Chapter 3

Vivian's fingertips trembled slightly.

Three years had passed. She was finally face to face with that unforgettable visage again. Ethan stood at the end of the hallway, his tall frame elongated by the overhead lights as he spoke on the phone.

She stumbled forward and grabbed his wrist.

Ethan frowned at the sudden appearance of this woman. Wasn't she the one brawling downstairs earlier? So she did pick up men—just not the low-quality ones.

"Miss, have some self-respect." His voice was glacial.

Smack!

The sharp sound of a slap echoed through the corridor.

"You bastard!" Vivian's vision darkened as she collapsed forward.

Ethan instinctively caught her, still hearing her mutter: "Cheating scum..."

In the private room, Felix spat out his drink. "Holy shit! Where'd you pick her up? Isn't that the Valkyrie from downstairs?"

"No idea." Ethan dumped the unconscious woman onto the couch with a dark expression.

Morning light stabbed at Vivian's eyes.

She sat up rubbing her temples, finding a black suit jacket draped over her. Last night...had she actually struck Ethan?

Her phone's ringtone interrupted the memory.

"Nathan's anxious voice came through. "Dr. Laurent! There's a 19-year-old girl with critical injuries from a car accident. The entire hospital's stumped—"

"On my way."

Vivian grabbed the jacket and ran. Reviewing the case files during the ride, her frown deepened. Multiple organ ruptures, traumatic brain injury...the girl's survival this long was miraculous.

Chaos reigned outside the OR.

"Mr. Garnache, your daughter's heart is nearly punctured..." The lead surgeon mopped his brow.

"Money is no object!" Mrs. Garnache clung to her husband. "Save our girl!"

"Move!"

Vivian strode in, her white lab coat revealing last night's black miniskirt. The alcohol fumes made Mr. Garnache grimace. "Are you even qualified?"

"Delay any longer and she dies." Vivian pushed through the OR doors.

Under the surgical lights, the teenager's vitals were nearly flatlined.

"Prep the defibrillator." Vivian snapped on gloves. "5mg epinephrine IV push."

Nathan hesitated. "Vivian, this—"

"Trust me."

The scalpel became an extension of her will. Three hours later, the heart monitor's steady beep broke the tension.

"Pulse restored!" a nurse exclaimed.

Removing her mask revealed Vivian's exhausted smile. Three years away from the OR, yet her hands remembered every movement.

Watching sweat-dampened strands cling to her temples, Nathan recalled that phone call from three years ago: "I'm getting married, Nathan. No more medicine."

What a waste, he'd thought then. A genius like her belonged at medicine's pinnacle.