Both security guards closed in, each grabbing hold of Stephanie's scooter, looking ready to haul it out of sight.

Stephanie didn't bother putting up a fight. She'd lost count of how many times people had underestimated her just because of her age.

She calmly held out her phone, thumb poised over a digital screen. "Hold on. Show this to the Elliotts. I'm Dr. Clayton—I was invited for a medical consultation."

Dr. Clayton was the professional name she used at the National Biotechnology Research Institute.

The guards just shrugged, unimpressed. "Dr. Clayton? Never heard of you. Move along and stop blocking the entrance."

With a quiet sigh, Stephanie shook her head. No matter how far she'd come, there were always people eager to judge her at first glance.

Before she could try again, a familiar voice sliced through the commotion. "Stephanie? What are you doing here? Weren't you supposed to run back to the countryside?"

Turning, Stephanie found herself face-to-face with Aimee.

Aimee's lips curled in a sneer. "Places like this aren't for a nobody like you."

She had just started her studies in oil painting at Veridia University and had come to the hotel hoping to meet the celebrated painter Carl Russell. Bumping into Stephanie here was the last thing she expected.

Everywhere she looked, the lobby buzzed with well-known names. She felt her cheeks burn at the thought of anyone linking her to Stephanie, whose plain clothes and clumsy manner clashed with the glittering crowd.

Desperate to save face, Aimee tried to rush her away.

Stephanie barely gave her a glance, already turning on her heel.

In truth, she hadn't been invested in Waylon's consultation from the start, and she had no trouble walking away.

Suddenly, shouts broke out near the hotel's entrance.

"Help! Is there a doctor? Someone just collapsed!"

A crowd quickly formed around the commotion.

"Look at her lips—she's turning blue, and her face is so pale. She keeps shaking. Is she about to die?"

"She's drenched in sweat—her whole shirt's soaked..."

Without a moment's hesitation, Stephanie jumped onto her scooter' and sped toward the chaos.

"Stephanie, where are you going?" Aimee called after her, hurrying to keep up.

When Stephanie reached the scene, what she saw made her pause.

A girl lay on the ground, one side of her body noticeably larger than the other, her features oddly uneven. Violent tremors wracked her frame, and her limbs twisted at odd angles. Her mouth and eyes pulled sharply to one side, her entire expression contorted.

The condition was unmistakable—an extremely rare case of hemihypoplasia.

"Was she born this way?"

"She looks so strange..."

"Everyone, please move back. I'm a doctor."

Stephanie pulled out her stethoscope and began a quick but thorough examination, checking the girl's pupils and listening to her heart and lungs.

Aimee stood at the edge of the circle, stunned at how skillfully Stephanie worked. Finally, unable to hold back, she blurted, "Stephanie, what do you think you're doing? How can you possibly call yourself a doctor?"

Stephanie shot Aimee a steady look. "Shut up."

Unfazed by the girl's distorted features, she gently moved her out of the sun and into the shade.

Refusing to let Stephanie prove herself, Aimee raised her voice for all to hear. "Everybody, listen! I know her. She's not a real doctor! She's just pretending, and if we let her continue, she'll end up killing this poor girl. We have to stop her right now!"

"Honestly, she looks like she knows what she's doing," a woman in the crowd disagreed.

"She has a stethoscope and even a blood pressure monitor. For all we know, she really is a doctor. You shouldn't judge so quickly." A man nodded in support.

"You're all wrong. She can't possibly know medicine. She's going to kill this girl!" Aimee yelled even louder, refusing to back down.

She lunged forward, trying to drag Stephanie away. "Stop it already! Have you even studied medicine? Just step aside!"

Without missing a beat, Stephanie met her glare. "If you can't assist, at least stay out of the way. Don't make things harder."

Ignoring the commotion, she unzipped her backpack and unfolded a compact metal medical kit, its interior lined with neatly organized vials, syringes, and sterile tools.

She selected a white bottle, shook out a single blue pill, and carefully helped the girl swallow it.

