrayal. I dropped them, one by one, into a large black trash bag. The sound was dull, final.

The lock clicked. The door swung open.

"Hey, baby," a voice said, a perfect imitation of Adrian's low tenor. "I'm home."

It was Dean. He was wearing Adrian's favorite gray sweater, a soft smile playing on his lips.

I didn't turn around. "Don't call me that," I said. My voice was a raw, broken thing. "And you're not him."

The smile on his face froze for a second before he recovered, his expression shifting to one of concern. "Ava, what's wrong? I heard about the video."

He walked over, trying to put his arms around me. I flinched away.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice a soothing balm of lies. "The residency… it's not the end of the world, Ava. There will be other opportunities. We have our whole lives ahead of us."

Every word was a needle prick against my raw nerves. My nails dug into my palms. Their acting was flawless. A perfect, disgusting duet.

That night, he slid into bed beside me, his body warm and familiar. It was the body I had loved, the body I had trusted. Now, it just felt like a violation.

He wrapped an arm around my waist, his lips pressing against the back of my neck. I lay there, rigid as a corpse, praying for it to be over.

Sometime in the dead of night, as I drifted in a restless, shallow sleep, I heard him murmur a name.

It wasn't mine.

"Ashley..." he breathed, his voice thick with sleep and a longing that was never, ever meant for me.

My eyes snapped open. The last fragile thread of hope I didn't even know I was clinging to—that maybe, just maybe, Dean's affections had been real—shattered into a million pieces.

I shoved him away, hard.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice groggy.

"I'm not feeling well," I choked out, scrambling out of bed. "My period."

It was the oldest excuse in the book, but it worked. He sighed, a sound of mild disappointment, and simply said, "Okay. Just let me hold you, then."

He pulled me back against him, his arm a leaden weight across my stomach. I lay there for hours, staring into the darkness. The feeling of his skin against mine was a contamination. I felt dirty, used, and utterly, completely alone.

The next morning, I went to the hospital administration office to file my resignation paperwork. As I was leaving, a colleague rushed up to me.

"Ava! There you are!" she said, out of breath. "Dr. Peterson wants to see you. Now. He sounded… angry."

My stomach dropped. Dr. Peterson was the head of the surgical department.

A cold, heavy sense of dread washed over me. I had a terrible feeling I knew what this was about.

I pushed open the door to Dr. Peterson's office and my heart sank.

Ashley Nunez was already there, sitting in one of the chairs opposite his desk. The moment she saw me, a flicker of triumph flashed in her eyes before she quickly arranged her face into an expression of tearful victimhood.

Dr. Peterson's face was a thundercloud. He slapped two thick research papers down on his desk. The sound echoed in the silent room.

"Explain this," he snarled, his voice tight with fury.

I looked down. One paper had my name on it. The other had Ashley's. They were nearly identical. My groundbreaking research on vascular regeneration techniques, the project I had poured my soul into for the last year. Stolen.

"One of you is a liar and a thief," Dr. Peterson said, his gaze sweeping between us.

"It wasn't me, Dr. Peterson," Ashley said immediately, her voice trembling with manufactured sincerity. "I would never… I have a witness."

On cue, the door opened again.

Adrian walked in.

He didn't even look at me. He addressed Dr. Peterson directly, his tone cool and authoritative.

"Sir, I can vouch for Ashley. I've been mentoring her on this project for the past six months. I've seen her data, her drafts." He paused, then finally let his cold eyes fall on me. "Dr. Goodwin, however… We all know the pressure she's been under. Perhaps she took a shortcut."

I stared at him, disbelief rendering me speechless. He had helped me with that research. He had read my drafts, praised my innovative approach. He knew it was mine.

And he was giving it to her.

Dr. Peterson dismissed them, leaving me alone to face his wrath. The lecture was brutal. My paper was disqualified. A formal reprimand for academic misconduct would be placed in my permanent file. My career, already crippled, was now officially dead.

I floated back to the apartment in a daze. Later, the lock clicked. Dean came in, all fake smiles and soothing words.

"Come on," he said, pulling me up from the bed. "You've been moping around all day. Let's go out. We're going to complete our 'Couples Bucket List'."

He dragged me out, forcing me through a grotesque parody of a perfect date. A walk in the park, ice cream, a movie. I was a puppet, my strings being pulled by his cheerful, lying hands.

As night fell, he took me to a high-end, exclusive club. The kind of place with velvet ropes and private rooms.

"I'm just going to the restroom," he said, pushing me down onto a plush sofa in a secluded booth. "Don't move."

He was gone for less than a minute when the door to our private room swung open. Three large, drunk men stumbled in, a leering grin on their faces. One of them locked the door behind them.

"Well, well, what have we here?" the leader slurred, his eyes roaming over my body. "All alone, little lady?"

I shot to my feet. "Get out."

They just laughed, advancing on me. I fought back, kicking and scratching, but it was useless. They were too strong, their hands grabbing at my clothes, my arms.

Suddenly, the door was kicked off its hinges.

Dean stood in the doorway, his face a mask of pure fury. The easy-going charm was gone, replaced by something primal and terrifying.

He moved like a predator.

In a blur of motion, he lunged, grabbing the first man by the throat and slamming his head against the wall. A sickening crack echoed through the room. The second man came at him, and Dean spun, his elbow connecting with the man's jaw with brutal force.

In the chaos, the third man, scrambling on the floor, pulled a knife. He lunged, not at Dean, but at me.

"AVA!" Dean roared, a sound of pure, animalistic terror.

He threw himself in front of me.

I saw the flash of steel. I heard a wet, percussive thud.

The knife disappeared into Dean's back.

Blood blossomed through the fabric of his shirt. He let out a choked grunt but didn't fall, driving his fist into the man's temple. The man collapsed in a heap.

Security guards burst in, and Dean stumbled, his body going slack, falling against me.

"Dean," I whispered, my hands coming up to his back, feeling the warm, sticky wetness of his blood. My mind went blank. All the betrayal, all the anger, it all evaporated.

I was a doctor. He was bleeding out in my arms.

My hands, slick with his blood, fumbled for my phone. I dialed 911.

I spent the entire night at the hospital, pacing outside the operating room, then sitting by his bedside. The next morning, a nurse gently urged me to go get some coffee. I was exhausted, running on pure adrenaline. I finally relented, leaving my purse on the chair in his room.

I was halfway down the hall when I realized my mistake. I turned back.

As I approached his room, I heard his voice. He was on the phone.

"Yeah, it hurts like a bitch," he was saying, his voice laced with a familiar, arrogant humor. "But it was worth it. You should have seen her face. She was so worried."

My blood ran cold. I pressed myself against the wall, out of sight.

"She'll be all soft and grateful now," he continued, chuckling. "Perfect time to finally get in her pants for real, you know? It's been driving me crazy, her thinking I'm Adrian this whole time. I want her to know it's me."

There was a pause.

"Of course I still like Ashley," he said, his tone dismissive. "But a guy can have a little fun on the side, can't he? Especially when the side piece is as hot as Ava. Tonight's the night. I can feel it."

I didn't hear any more. I couldn't.

I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle the sob that clawed its way up my throat.

He had staged it all. The attack. The heroic rescue. The life-threatening injury. All of it a sick, twisted performance to make me feel guilty, to make me feel indebted, to manipulate me into sleeping with him.

I stumbled away from the door, my body shaking uncontrollably, and fled the hospital as if the devil himself were at my heels.