Chapter 3

Hannah's POV

The metal corner of the waste cart slammed violently into my knee.

Pain exploded. Warm blood immediately started pooling down my calf. I bit down hard on my lower lip to stop myself from crying out.

At the end of the hall, Vanessa finished stuffing that unlabeled brown vial into the surgical kit and hurried away.

I clutched my bleeding leg and tried to stand, but a hand clamped down on my shoulder like a steel vice.

"What are you doing here?"

Ethan’s face emerged from the shadows, his sharp features twisted in scrutiny.

"I hurt my leg." I pointed at my bloody knee, sweating from the pain. "I need to go to the nurses' station and call out. I can't scrub in tomorrow—"

"Are you insane?!"

His voice spiked. The muscles in his handsome, charming face twitched violently. There wasn't an ounce of concern in his eyes—only furious, panicked rage.

"You injure yourself now?! Hannah, you did this on purpose! Are you really throwing away your career just to spite me?!"

My blood ran cold.

This was the man who claimed to love me. His girlfriend was bleeding right in front of him, and his only reaction was fury that his plans were ruined.

His hypocritical face from the courtroom in my past life perfectly overlapped with the man standing before me now.

"I didn't do it on purpose," I said, staring dead into his eyes. "Ethan, I literally cannot walk."

He must have caught the shift in my tone. He took a deep breath, and that familiar, oppressive mask of deep affection slid right back into place.

"I'm sorry, babe. I'm just stressed. You know how hard it is for us to survive in this city." He gave my wound a dismissive glance. "It's just a flesh wound, right? Listen to me, Hannah—can you just push through the pain, for me?"

He grabbed my hand, squeezing my knuckles so hard it hurt.

"Just tomorrow. Once you deliver the Whitlock baby and we get that bonus, I'll take you out for the best steak in town, okay?"

I looked at the unhinged desperation burning in his eyes.

I finally understood. This was an execution tailor-made for me. If I backed out, they wouldn't have their perfect scapegoat.

"Okay," I lowered my eyes, swallowing an ocean of hatred, and put on the weak, compliant act he expected. "If it's that important to you, I'll push through. I'll be in VIP Suite 3 tomorrow."

"That's my good girl." Ethan let out a massive sigh of relief.

He patted my cheek, checked his watch, and walked away briskly without looking back. He didn't even grab me a Band-Aid.

Once he turned the corner, I clung to the wall and limped in the exact opposite direction.

Fifteen minutes later, I pushed open the door to the Head Nurse's office.

"Jesus! What happened to your leg?!" Maggie jumped up from her desk.

"Maggie, I crashed into a waste cart. Deep laceration," I gasped, leaning against the doorframe, bathed in a cold sweat. "I can't even hold a hemostat steady for Mrs. Whitlock's delivery tomorrow. I'm requesting to be pulled from the frontline team."

"Of course you're pulled! You'd kill the patient scrubbing in like that." Maggie efficiently grabbed her clipboard. "I'll find a replacement immediately."

"Maggie, I have one more request." I leaned over her desk. "The Whitlocks are notoriously picky, and tomorrow's post-op is going to be a nightmare. I can't scrub in, but I can stay right here in your office to prep the med charts and run the drug counts. Consider it an extra safety net for the hospital."

Maggie gave me a skeptical look before finally nodding. "Fine. You stay in this office with me. Don't go anywhere."

I exhaled quietly. As long as I was attached to Maggie’s hip, my alibi was bulletproof.

"One more thing," I whispered, dead serious. "Don't announce the roster change. If the Whitlock family finds out we swapped nurses last minute, they'll throw a fit."

A flash of cold annoyance crossed Maggie’s eyes. "I don't need you to tell me how to do my job. I'll handle it."

The plan was airtight.

But at 2:00 PM the next day, a blaring code blue alarm tore through the hospital.

"What happened?!" I grabbed a sprinting intern.

"VIP Suite 3!" The intern's eyes were red, voice shaking. "Mrs. Whitlock... amniotic fluid embolism causing irreversible hemorrhage. They called the time of death ten minutes ago. We lost the baby too—both of them are gone!"

I stood frozen, the blood draining from my face.

"Hannah Ashford."

A low, authoritative voice boomed behind me.

I turned stiffly. Hospital Director Richard Calloway was marching toward me, flanked by two grim-faced security guards.

"Director Calloway, what's going on?" My throat was tight.

"Look at what you’ve done. You've ruined this entire hospital." His tone was ice-cold, his eyes piercing through me. "You are suspected of murdering Mrs. Whitlock and her child!"

"Director, there’s been a mistake!" I instinctively stepped back, trembling. "I wasn't even in the OR today! I injured my leg. I've been in Maggie's office all day!"

Calloway scoffed. He snatched a tablet from a security guard and shoved it in my face. It displayed a paused frame of high-def security footage.

"Today, you—wearing your personalized scrubs, wearing a mask, pushing a cart full of anesthesia—walked right into VIP Suite 3."

"The cameras caught it perfectly. The person who killed Mrs. Whitlock is you!"