Seconds ticked by. The convulsions slowed, then faded. The girl finally went still, her breathing even and calm.

The hush was absolute—until Aimee yelled, "Stephanie, what did you do? You've killed her!"

An older man in the crowd looked worried, his brow furrowed. "Miss, maybe it's best to call for an ambulance. That little one is in bad shape, and if you're not a real doctor, you shouldn't be taking risks."

A woman nearby gasped, clutching her chest. "Oh heavens, is she... is she dead? Young lady, do you understand what you've done? Do you have any idea what will come for you?"

Another woman, voice softer but full of concern, tried to reason with Stephanie. "Sweetheart, maybe you should just let her be. She isn't your responsibility, and she looks so sick. One pill can't fix a problem like this."

Stephanie's tone was steady. "You can all relax. I know exactly what I'm doing."

She reached into her kit, ready to give the little girl another blue pill.

Before she could, Aimee darted in and snatched it from her hand. "What is this even supposed to be? Who do you think you are, just giving random pills? You're no doctor!"

Aimee took out her phone and started recording. "Go ahead, keep pretending. I've got it all on video now. If anything happens to her, don't think for a second my family will protect you."

She waved her phone for everyone to see. "I have proof. If this goes wrong, you'll have to answer for it."

Stephanie's patience finally snapped. "If you want her to live, then stop interfering!"

Just then, a man in a crisp white coat stepped out from the crowd. Aimee latched onto him, hopeful. "Sir, are you a doctor? There's someone here pretending to be a doctor and risking this girl's life. Please do something!"

The man nodded calmly. "Yes, I am a doctor."

The man in the white coat turned out to be Aaron's personal doctor, one of the elite specialists brought in for Waylon's medical gathering.

With a sense of triumph, Aimee handed him Stephanie's bottle of blue pills, eager to see Stephanie proven wrong by a real expert.

The doctor took the bottle, examined it closely, then glanced at Stephanie in open disbelief. "Where did you get this?"

That was all Aimee needed to hear. She grabbed Stephanie's arm, gloating. "Did you hear that? Even a professional doctor doesn't recognize your so-called medicine. Stop pretending you have a clue what you're doing!"

She pulled out her phone. "That's it. I'm calling the police. You've killed someone, and you're going to pay for it."

The doctor turned a sharp look on Aimee, his tone cold. "Enough of that. This is a cutting-edge drug developed by a national research institute—an innovation in gene editing."

Aimee rolled her eyes, refusing to believe him. "A cutting-edge drug? How is that possible? Are you working with her or something?"

She lashed out, aiming a kick at Stephanie's medical kit.

Stephanie's patience snapped. In one smooth move, she struck Aimee's arm twice with practiced precision.

Aimee shrieked. Within seconds, both her arm and right leg went numb, pain shooting through her body. Her face crumpled as she slumped to the ground, shouting, "What did you do to me?"

Tears streamed down her cheeks.

With Aimee stopped interfering at last, Stephanie returned her focus to the patient. She drew a vial of clear liquid into a syringe, carefully disinfected the injection site, and administered it to the girl.

Just moments later, the girl blinked awake. Confusion flickered across her face as she looked up at Stephanie. "Pretty lady, did you help me?"

Stephanie smiled and nodded. "Yes. Rest for now—I'll take you home soon."

The crowd broke into spontaneous applause, their skepticism replaced with awe. "Incredible medicine!" someone exclaimed.

"Her medical skills are extraordinary!"

"We were so close to doubting her. Thank goodness we didn't."

Meanwhile, Aaron's personal doctor caught sight of a distinct emblem on Stephanie's medical kit—a symbol said to be reserved for Dr. Clayton alone.

His gaze sharpened as he studied the young woman standing before him. A wild suspicion sparked in his mind.

Before he could stop himself, he blurted out with excitement, "Miss, are you acquainted with Dr. Clayton by any chance?"

Stephanie chose to keep things simple, shaking her head. "No, that's not the case."

The older doctor's face fell, disappointment written across his features. Maybe he'd guessed wrong about her background, he figured. Maybe she hadn't studied under Dr. Clayton at all.

