Alivia sat rigid against the plush leather of the Maybach. She forced her eyes to remain locked on the side of Collis’s face. She refused to look away. Looking away meant weakness.

“Thoracentesis is too risky given his age and current cardiac output,” Alivia said. Her voice was sharp, clipping the medical terms with practiced precision. She was, after all, dual‑board‑certified in critical care pulmonology and neurosurgery—a rare combination that made her worth every penny of the exorbitant fee the Duncan family was paying. “I will initiate a targeted diuretic therapy intravenously, combined with a continuous positive airway pressure system to reduce the preload on his heart. If the fluid doesn’t recede within four hours, we place a pigtail catheter under ultrasound guidance. Not a millimeter deeper.”

Collis stopped scrolling. His thumb hovered over the screen.

He slowly turned his head to look at her. One dark eyebrow arched slightly. It was the closest thing to approval she had ever seen him give anyone.

“Acceptable,” he murmured coldly.

He turned back to his tablet. He didn’t speak another word.

The silence in the car became a physical weight. It pressed down on Alivia’s chest, making every breath a conscious, exhausting effort.

The Maybach crawled through the congested streets of Manhattan. The neon lights from the storefronts bled through the tinted windows, washing over Collis’s sharp features in alternating flashes of red and blue.

Alivia pressed her shoulder blades hard against the door panel. She wanted to melt into the metal. She needed to put as much physical distance between her body and his as the confined space would allow.

Her stomach cramped violently. It was a sharp, stabbing pain. Her body remembered the trauma of his control, even if her mind was trying to play a different role.

The heavy car suddenly rolled over a speed bump. The chassis bounced slightly.

A single sheet of paper slipped from the stack of files resting on Collis’s knee. It fluttered through the air and landed face-up right next to the toe of Alivia’s high heel.

Alivia instinctively looked down.

Her breath caught in her throat. The air vanished from the cabin.

Printed in bold, black ink across the top of the private investigator’s report was a name.

SUBJECT: ASHA LOWERY – MISSING PERSONS UPDATE

A massive spike of adrenaline shot straight into Alivia’s heart. Her vision swam.

She violently jerked her eyes away from the paper. She stared straight ahead at the back of the driver’s headrest, her jaw locked so tight her teeth ached.

Collis leaned forward to retrieve the fallen document.

As he reached down, his broad shoulder brushed against Alivia’s arm.

The heat of his body radiated through the thick fabric of her trench coat. It felt like a branding iron against her skin. A violent shudder ripped through her. Goosebumps erupted across her arms and the back of her neck.

She flinched. It was a hard, uncontrollable jerk backward, pressing herself even tighter against the door.

Collis froze. His hand paused over the paper.

He slowly sat back up, the file grasped in his fingers. He turned his head and looked at her. His eyes were no longer completely indifferent, but they hadn’t shifted to outright hostility either. Instead, they were narrowed with a sharp, probing curiosity. It was the look of an experienced hound catching a sudden, unusual scent on the wind, trying to decipher if it belonged to friend or prey.

“Is the air conditioning too high for you, Dr. Clay?” he asked. His voice was dangerously soft. It was a probe, digging for a nerve.

Alivia forced her hands to unclench. She smoothed the fabric of her coat over her knees to hide the trembling in her fingers.

“No,” she said, keeping her voice perfectly flat. “I am simply dealing with jet lag. It was a long flight.”

Collis stared at her for another long second. His eyes tracked the slight pulse beating rapidly at the base of her throat. Then, he looked away.

The Maybach finally descended the concrete ramp into the VIP underground parking garage of St. Jude Medical Center. The car rolled to a smooth stop right in front of the private elevator banks.

The bodyguard opened the door.

Alivia practically threw herself out of the car. She stood in the dim, concrete garage and sucked in a massive breath of the stale, exhaust-filled air. It tasted like absolute freedom compared to the oxygen inside that car.

Standing directly in front of the polished steel elevator doors was a woman in a sharp navy pantsuit.

Eleanor Vance.

Eleanor was the hospital’s chief liaison. More importantly, she was the real Alivia Clay’s best friend. She was the only person in New York who knew exactly whose face Asha was wearing.

