I studied for eight years. Eight years to finally land a spot at my father's hospital.

But on my first day, the HR staff frowned at her screen and said there'd been a mistake. The position wasn't mine after all—it had gone to my father's star student, Chloe Dawson.

I left in a daze, convinced I'd somehow failed him. That I wasn't good enough.

Then I overheard two senior residents talking in the hallway.

"Did you hear? Professor Gilbert pulled strings to give his daughter's slot to Chloe Dawson. His own kid, and he just—handed it over."

I whipped around. "That's ridiculous. My father has always been fair. Chloe must have outscored me."

The senior gave me a long look, then sighed and pressed a crumpled transcript into my hands.

"Found this in your dad's trash. Your combined interview and written scores were forty-eight points higher than hers."

I stared at the paper. My name sat at the top—crossed out with a thick red X. Below it, in my father's unmistakable handwriting:

"To avoid conflict of interest, this candidate will never be hired."

Never.

My hands started shaking.

Fine. If he wanted to play the righteous man so badly, I'd show the world exactly what kind of man Nathaniel Gilbert really was.

1.

The truth? My father had been utterly mediocre back then—no talent, no connections, nothing. It was my grandfather, Dr. Harold Winfield, who built him from the ground up. Grandpa got him into the hospital. Arranged for him to study under the best mentors. Pulled strings so he could observe every major surgery. Everything my father had, my grandfather handed to him.

And now this man—who climbed to the top on someone else's back—wanted me to step aside for appearances?

I'd respected him. I'd done everything on my own, never once asking for his help. And he repaid me by crushing my dream with a single stroke of his pen.

I snatched up the transcript and ran toward his office. Halfway there, I spotted him strolling down the corridor with Chloe, both of them laughing. She was clutching her completed onboarding paperwork.

"Alice!" He waved me over, beaming. "Chloe got in! Come congratulate her—after eight years of hardship, she's finally made it!"

He clapped her shoulder proudly.

"As for you—better luck next year!"

"Even if I tried for a lifetime," I said slowly, "I don't think I could ever catch up to Chloe. Right, Dad?"

His smile vanished. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what it means."

I shoved the transcript into his chest.

"My score was forty-eight points higher than hers. So why did she get hired and not me?" My voice cracked. "And that note—'never be hired'—that's your handwriting. You knew my dream was to work here. To stand beside you. Why would you do this?"

"Nonsense!" He snatched the paper and crushed it into a ball, hurling it into the nearest trash can. Then he grabbed my arm and started pushing me toward the exit. "Go home. Stop making a scene."

"No."

I wrenched free and dove for the trash can, digging out the crumpled transcript.

"You're going to explain this. Today. Or I swear I won't let this go."

"Professor Gilbert..."

Chloe Dawson shuffled forward and grabbed his forearm, shaking it back and forth. Her voice dripped with theatrical anguish.

"How about I give Alice the hospital slot this year? It's fine if I retake the exam next year. My mom will definitely hold on until she sees me get in..."

"Give it? The nerve! That slot was mine to begin with!"

I stepped forward and cut off her tearful performance, but before I could finish, Dad slapped me across the face.

"Alice Gilbert, what do you mean yours?! You say that in public—do you have any regard for your father's reputation at all?!"

"This is a public hospital, not the Gilbert family's private property!"

"Since you asked today, I'll make this crystal clear. As long as I'm at this hospital, don't even think about getting in. You've studied for years—do I really need to keep explaining that you should avoid the appearance of nepotism?!"

"Avoid nepotism? Dad, I got in on my own merit..."

"Your own merit? Your father is the director of this hospital, and you claim you got in on your own merit? Chloe's father died young, her mother has a terminal illness—she's the one who truly earned this on her own!"

His ice-cold dismissal pierced my heart like needles.

From the day I learned to read and write, the sentence Dad repeated most was:

"Dad can't help you. You have to rely on yourself."

So getting from undergrad all the way to a PhD was relying on myself. Publishing papers during my doctorate was relying on myself. Getting into this top-ranked hospital was relying on myself.

