Aimee whipped her head around. Hamilton Reed stood in the doorway, wearing a dark, bespoke suit, his chest heaving slightly, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated fury.

Dr. Thorne jumped up from his chair. He looked terrified of the man who was the clinic's largest financial donor. "Mr. Reed, I wasn't expecting..."

Hamilton ignored the doctor completely. His predatory gaze locked onto the manila envelope in Aimee's hands.

He crossed the room in two massive strides. Before Aimee could react, his long arm shot out and snatched the envelope right out of her grip.

"Hey!" Aimee snapped, reaching up to grab it back.

Hamilton used his height advantage, holding the envelope high above his head out of her reach. He didn't even look at it. He turned his cold eyes to Dr. Thorne. "Get out."

Dr. Thorne wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. He looked at Aimee with pity, but the threat to his funding was too great. He hurried past Hamilton and practically ran out of the office, pulling the door shut behind him.

The moment the latch clicked, Hamilton ripped the thick envelope in half. He tore it again, then shoved the pieces into the heavy-duty paper shredder sitting next to the desk.

The machine roared to life, the metal blades grinding the paper into confetti.

Aimee watched the destruction with dead eyes. "I can print a hundred more of those," she said, her voice completely devoid of emotion.

Her coldness seemed to snap something inside him. Hamilton stepped forward, backing Aimee up until her shoulder blades hit the wall. He slammed both his hands flat against the drywall on either side of her head, caging her in.

"How long are you going to keep up this tantrum?" Hamilton demanded, his voice a low, vibrating growl. "Are you trying to see how far you can push my patience?"

Aimee turned her face away, disgusted by the familiar scent of mint and expensive tobacco on his breath. "I am simply finalizing our breakup."

Hamilton reached down and pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at him. "You quit this fellowship, and what? You go back to working brutal shifts in some filthy public ER? You'll ruin your career."

Aimee slapped his hand away. Her eyes blazed with sudden fire. "Working in an ER saves lives. It's a hell of a lot more honorable than being a lying, manipulative parasite."

Hamilton let out a harsh breath. "You think you can just walk into another job? Without my recommendation, you won't get an interview in this city."

Aimee felt her chest tighten with rage. "I saw Celeste's medical chart on the front desk ten minutes ago, Hamilton. Twelve weeks. The fetus is developing perfectly."

Hamilton's pupils blew wide open. All the color drained from his face. The rigid tension in his arms collapsed, and his hands dropped uselessly to his sides.

"Aimee..." he stammered, his arrogant mask completely destroyed. "That... I was drunk. It was a mistake. But the board demands an heir. It doesn't change what we have."

Aimee's stomach violently heaved. She shoved both her hands against his chest, pushing his shocked body away from her. She broke out of his cage.

She grabbed a pen and a yellow sticky note from Dr. Thorne's desk. She scribbled a single sentence on it and slapped it down on the mahogany wood.

"That is my handwritten resignation," Aimee said, pointing a shaking finger at the note. "It is legally binding. I am not spending another second in this building."

Hamilton snapped out of his shock. His humiliation rapidly morphed into rage. He lunged forward and grabbed her upper arm, his grip painfully tight. He yanked her toward the door.

"Let go of me!" Aimee hissed, struggling to dig her heels into the carpet.

Hamilton ignored her. He dragged her out of the office, across the hallway, and shoved her into a small, dark medical supply closet.

He slammed the door shut and locked it. The tiny space smelled overwhelmingly of bleach and sterile gauze. They were standing so close their chests were almost touching.

Hamilton was breathing hard. His tone suddenly shifted, dropping into a desperate, pleading register. "If you stay, I'll buy you that house in Long Island. The one with the greenhouse you liked. Just stay."

Aimee stared up at the man trying to buy her dignity with real estate. Her anger vanished, replaced by a crushing, absolute pity.

"I wanted a partner who respected me," Aimee said softly. "You don't even know what that word means."

Hamilton's pride flared, ugly and vicious. "You walk out that door, you have nothing," he spat. "You'll live like trash."

Aimee didn't blink. "I would rather dig through the trash than spend another day as your pet bird."