The moment Eleanor saw Alivia step out of the car, her face broke into a wide, relieved smile.

She rushed forward and threw her arms around Alivia in a tight, professional-yet-warm embrace.

“Alivia, thank god you’re here,” Eleanor said loudly.

As she pressed her cheek against Alivia’s, Eleanor’s voice dropped to a barely audible whisper right against her ear.

“Breathe. Lock it down. You’re shaking.”

Alivia gave a microscopic nod against Eleanor’s shoulder. She pulled back, forcing the corners of her mouth up into a polite, weary smile of old friends reuniting.

The heavy thud of a car door closing echoed through the garage.

Collis stepped out of the Maybach. His towering frame instantly blocked the harsh overhead fluorescent light, casting a long, dark shadow over the two women.

He stood there, his hands in his pockets, watching their interaction with eyes as cold as dead ash. There was a flicker of suspicion in his gaze, calculating the authenticity of their hug.

Eleanor turned smoothly. She extended her hand toward Collis, her face a mask of perfect corporate gratitude.

“Mr. Duncan,” Eleanor said smoothly. “Thank you for personally escorting Dr. Clay. We have everything prepped upstairs.”

Collis didn’t take her hand. He merely stared at it for a second before his eyes flicked back to Alivia.

He gave a sharp, dismissive nod.

“Take us to my grandfather. Now.”

Eleanor dropped her hand, unfazed. She turned and pressed the call button.

The metal doors slid open. The three of them stepped inside.

The doors closed, sealing them in a steel box that was significantly smaller than the Maybach.

The elevator jerked slightly as it began its rapid ascent. The hum of the cables was the only sound. The air pressure dropped, popping in Alivia’s ears.

The tension in the confined space was so thick it felt like it was crushing Alivia’s windpipe. She stared at the changing floor numbers, praying the doors would open before she suffocated.

The elevator chimed. The polished steel doors slid open to the top-floor VIP ward.

Alivia stepped out first, her fingers gripping the edge of the leather medical binder Eleanor had handed her. She squeezed the binder tight, using the physical pressure to steady her racing heartbeat. The harsh, sterile white lights of the hospital corridor beat down on them.

Collis stepped out behind her. His long strides quickly overtook hers. He walked point, his presence dominating the wide hallway, radiating an absolute, unquestionable authority.

Suddenly, the heavy double doors at the far end of the corridor burst open.

“Code Blue! Room 412! Move!”

A team of nurses and a doctor sprinted out, pushing a heavy metal crash cart. The wheels squealed violently against the linoleum floor. They were moving at a frantic, reckless speed, heading straight toward them.

Collis reacted instantly. To avoid being clipped by the heavy cart, he stopped dead in his tracks and took a sharp, sudden step backward.

Alivia, walking right on his heels and distracted by the chaos, didn’t have time to stop.

She slammed face-first into the solid wall of his back.

The impact was jarring. The force of hitting his rigid muscles threw her completely off balance. Her ankle twisted sharply in her high heel.

Alivia gasped as her feet slipped out from under her. She fell backward, bracing herself for the hard impact of the floor.

It never came.

With terrifying speed, Collis spun around. His long arm shot out like a steel whip. His large hand clamped securely around her waist, catching her mid-fall. With a powerful jerk, he hauled her flush against his body.

Alivia’s hands flew up instinctively, her palms flattening against his chest to push him away.

Beneath the fine fabric of his suit, she felt the steady, heavy thud of his heart.

The position was intensely intimate. His arm was a vice around her waist, holding her completely suspended against him. The sheer physical power he possessed was overwhelming.

The second her body pressed into his, Collis’s entire frame went rigid. It wasn’t just a pause. It was a sudden, unnatural stillness, as if his muscles were suddenly reacting to an old, deeply ingrained memory. The curve of her waist fitting perfectly into his palm. The specific way her muscles locked up in panic beneath his touch. It didn’t bring immediate recognition, but rather a profound, indescribable sense of déjà vu—like a forgotten, haunting melody flashing through the deepest, darkest corners of his subconscious.

He snapped his head down. His dark gray eyes locked onto her panicked face.

Alivia saw the shift in his eyes. The cold indifference was gone, replaced by a dark, terrifying intensity.