Shifting her focus, Stephanie gently helped the little girl to her feet, reaching into her purse for a tissue. She dabbed away the sweat from the child's brow and asked, "Feeling better?"

The girl's whole face brightened as she blinked at Stephanie. "I've never felt this good before! Thank you, miss. You're incredible. I want my brother to thank you properly!"

Smiling softly, Stephanie finished wiping the girl's forehead. "I'm just happy you're okay now. There's no need for any thanks."

Meanwhile, Aimee forced herself up, wincing from the pain. She couldn't hide her shock as she stared at the scene, struggling to accept that Stephanie had actually saved a girl.

Anger flashed in her eyes. "Don't get carried away, Stephanie. If anything goes wrong with her, you'll be the one to blame!"

The bystanders had enough of her attitude. An elderly man spoke up with a frown. "The girl's awake and talking. Why must you assume the worst? That's an awful thing to say."

Aimee retorted, her voice rising, "Stay out of this! She only woke up because there was nothing wrong to begin with. This woman is no doctor. I'm telling the little girl's parents and making sure this fraud faces the consequences!"

Stephanie's expression grew cold at Aimee's words, and she was ready to respond.

But before she could speak, an egg came flying through the air and smacked into Aimee's face, drenching her in sticky yolk. And yogurt followed in rapid succession.

In less than five seconds, Aimee found herself drenched and humiliated, barely recognizable beneath the mess.

With her fists clenched and her face burning, she let out a furious scream before bolting from the scene.

"My name's Raegan." The little girl bowed deeply to Stephanie. "I've struggled with a terrible illness for so long. Even the best doctors couldn't help me. If you hadn't stepped in, I wouldn't have made it today."

Raegan Elliott introduced herself, her sweet voice and wide, gentle eyes shining with innocence.

"You've got a beautiful name. Where are your family?"

With a burst of energy, Raegan pointed toward the grand building behind them. "They're inside!"

Stephanie glanced at the towering hotel. The place catered to the wealthy—a far cry from a typical family hangout.

A second look at Raegan revealed her tangled hair and rumpled clothes, but the crisp white dress she wore was clearly expensive.

Given the complexity of Raegan's illness, Stephanie decided it would be best to speak directly with her family.

She tapped Raegan on the head, offering a gentle warning. "You really shouldn't wander off alone, you know. It's not safe. Come on, let's get you back to your family."

"Great!" Raegan's face lit up. She gazed at Stephanie, admiration written all over her. In her mind, anyone so warmhearted—and with such extraordinary medical skills—would make a perfect match for her brother.

"My mom says there's a big-person rule: if you help their kid, you get a thank you from them. Oh, and you're really pretty! You must already have a boyfriend, right?"

The question caught Stephanie off guard. "No, I don't."

Raegan's grin grew even wider. "Perfect! I'll introduce you to my brother. He's super handsome and really rich. You can be his wife!"

Stephanie let out a soft laugh and brushed a hand through Raegan's hair. "That's very sweet of you, but I'm not looking to get married any time soon."

At just eighteen, she had no plans to think about marriage—her sights were set on building her future.

"Alright." Raegan sighed, her excitement fizzling out. Shoulders slumped, she shuffled along beside Stephanie.

Once they reached the third floor of the hotel, Raegan pointed out a particular door. "That's my brother's room."

They hadn't even knocked before the door swung open. A round-faced woman stepped into the hallway, her worry melting into relief when she spotted Raegan.

"Oh, Raegan, there you are! Mr. Elliott's been frantic searching for you," the woman said, her tone full of concern.

She wasted no time, quickly pulling out her phone and dialing. "Mr. Elliott, Raegan has returned."

Lowering herself to Raegan's level, the woman added gently, "Your brother's down at the entrance. He'll be up here any minute now."

Raegan beamed and turned to Stephanie. "Don't go anywhere, alright? I'm bringing my brother to meet you, so stay right here!"

With a reassuring smile, Stephanie nodded. "I promise, I'll be waiting."