Why Are They So Desperate to Put Me Inside?

Hannah's POV

When he found out I’d injured my leg and couldn't scrub in to deliver the billionaire's baby tomorrow, my boyfriend’s first reaction wasn't concern. He gritted his teeth and snapped, "Hannah, you did this on purpose, didn't you? Why today of all days? Are you really throwing away your entire career just to spite me?!"

I didn't argue. I just stared at the medical chart labeled Eleanor Whitlock, my fingers trembling.

In my past life, I took this assignment. I was drugged and locked in a supply closet. A few hours later, the mother and baby were dead—and the security footage showed a nurse with my face poisoning them. I died in a damp prison cell, branded a murderer.

Reborn into this life, I just wanted to escape this fatal trap.

But somehow, the security cameras had once again captured "me" walking into that delivery room.

"Hannah? Earth to Hannah! Catch!"

A heavy medical folder slammed into my chest.

Vanessa, sporting blood-red lipstick, leaned in. She kept her voice low, but her eyes gleamed with barely contained excitement. "VIP Suite 3. A very important guest. You serve her well during tomorrow's surgery, and Maggie will definitely promote you to Head Nurse next month."

I stared down at the unopened folder, my fingertips shaking.

In my last life, I had taken this exact folder. I had walked down that hallway with my head full of dreams about a promotion. Then, someone clamped a chemical-soaked rag over my mouth and nose. I woke up on the floor of a supply closet. I never even touched the door of the VIP suite—but hours later, the death toll rang out. Amniotic fluid embolism, severe fetal asphyxia. Both mother and child, gone.

Everyone swore I was in that delivery room. The schedule, the security footage, the surgical sign-in sheet—every piece of evidence pointed at me. Convicted of "criminal negligence leading to death," I was tossed into prison, where someone forced a poisoned cup of water down my throat. I died with my eyes wide open.

"Hannah?" Vanessa shoved my shoulder. "Are you brain-dead? People would kill for a gig like this. Listen, during the final pre-op prep tomorrow, you need to—"

"If it's such a golden ticket, why aren't you taking it?"

I cut her off, my voice so hoarse I barely recognized it.

Vanessa’s smile froze.

"This is a chance to suck up to a billionaire and score a massive tip," I said, staring dead into her eyes, enunciating every word. "In the past, even if there was only a one percent chance of a payout, you’d bite onto it like a rabid dog. Why so generous today? Why hand this cash cow over to me?"

"Hannah!" Her smile shattered, her eyes darting away. "Are you crazy? I saw you were tight on rent and wanted to do you a favor—what the hell is your problem?"

"A favor?" I took a step back. "I don't want it. If it's such a great opportunity, take it yourself."

"What's all the yelling about?"

A deep male voice interrupted us.

Ethan jogged over in his scrubs, a stethoscope draped around his neck. He immediately put his hand on my waist, frowning at the two of us.

Seeing his face made my stomach churn.

It was him. In my past life, this was the man who took the witness stand, tears in his eyes, and told the jury:

"Yes, Hannah was extremely emotionally unstable that day. She made a fatal mistake."

I slapped his hand away like it was a venomous snake.

"Don't touch me, Ethan."

My gaze flicked between the two of them. I died clueless in my past life, but right now, watching them stand shoulder-to-shoulder to pressure me, the rotten stench of a conspiracy was suffocating. This surgery was a death trap. I’d be an absolute idiot to touch it again.

I grabbed the medical folder and slammed it onto the marble counter of the nurses' station.

"I don't care what you two are plotting—"

The words died in my throat.

The folder flipped open. On the first page, the patient’s name stared back at me.

Eleanor Whitlock.

My breath hitched.

Seeing me freeze, Ethan stepped forward and dropped his voice to a low, intimate whisper.

"Hannah, look at you, getting inside your own head again." He reached out, tucking a stray hair behind my ear, his fingertips grazing my cheek. "I know you're under a lot of stress, but you have to think about our future. We have no connections in this city. A wedding, buying a house in Boston, starting our lives—all of that takes money. Why do you think I work so much overtime?"

His thumb rested on my jawline. His eyes were heartbreakingly sincere.

"Maggie has been gating that Head Nurse position forever. This is the best opportunity of your life. If you miss it, it's gone."

Every word tasted like honey, but felt like a poisoned needle.

In my last life, I listened to these exact words and walked right into my grave.

I took a deep breath, shoved the surging hatred deep into my chest, and looked up at him with the docile, sweet smile he was so used to.

"...You're right," I said softly. "I was overthinking it."

I turned, bent down, and picked up the scattered pages of the chart.

"Thank you, Vanessa," I said, looking her dead in the eye. "Such a great opportunity... of course I'll take it."