He knows.

Panic exploded in her chest. She pushed hard against his chest, twisting her torso to break free from his grip.

“Let me go,” she hissed.

But Collis didn’t let go. His arm flexed, the muscles turning to stone, pulling her a fraction of an inch closer.

He lowered his head further, his cheek almost brushing against the strands of her hair. In that split second, beneath the sharp, overpowering stench of hospital bleach and rubbing alcohol that polluted the air, he caught something else. It was a faint trace radiating from the roots of her hair, warmed by her body heat. Vanilla and orange blossom—a cheap, mass‑produced drugstore perfume. It was the same scent Asha had worn for years, a brand she had loved because it reminded her of her mother. The familiarity was like a key, violently unlocking a black box of memories he had buried years ago.

Collis’s pupils dilated until his eyes looked almost entirely black. A look of absolute, predatory hunger flashed across his face.

He leaned in, his lips hovering right next to her ear.

“Dr. Clay,” he whispered. His voice was a raw, gravelly rasp that sent a violent shiver down her spine. “Have we met before?”

The question was a live grenade detonating inside Alivia’s skull. The blood drained completely from her face. Her hands went numb against his chest.

Eleanor, who had stepped aside to avoid the crash cart, saw the dangerous shift in Collis’s posture. She immediately stepped forward, her heels clicking loudly on the floor.

“Alivia!” Eleanor’s voice was intentionally loud, cutting through the heavy tension. “Did you twist your ankle? Are you alright?”

The interruption broke the spell.

Using the distraction, Alivia shoved her hands hard against Collis’s chest and ripped herself out of his grip. She stumbled back two full steps, putting a safe distance between them.

She reached up, her trembling fingers violently smoothing down the lapels of her white coat. She forced her chin up. She locked her knees to stop them from shaking.

She looked him dead in the eye. She channeled every ounce of the arrogant, untouchable surgeon persona she had built.

“Mr. Duncan,” Alivia said. Her voice was a sheet of solid ice. “This is our first meeting. I assure you.”

She didn’t blink. She didn’t look away. She held his stare with a defiance that Asha Lowery had never possessed.

Collis narrowed his eyes. His gaze acted like a scalpel, slicing across every millimeter of her face. He searched for a seam, a scar, a lie.

But the face was flawless. It was a stranger’s face.

He slowly lowered his arm. His fingers curled inward, the ghost of her body heat still lingering on his palm.

A dark, cruel smirk touched the corner of his mouth.

“Let’s hope your scalpel is sharper than your memory, Doctor,” he said softly.

He turned his back on her and walked toward the double doors of the VIP suite.

Alivia leaned her shoulder against the cold wall. Her legs were shaking so violently she thought she might collapse. She closed her eyes for a split second, knowing she had just danced on the absolute edge of a cliff.

The residual heat from Collis’s grip still burned against Alivia’s waist like a brand. She forced her shaking legs to move, following him through the heavy wooden doors into Theodore Duncan’s luxury suite.

The room was massive, dimly lit, and smelled heavily of antiseptic and impending death. The rhythmic, mechanical hiss of the ventilator and the steady beep of the heart monitor were the only sounds.

Collis didn’t look at the bed. He walked straight to the floor-to-ceiling windows. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his tailored trousers and stared out at the Manhattan skyline. His broad back was rigid, radiating a dark, suffocating hostility that filled the entire room.

Alivia walked to the side of the hospital bed. She picked up the heavy medical chart hanging from the footboard. She flipped it open, forcing her eyes to focus on the printed lab results, desperate to anchor herself in the clinical reality of her job.

Suddenly, a harsh, buzzing vibration shattered the quiet of the room.

Collis pulled a sleek black phone from his pocket. He glanced at the screen. It was K.C. Pierce, his most trusted executive assistant and head of his private security detail.

Collis didn’t step out of the room. He didn’t care who was listening. He swiped the screen and brought the phone to his ear.

“Speak,” Collis commanded.

Alivia couldn’t hear the voice on the other end of the line. The heavy silence of the ICU swallowed the tinny sound of the earpiece. But she didn’t need to hear the words to know something catastrophic had just been delivered. She watched as Collis’s entire body went terrifyingly rigid. The absolute zero temperature in his eyes instantly shattered into a million jagged pieces. The veins in the hand gripping the phone bulged so violently she thought the sleek black device would crumble into dust under his grip.

