Chapter 2

"We know it's against the hospital rules, Chloe," Uncle John whispered, his voice trembling. "But this is two hundred thousand dollars in cash. Please, just pay off whoever you need to. We can't lose her."

Before I could even open my mouth to reply, the office door swung open. No knock. No warning.

"Hey, Chloe, did you sign the—" Sarah stopped dead in her tracks.

"Holy shit," Sarah breathed, taking a step closer to the desk, her eyes practically glued to the bag on my desk. "Where did they...?"

"Get out, Sarah," I snapped, stepping swiftly between her and the desk, blocking her line of sight.

Sarah blinked, looking deeply offended. "Excuse me? I just came in to ask—"

"This is a private patient consultation." I kept my voice cold and authoritative. "Leave. Now."

Sarah scoffed, her face flushing with anger. She gave the bag one last, lingering look before rolling her eyes. "Whatever. Take your time with your VIPs." She slammed the door behind her.

I let out a breath, but my heart continued to hammer wildly against my ribs.

In my last life, I thought Sarah was the thief. But as I stared at the closed door, the logic completely collapsed.

My aunt and uncle had slept with that bag stuffed under their pillows. Even if Sarah had squeezed into the room, how could she slip a bulky duffel bag out from under two sleeping adults without waking them?

More importantly—the camera. The woman on the tape looked directly at the lens with MY actual face. 

A cold sweat broke out across my neck.

I turned around and instantly marched over to the windows, twisting the plastic wand to snap the blinds tightly shut.

"Listen to me," I told my aunt and uncle, looking them dead in the eye. "I will not take a single cent of this. It's illegal, and it won't help her."

Aunt Mary let out a devastated sob, but I raised my hand. "But I swear on my own life, I will make sure to get her into the OR tomorrow."

"But first, you need to protect this money." I made a quick call to Hospital Security, arranging for Dave to escort them to the bank to deposit it.

Feeling slightly relieved, I grabbed my clipboard and headed for the stairs to begin my rounds. But my mind was still spinning with the horrific image of that moving, smiling doppelgänger from the tapes. What the hell was it?

Distracted, the toe of my shoe caught the metal rim of the concrete step.

I pitched forward.

I tumbled down the heavy concrete stairs, landing violently on the landing. A sharp, blinding pain lanced through my ankle. I gasped, clutching my leg.

"Dr. Hayes!" A passing surgical tech shrieked from the top of the stairs, quickly running down towards me.

I gritted my teeth, preparing to force myself up. I needed to finish my shift.

But as my hands pressed against the cold concrete, a sudden, wild thought froze me in place.

If I go back to work, I'm just an ordinary doctor roaming the halls tonight.

But if I'm bedridden... admitted to the inpatient ward... surrounded by nurses...

Taking a deep breath, I fought through the blinding pain to prop myself halfway up on my trembling arms. Then, I deliberately let my support give out.

Pure, white-hot agony tore through my leg.

"It's broken. I can't stand." I gasped.

Twenty minutes later, they were wheeling my gurney through the main glass-paneled corridor toward the staff inpatient wing. Through the glass, I caught a glimpse of the front drop-off zone.

My breath hitched.

It was Sarah. She had already changed out of her scrubs, quickly sliding into the back of a yellow taxi. She was leaving work early. Again.

By 4:00 PM, I was confined to a bed in the staff ward, a thick, heavy fiberglass cast locking my broken leg in place. The pain meds were making me slightly groggy, but my mind was on high alert.

My phone vibrated on the plastic tray table.

[Incoming Call: Mark.]

My husband. The man who had mercilessly thrown me to the wolves when I needed him most. He never, ever called me during my hospital shifts.

I stared at the glowing screen, letting it ring three times before slowly swiping to answer.

"Chloe," Mark's voice came through the speaker. "Are you at the hospital right now?"

The sheer familiarity of the question sent a chill crawling up my spine. In my last life, I thought he was just checking in after my accident. Now, the context was horrifyingly clear.

He wasn't asking how I was. He was verifying my location.

Before I could even form a lie, the hospital's overhead PA system chimed right in the hallway outside my open door. Code Blue. ICU. Code Blue.

I heard Mark exhale sharply through the phone—a sound of profound, undeniable relief.

"Okay, you're there," Mark said quickly, his tone shifting to something chillingly upbeat. "See you tomorrow, babe."

The line went dead.

I lay frozen against the clinical white pillows. The walls of the hospital room suddenly felt like they were closing in on me.

The money was gone. Safely locked inside a bank vault across the street. Sarah had already left the hospital.

Yet Mark was still tracking my location.

Their plan was still in motion.

A suffocating dread clamped down incredibly hard on my chest, making it difficult to breathe.

Would that thing with my face still appear in the halls?