"Dr. Winfield, your father's condition has worsened."

"He just went into sudden ventricular fibrillation. We brought him back, but it's critical."

"We need to perform a modified bypass within 24 hours, or… not even God could save him."

Twenty-four hours.

Modified bypass surgery.

In all of Sacred Heart Hospital—in the entire city—only one surgeon could perform it with a success rate above fifty percent.

Adrian Henson.

He was my only hope.

My hands shook as I dialed his number.

Beep… beep… beep…

Each ring hammered against my chest.

No answer.

I called again.

Still nothing.

Like a woman possessed, I dialed that number I knew by heart, over and over.

On the twelfth try, he finally picked up.

The background noise was loud—soothing jazz, clinking glasses.

"Adrian!"

My voice cracked, desperate. "My dad's dying! The doctor says he needs surgery now! Can you—"

"I'm busy."

Cold. Distant. Annoyed.

"I'm in a seminar with the hospital director. It's important. Don't bother me."

"A seminar?"

I froze, straining to hear the laughter on his end.

"At this hour? What kind of seminar has jazz playing?"

"Adrian, I'm begging you. Save my dad. Come back and I'll do anything you want—"

"Wendy!"

His voice turned sharp. "What's wrong with you? I told you—it's a high-end seminar at a private club. The venue's upscale. So what?"

"Stop acting like some paranoid wife interrogating me."

"I'm busy. Goodbye."

Click.

The line went dead.

I stared at my phone as tears finally broke free, splattering onto the screen.

That's when I noticed the red notification dot.

Like a sleepwalker, I tapped it.

Lily's post filled my screen—a nine-photo grid.

Thanks to my senior Adrian for booking the whole place just for me to watch fireworks! Best birthday present ever! Love you~

Brilliant fireworks. Exquisite French cuisine. And a photo of them together.

Adrian's profile was sharp, handsome. He was gazing down at Lily, eyes soft with indulgence.

Location tag: Summit Private Club, suburbs.

This was his seminar.

This was what was so important.

My father's life meant less to him than watching one round of fireworks with Lily Fox.

Rage and despair twisted together, burning through my chest until I couldn't breathe.

I abandoned all pride. My fingers trembled as I typed.

Adrian, I'm begging you.

My dad is really dying. Come back and save him, and I'll never interfere between you and Lily again.

If you want to marry her, I'll step aside. I'm begging you. Please come back.

After hitting send, every ounce of strength drained from my body. I collapsed into the chair.

I stared at the screen. One second. Two. One minute. Ten.

Time dripped by like sand in an hourglass—counting down my father's life.

Half an hour later, my phone buzzed.

A voice message. From Adrian.

I grabbed it like a drowning woman clutching a lifeline, hands shaking as I pressed play.

His voice came through, ice-cold with a hint of mockery.

"Wendy, is it really worth making up lies like this just to compete for my attention?"

"I've reviewed all your father's indicators. He's nowhere near critical."

"Don't think this self-inflicted suffering act will force me back."

"Harass me again, and I'll transfer you out of the department—you won't even be filing paperwork."

The phone slipped from my hand, cracking against the floor.

My heart shattered with it.

The hospital room door opened. My father stirred awake.

He weakly lifted his hand, pulled off the oxygen mask. His voice was barely a whisper.

"Wendy..."

I lunged forward, grabbing his withered hand, tears streaming down.

"Dad, I'm here. I'm here."

"Don't rush... Dr. Henson..."

He struggled to breathe, forcing a weak smile.

"He's busy... important things first... Dad can hold on..."

"Dad... doesn't hurt..."

I wanted to kill myself in that moment.

My father, even dying, was still making excuses for that bastard. Still worried about putting me in a difficult position.

And that bastard was miles away at some club, ignoring a dying man to chase a pretty face.

At 4:00 a.m., the hospital issued the final notice.

"Dr. Winfield, if surgery doesn't happen before 8:00 tomorrow morning, you need to prepare for the funeral."

I looked at the wall clock.

Four hours.

I couldn't just wait for death.

I wiped my tears, picked up the cracked phone, resolve hardening in my eyes.

If he wouldn't come back, I'd drag him back myself.

The streets before dawn stretched empty and desolate, streetlights casting long shadows.

I floored my beat-up Volkswagen, the engine screaming in protest.

