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.

The deafening slam of the heavy oak door echoed in the room, cutting off Collis’s violent exit.

Alivia sat in the plastic chair for three seconds. She stared at the crescent-shaped bloody indentations her fingernails had left in her palms.

She uncurled her fingers. She forced her spine straight and stood up. Her face was a blank, emotionless mask. She reached into the pocket of her white coat and pulled out her stethoscope.

Eleanor rushed over. Her face was pale. She reached out and squeezed Alivia’s shoulder, mouthing the words, Are you okay?

Alivia didn’t speak. She gave a single, tight shake of her head. She leaned over the bed and began to meticulously check Theodore Duncan’s vital signs.

She looked down at the frail, skeletal old man hooked up to the machines. A complicated knot of emotion tightened in her chest.

Five years ago, when she was locked in that basement, it was this old man who had slipped a burner phone and a stack of cash through the crack in the door. Theodore Duncan had given her the means to escape his grandson’s madness.

She had risked everything to come back to New York for one reason: to use her hands to save his life. It was a debt of blood.

Alivia gently lifted Theodore’s eyelids, shining a penlight into his pupils. Her touch was incredibly soft, betraying a tenderness she couldn’t completely hide.

Outside the room, in the darkened hallway, Collis hadn’t left.

He stood perfectly still in front of the one-way observation glass built into the wall. The room was not fully soundproofed; through the glass, he could hear muffled, unintelligible murmurs—the beeping of monitors, the shuffle of feet—but not distinct words. Still, he watched.

He watched the way she moved. He watched the gentle, almost reverent way her fingers brushed against his grandfather’s cheek. That sickening, paralyzing sense of familiarity coiled around his heart again, squeezing tight.

Inside the room, Alivia reached down to adjust the IV line taped to Theodore’s bruised hand. Her knuckles accidentally brushed against his dry, papery skin.

Suddenly, Theodore’s index finger twitched.

It was a violent, spastic jerk.

Alivia froze. She instantly dropped the IV line and leaned down, bringing her face inches from the old man’s.

Theodore’s pale, cracked lips began to tremble. His jaw worked weakly. A faint, raspy sound rattled deep in his throat.

Alivia turned her head, pressing her ear right next to his mouth to catch the sound over the hiss of the ventilator.

Theodore pushed the air past his vocal cords with agonizing effort.

“Asha…”

The whisper was broken, barely a breath of air, but the two syllables hit Alivia’s eardrum like a gunshot.

Her eyes blew wide open. Her entire body went rigid. The breath was knocked completely out of her lungs.

Behind the one-way glass, Collis couldn’t hear the word—the sound was too faint, lost in the ventilator’s hiss. *But he saw Alivia lean in. He saw the exact millisecond her face contorted in absolute, naked horror. He saw her body freeze in a state of pure shock. And he saw the old man’s lips form a single, unmistakable shape: Ah‑sha. *

The suspicion in Collis’s brain instantly ignited into a raging inferno.

He didn’t hesitate. He shoved the heavy door open and stormed back into the room.

He moved with terrifying speed. He shoved Eleanor out of the way with his forearm, not even looking at her. He marched straight to the side of the bed and stopped inches from Alivia.

His eyes were wild, boring holes into her skull.

“What did he just say?” Collis demanded. His voice was a harsh, guttural bark.

Alivia’s heart was hammering so fast it felt like a hummingbird trapped in her ribcage. Her brain scrambled, desperately trying to calculate a way out of the trap.

She forced the shock off her face. She pulled the icy, clinical mask back on.

She stood up straight, meeting Collis’s furious glare without flinching.

“The patient is experiencing delirium,” Alivia said smoothly. Her voice didn’t waver. “He is vocalizing meaningless syllables as he drifts between states of consciousness.”

“Bullshit.”

Collis’s hand shot out. His large fingers wrapped around Alivia’s wrist. He squeezed. The grip was brutal, grinding her delicate bones together.

Alivia winced, a sharp hiss of pain escaping her lips.

Collis yanked her forward, pulling her face inches from his.

“I saw your face,” he snarled, his breath hot against her skin. “I saw the way you looked. He said a name. I saw his lips. He called for Asha. Didn’t he?”

The pain in her wrist was excruciating, but it cleared her mind.

Alivia glared at him. She let a look of utter disgust cross her features.

“Who is Asha?” Alivia asked, her tone dripping with condescension. “Your ex-wife? Your mistress? I don’t care. I am a dual‑board‑certified physician—critical care and neurosurgery. I care about his brainwave activity, not his hallucinations. ”

With a sudden, violent jerk, Alivia ripped her wrist out of his grip.

She snatched a thick manila folder from the end of the bed. She slammed it hard against the center of Collis’s chest.

“Look at the CT scan,” she snapped, her voice echoing loudly in the room. “Look at the swelling in the frontal lobe. It causes auditory and vocal hallucinations. Read the science before you assault my staff.”

Collis looked down at the folder pressed against his chest. He looked back at the heart monitor. The jagged green line was steady. Theodore’s lips were still.

Collis slowly took the folder. His dark eyes shifted back to Alivia. They were cold, calculating, and filled with a lethal promise.

He didn’t say a word. He just stared at her, letting her know this was far from over.