As she spoke, the closet door rattled. Someone was trying to open it from the outside. Then a smooth, feminine voice floated through the gap: "Hamilton, darling? Are you in there? The board is asking for you." It was Celeste. And she was holding the key.

The supply closet fell into a dead, suffocating silence. The only sound was the low, mechanical hum of the air conditioning vent above them. And Celeste's soft, mocking laughter on the other side of the door.

Hamilton stared down at Aimee. His eyes searched her pale, resolute face, looking for a crack in her armor, a sign that she was bluffing. He found nothing but cold, hard certainty.

His massive ego could not handle the rejection—or the humiliation of being caught by Celeste. He abruptly released his clenched fists and took a step back, putting an inch of space between them.

Hamilton let out a dark, cruel laugh. He reached up and meticulously adjusted his left cufflink, re-establishing his facade of untouchable wealth.

"Fine," Hamilton said, his voice dripping with venom. "If you want to go play poor in the slums, I won't stop you."

He reached behind him and grabbed the metal doorknob. He paused, looking over his shoulder with eyes as cold as ice. "When you can't make rent next month, don't bother calling me."

He yanked the door open and strode out. Celeste was standing there, her hand still on the key, her smile razor-sharp. She looked past Hamilton and locked eyes with Aimee.

"Good luck, sweetheart," Celeste purred. "You're going to need it."

Then she slipped her arm through Hamilton's and led him away.

Aimee slumped against the metal shelving unit behind her. The adrenaline crashed, and her knees suddenly felt like water. But she didn't have time to fall apart.

She closed her eyes and inhaled the sharp, chemical scent of the bleach. She forced her lungs to expand, pushing the weakness out of her muscles.

Aimee pushed herself off the shelves. She walked out of the closet, completely ignoring the two nurses who were peeking around the corner with wide, gossiping eyes.

She walked straight down the corridor to the Human Resources department. She pushed open the glass door to Ms. Evelyn Pierce's office without knocking.

The HR manager was on her desk phone. When she saw Aimee, her eyes darted nervously. She quickly mumbled an excuse and slammed the receiver down.

Aimee walked up to the desk and placed the yellow sticky note directly in front of Ms. Pierce. "I need my exit paperwork processed right now."

Ms. Pierce swallowed hard, looking at the note. "Aimee, I just received a call from upper management. We've been instructed to put a hold on your file."

Aimee pulled her phone from her pocket. She opened her browser and pulled up the New York State Department of Labor website.

"New York is an at-will employment state," Aimee said, her voice ringing with absolute authority. "I have the legal right to terminate my employment at any second. If you attempt to hold my file or delay my final paycheck to appease a donor, I will file a formal complaint with the labor board before I leave this room."

Ms. Pierce flinched. She let out a defeated sigh. She turned to her computer, her acrylic nails clacking rapidly against the keyboard. She pulled up Aimee's digital file.

The printer whirred, spitting out a standard termination agreement. Ms. Pierce slid the paper across the desk and handed Aimee a black pen.

Aimee pulled the cap off the pen. Without hesitating, she signed her name at the bottom of the page in sharp, aggressive strokes.

She reached up and unclipped the plastic ID badge from her collar. She dropped it onto the signed paper. It landed with a satisfying plastic clack.

Ms. Pierce stamped the document with the official HR seal and handed Aimee her carbon copy. "You are officially terminated."

Aimee folded the paper carefully and slid it into her backpack. She gave Ms. Pierce a brief, polite nod.

She turned and walked out of the HR office. She marched through the pristine lobby, her eyes fixed straight ahead. She didn't look back once.

Aimee pushed through the heavy revolving glass doors and stepped out onto the Manhattan sidewalk. The midday sun hit her face, bright and blinding.

She raised her hand to shield her eyes. She took a deep breath of the city air, thick with exhaust and hot asphalt. Her bank account was nearly empty, and she had no safety net—but her chest felt incredibly light. She was free.

She pulled out her phone and opened her email app. She had drafted several applications to public hospitals the night before. Standing on the street corner, she hit 'Send All.'

She shoved the phone into her pocket, merged into the rushing crowd of pedestrians, and headed toward the subway station.