Whenever I hit a wall in my coursework and wanted to ask him for guidance, he'd shake his head with that disappointed expression and walk away—then turn around and tutor Chloe instead.

Now I'd relied on myself to get here, and he actually...

My chest felt stuffed with cotton. Tears fell in heavy drops.

"Dad..."

"Enough. Keep making a scene, and it won't just be that this hospital never hires you—I, Nathaniel Gilbert, also don't have a daughter this senseless!"

The moment he finished, thunderous applause erupted around us.

"Bravo! Director Gilbert is truly selfless! A director like this is the people's director!"

"Exactly! With leadership like this, we can trust the hospital with our lives! This is real integrity!"

"As for his daughter—honestly, embarrassing. Trying to ride her father's coattails. Good thing he put her in her place!"

For the first time, I saw the father I'd worshipped as an idol and life mentor as a complete stranger.

Like a hero, he basked in their admiration with a smile, utterly indifferent to the contempt in their eyes when they looked at me—his biological daughter.

Something in my heart came loose.

I held back my tears, looked at the man being "praised" by the crowd, and spoke softly.

"Fine. Then starting today, we're done. Let Chloe be your daughter."

I left without looking back.

Outside the hospital, I found Mercy General's offer in my email and hit accept.

The call came almost immediately. The voice on the other end was polite but couldn't hide the excitement.

"That's wonderful, Alice. I really didn't expect you to choose us. Don't worry—our hospital may not match your father's in overall ranking, but our cardiology department is the best in the country. Once you're here, you'll thrive!"

"We need people right now. Can you start in three days?"

I smiled and agreed, then hung up.

Honestly, my father's cardiology department wasn't even ranked that high nationally. I'd only been so set on joining because I wanted to fight alongside him. Now that I no longer needed to... I could finally chase my own dream.

For days after, Dad never reached out—but the relatives did. First, my uncle.

"Alice, don't be so immature! Your dad is the Gilbert family's public face. If you—a little girl—cost him his career over some petty grudge, the whole family will never forgive you!"

Then my aunt.

"Alice, how can you compete with your own father? He has a point—if you join his hospital, even if you earned it yourself, people will gossip that he played favorites! You need to know how to avoid that. Don't ever go to his hospital again, you hear me?!"

"Don't worry, Aunt. I'll never go again. I've already cut him off!"

"Then I hope you'll practice what you preach! Next time your daughter's daughter-in-law's friend has a second baby, don't come crawling to him for hospital favors!"

I hung up on her mid-rant. Thinking about it now, Dad's so-called "avoiding suspicion" had only ever meant avoiding me.

I was about to prepare my documents for starting work when Mercy General called. The voice on the other end stuttered.

"Sorry, Ms. Gilbert. The offer was... sent to the wrong person. You don't need to come in after all..."

My legs buckled. I nearly collapsed.

"Wrong person? I have the recording of your director's call right here. That clear of an invitation, and you're saying it was a mistake?!"

After a long silence, a steady but helpless voice came through.

"Alice, some of our weaker departments still rely on your father. He spoke to us..."

My vision went black. I crumpled to the floor. I didn't catch the rest of what he said. After hanging up, I opened my email—the hundred-plus enthusiastic offers I'd received just that morning had all turned into rejections.

I shattered.

Staggering to my feet, I gripped my phone and rushed back to my father's hospital.

Today was his exclusive interview with Capital City Broadcasting—the one about "mentoring students everywhere." I shoved through the thick wall of reporters, hit play on the recording, and charged in.

"Nathaniel Gilbert! For your precious reputation, I already gave up my spot to your favorite disciple. Why won't you leave me alone?!"

"Mercy General already sent me an offer. What gives you the right to make them take it back?!"

The set—seconds ago filled with laughter—went deathly silent. The only sound was the director's helpless sigh echoing from my phone through the massive room. The reporters outside exchanged stunned glances.

My father's face went livid. He shot up from his chair and swung.

"Ungrateful wretch! How dare you call your father by his name in public?! All those years of education—did you learn nothing?!"

The slap landed like fire. My head spun. A salty, metallic taste flooded my mouth. I wiped my lip—blood.