“Impossible,” Collis growled into the receiver. His voice wasn’t just cold anymore; it was the suppressed, agonizing roar of a wounded beast bleeding out. “You’re telling me you found her necklace in the ashes? In the main surgical tent?”

Alivia’s fingers froze on the edge of the paper chart. Her breath snagged in her throat.

The ashes. The main surgical tent.

Collis’s entire body jerked. It was a violent, physical spasm, as if a sniper’s bullet had just torn through his spine.

He ripped the phone away from his ear and stared at it for a fraction of a second. Then he slammed it back against his face.

“That’s impossible,” Collis snarled. His voice was a low, terrifying growl.

“The local militia commanders confirmed it, sir,” K.C. pushed on, sounding terrified. “No other adult survivors were found in that tent during the airstrike five years ago. Aside from the infant you pulled out yourself—the boy, Julian—everyone else burned to death.”

The whites of Collis’s eyes instantly flooded with red. The veins in his neck bulged against his collar.

He let out a sound that wasn’t human. It was the roar of a wounded, cornered beast.

He spun around and kicked the heavy glass coffee table next to him. The force of the blow shattered the thick glass instantly. Shards exploded across the carpet.

Eleanor screamed and jumped back, covering her face. The two nurses in the corner gasped, shrinking back against the wall in sheer terror.

Alivia stood frozen by the bed. She bit down on her lower lip so hard that the skin split. The metallic taste of her own blood flooded her mouth.

Burned to death.

The memory of the fire, the screaming, the collapsing roof of the medical tent ripped through her mind. That was where she had lost everything. That was where her newborn baby had been swallowed by the flames before she even had the chance to hold him.

The agony in her chest was so sharp it felt like a physical blade twisting between her ribs.

“I don’t accept that!” Collis roared into the phone, his voice cracking with a violent, unhinged grief. “Turn that entire fucking desert upside down! Sift through every grain of sand! You find her alive, or you don’t come back!”

He pulled his arm back and hurled the phone with all his strength.

The device smashed against the bulletproof glass of the window. The screen shattered into a spiderweb of cracks, and the phone dropped to the floor in pieces.

Collis turned. His chest heaved violently. His bloodshot eyes locked onto Alivia.

He stared at her. He wasn’t seeing Dr. Clay. He was looking right through her, his fractured mind desperately searching for the ghost of the woman he had just been told was dead.

Alivia watched the monster who had ruined her life shed tears of rage over her death. It was the sickest, most twisted irony she had ever witnessed.

She swallowed the blood in her mouth. She tightened her grip on the metal clipboard until her knuckles ached.

“Mr. Duncan,” Alivia said. Her voice cracked like a whip across the room. It was loud, sharp, and entirely devoid of empathy. “This is an intensive care unit.”

Collis’s breathing hitched. He stared at her, stunned by her audacity.

“Your lack of emotional control is elevating the patient’s heart rate,” Alivia continued, pointing a stiff finger toward the door. “Get out of my ICU. Now.”

Collis’s grief instantly morphed into a blinding, murderous rage. He closed the distance between them in three massive strides. He stopped inches from her face, towering over her, his chest practically brushing hers.

“No one,” Collis hissed, his breath hot against her face, “speaks to me like that.”

Alivia tilted her chin up. She refused to step back. She looked directly into his bloodshot eyes.

“I am a doctor,” she said, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “I answer to the monitor keeping your grandfather alive. Not to your temper tantrums. Get. Out.”

The air between them crackled with a violent, combustible energy. Eleanor held her breath, terrified Collis was going to snap Alivia’s neck.

Collis stared at her for five agonizing seconds. His jaw clenched so tight the muscle ticked visibly.

He let out a harsh, mocking scoff. He spun on his heel, his coat flaring out behind him. He marched to the door, ripped it open, and slammed it shut behind him with enough force to rattle the walls.

The moment the latch clicked, Alivia’s knees gave out. She collapsed heavily into the plastic chair beside the bed, her fingernails digging violently into her thighs as she fought to keep from vomiting.