Wind poured through the half-open window, slicing my face, but it couldn't cool the fire burning in my chest.

Summit Private Club.

The city's most exclusive money pit—membership only, for the rich and connected.

I slammed the brakes at the entrance, tires shrieking against pavement.

I shoved open the door and stumbled toward the building.

I was still in my white coat, spattered with blood from resuscitating my father. Hair wild, face ashen—I looked like I'd escaped from a psych ward.

"Stop! What do you think you're doing?"

Two burly security guards blocked my path, looking me up and down with open disgust.

"This is a private club. Anyone not properly dressed is not allowed inside."

"I'm looking for someone!"

My voice came out raw. I tried to push past them.

"Adrian Henson! He's inside! I'm his—his colleague! It's an emergency!"

"Looking for Mr. Henson?"

The guards exchanged glances and smirked.

"Plenty of women come looking for Mr. Henson every day. Your outfit's creative though—playing nurse?"

"Get lost! You're an eyesore. Disturb our VIP guests, and you'll pay for it."

One of them shoved me hard.

I stumbled back, and my left hand slammed into a marble pillar.

"Ah—"

Searing pain shot from my palm through my entire body. The hand that had been pierced through years ago spasmed violently.

Nerve pain crackled like electricity. My fingers curled into a claw.

Cold sweat soaked through my back instantly.

I clutched my hand and crumpled to the ground, gasping for air.

That scene from three years ago flashed before my eyes.

The gleaming blade. The spurting blood. Adrian's dismissive "So useless."

I stared at my trembling left hand, and a wave of desolation crashed over me.

This hand was ruined saving him.

Now he was using it as an excuse to humiliate me.

"Let me in... please..."

I lifted my head, swallowing the pain. "A life is at stake... it really is..."

"Cut the crap! Leave or we're calling the police!"

The security guard waved his baton impatiently.

A black Maybach rolled up to the entrance.

The window lowered halfway.

That familiar profile.

Adrian.

He was tilted toward the passenger seat, eyes soft with tenderness.

Lily clutched a massive bouquet of red roses, her smile brighter than the blooms.

"Adrian!"

I rushed forward, slamming my palm against the window. "Stop! You stop right now!"

They both startled.

He turned. Through the glass, I caught the shock in his eyes—then it curdled into disgust.

He didn't stop.

Didn't roll down the window. Didn't ask a single question.

One cold glance. A gesture to the driver.

"Drive."

The engine roared. The Maybach tore away without mercy.

Dust and exhaust hit me full in the face.

I stumbled after it, legs giving out. I crashed hard onto the pavement.

My knee split open. My palms scraped raw.

I couldn't feel any of it.

I only saw that car speeding off—carrying my father's last chance—vanishing into the night.

Through the rear window, Lily was nestled in Adrian's arms. He was leaning down, wiping something from the corner of her mouth.

So gentle it broke your heart.

A tenderness he'd never given me.

Not when I took a knife for him. Not when I washed his clothes, cooked his meals, gave him everything.

Eight years of my youth couldn't buy a single backward glance.

I lay on the frozen concrete, staring at the empty street.

The tears finally broke through.

I lost the bet.

Wendy, you lost.

You gambled your father's life on a shred of Adrian's conscience—and you lost everything.

My phone buzzed.

I pulled it out with shaking hands. The screen read: "ICU Attending."

The moment I answered, even the wind seemed to stop.

"Dr. Winfield..."

Heavy. Urgent.

"The patient's pupils are dilating. All vitals are crashing."

"Where are you? Why isn't Dr. Henson here?"

"We... can't hold on."

The phone slipped from my fingers.

I knelt on the ground, facing the direction that car had disappeared, and screamed.

"Adrian—!!"

Only the bone-deep cold answered. My shadow stretched twisted and wrong beneath the streetlight.

Five a.m.

The sky hung a deathly gray-blue.

I don't know how I got back to the hospital.

I remember running red lights. Horns blaring, strangers cursing—noise from another world.

At the elevator, I watched the numbers climb.

Each one dragged my heart deeper.

I gripped my phone—last hope, last shred of dignity.

I dialed Adrian again.

This time, someone answered.

But it wasn't him.

"Hello?"

Lily's voice, sweet and syrupy, lazy with satisfaction.