She didn't notice the black sedan parked across the street. Or the man inside, who watched her every move through a telephoto lens. His phone buzzed. He answered with a single word: "She's on the move."

High above the city, in the sprawling penthouse office of Reed Global, Hamilton sat in his massive leather chair. He was violently spinning a Montblanc fountain pen between his fingers, his eyes fixed blindly on the Manhattan skyline.

The heavy double doors of his office clicked open. Brennan Wheeler, his executive assistant, stepped inside holding an iPad tightly against his chest.

Brennan stopped exactly three feet from the desk. "Sir, Miss Simpson just finished her interview with the surgical department at Mt. Sinai."

Hamilton stopped spinning the pen. He raised an eyebrow, feigning total indifference. "And?"

Brennan looked down at his screen. "She was rejected. I... took the liberty of making a private call to their HR director this morning."

Hamilton's face turned instantly thunderous. He slammed the heavy metal pen down onto the glass desk. The sharp crack echoed in the large room.

"Brennan, have I ever failed to make it clear that anything regarding her is to be handled solely on my direct command?" Hamilton said, his voice a low, lethal whisper. "Your job is to execute my orders, not to play games with her life based on your own assumptions."

Brennan went pale. A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck. He bowed his head quickly. "I apologize, sir. I assumed you wanted her to realize how difficult things would be so she would return quickly."

Hamilton's jaw clenched. Deep down, a sick part of him was relieved she had failed, but his pride hated that Brennan had acted without his command.

He violently loosened his silk tie, trying to ease the sudden tightness in his throat. "Do not touch her applications again," Hamilton ordered sharply. "Go down to the Cartier flagship on Fifth Avenue. Buy the newest diamond necklace collection. Bring it to her."

Brennan blinked, completely thrown by the whiplash of his boss's logic. "Yes, sir." He turned and practically fled the office.

Two hours later, Aimee was sitting at the scratched desk in her dorm room. She was massaging her throbbing temples.

Her laptop screen displayed a generic rejection email from Mt. Sinai. She let out a heavy sigh. She knew Hamilton's invisible hand was choking her opportunities.

Suddenly, two sharp, professional knocks rapped against her wooden door.

Aimee stood up instantly. Her muscles tensed. She walked silently to the door and peered through the peephole.

Brennan was standing in the dingy hallway, wearing his tailored suit, holding a very recognizable red velvet box in his hands.

Aimee frowned. She unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open, but only a few inches. She kept her body blocking the gap, offering him no room to enter.

Brennan plastered on a polite, corporate smile. He held the Cartier box out with both hands.

"Miss Simpson," Brennan said smoothly. "Mr. Reed feels you have had a difficult few days. He offers this as an apology, and hopes you will return to the apartment tonight."

Aimee stared at the expensive red box. Her heart didn't flutter. Her eyes were completely dead.

She didn't raise her hands to take it. She looked up at Brennan's face. "Does Hamilton honestly believe that my self-respect has a price tag?"

Brennan's smile froze. His hands remained awkwardly suspended in the air. "Miss Simpson, he just wants to make things right—"

"Take it back," Aimee cut him off, her voice slicing through the air like a scalpel. "Return it. Or throw it in the Hudson River. I don't care."

She narrowed her eyes, delivering her final blow. "You go back and tell Hamilton that his money is filthy. I am not some item he can purchase to soothe his guilty conscience. Tell him to never bother me again."

Brennan gasped, actually sucking in a breath of air. He was stunned that the usually quiet Aimee would demand something so audacious.

While he was frozen in shock, Aimee slammed the door directly in his face.

The force of the slam rattled the doorframe, sending a shower of dust down onto Brennan's expensive suit. He stared at the chipped wood, sighed heavily, and pulled out his phone to call his boss.

Inside the room, Aimee leaned her back against the door. Her chest was heaving. A fierce, triumphant heat burned in her veins.

She turned around to go back to her resume.

Suddenly, a piercing, terrified scream of a child shattered the quiet afternoon. It came from the street directly below her window.

Aimee's heart violently lurched. Her medical instincts overrode everything else. She sprinted to the window and shoved the dusty glass pane up, looking down at the street.

What she saw made her blood run cold. A little boy was kneeling on the pavement, shaking an unconscious elderly man.