Scarlett couldn't produce any recordings, so there was nothing they could do to me.

That gave me more time to search for the truth behind it all.

Scarlett shot me a glare, her eyes filled with hatred and disgust.

"Just you wait. I'll find the evidence."

Her words were so resolute, but I could clearly sense that her hatred wasn't just directed at me.

When she first joined the hospital, she was a bright, innocent young lady. What had happened to her? What had caused this change?

…

The patient sustained six broken ribs this time.

In my last life, he had needed over three months to recover. And the hospital had placed me on administrative leave for exactly three months.

He had assumed I'd fled to avoid compensation.

When I returned to my position, he came to my office, demanding 400 thousand dollars in compensation.

"100 thousand dollars per rib. I'm already cutting you a deal. You'd better pay up."

When I refused, he became enraged and chased me with a knife.

In the end, I was fatally stabbed in the hospital corridor. My blood splattered all over the floor.

I would never forget those dark eyes.

This time, with six ribs broken, he would need at least seven months of recovery.

Before heading home that night, I donned a mask and quietly entered the ward of tonight's emergency patient.

Strangely, all the other patients had family members with them, but this one had none.

I glanced at his name tag and saw his name—Martin Lowell.

I couldn't help but let out a sigh.

This was different from what I imagined. But it didn't matter. Good would always prevail over evil. I'd find a breakthrough eventually.

I went home for some sleep. When I woke up, it was already noon.

My wife, Aleah Webster, had cooked several of my favorite dishes and called me to the table.

Our two children, still in elementary school, sat at the table too.

Looking at their innocent faces made my heart ache.

In my last life, they had lost their father, and Aleah had to raise them alone.

No matter what, I couldn't let myself walk down that path to death again.

I went into the kitchen to help Aleah gather plates and utensils to set the table.

She seemed to remember something. "Wilder, Mom called last night. She said your cousin had another son. The baby took her last name. Mom wants us to visit the hospital. Don't forget to bring a gift for the baby's one-month celebration."

She smiled as she handed me four plates.

Suddenly, it hit me. Siblings didn't necessarily have to take their father's surname.

After finishing the meal in a daze, I headed back to the hospital for my shift.

I changed into my lab coat and went to do my rounds first, just as I always did.

As I stepped off the elevator on Martin's floor, I caught the faint sound of an argument coming from the stairwell.

"You brat, what's so hard about helping your brother?"

A woman in her 60s hurled a lunchbox at Scarlett's head.

"You work at a big hospital, making tens of thousands of dollars a month. How could you not spare some to pay his medical bills? I think you're just selfish, trying to keep the money for yourself!"

Seeing this scene shook me to my core. The pieces of the puzzle started to click into place.

Martin was Scarlett's brother.

But her family was steeped in a deep-rooted preference for sons over daughters, and they had been constantly hounding her for money.

When Martin nearly drank himself to death, he was brought to our hospital.

Scarlett wanted him dead more than anything, but she couldn't let it look too obvious, so she pinned the whole thing on me.

She didn't want to get involved in saving Martin, so she pushed me to do it. She knew if Martin died, her mother would cause a scene at the hospital.

Not only would Scarlett avoid the blame for his death, but she could also dodge her mother's wrath.

If I hadn't insisted on saving him, Martin would've really died. Scarlett hated me because I saved him.

But there was still part of the story from my last life that didn't make sense. She had no reason to frame me for stealing from the department over this.

Suddenly, I thought of someone. Maybe his appearance wasn't a coincidence.

I watched Scarlett being punched and kicked by her mother. The scene looked eerily similar to the time when Martin chased me down to kill me.

Scarlett was being beaten so badly by her mother that her head was split open. Her body was pinned to the ground, unable to move.

The onlookers could only watch from a distance, afraid to step in.

They weren't exactly wrong. After all, getting involved might lead to trouble.

In this world, the simplicity of human nature was slowly fading away. The brave were often the first to have their wings clipped, so it was only right to keep one's guard up.

But watching Scarlett covered in blood, the fear of death surrounded me once again.

I was a doctor. I couldn't stand watching a living person die before me.

Throwing caution to the wind, I rushed forward and pulled the two of them apart.

With the advantage of strength on my side, I pushed Scarlett's mother back and signaled for someone to call the police.

Her mother kept struggling to break free while hurling vile insults.

Other doctors arrived and quickly took Scarlett, who had passed out, away on a stretcher.

Meanwhile, I kept her mother under control and handed her over to the police.

After Scarlett's wounds were tended, she slept through the afternoon, but it wasn't a peaceful sleep.

The beatings and verbal abuse from her childhood were like nightmares that strangled her neck, keeping her from breathing.

She kept muttering in her sleep, "No, don't come near me."

In her dream, she tried to dodge, only to be seized by the ankle by a demon and dragged back ruthlessly.

Unlike before, she showed distinct signs of resistance.

But when her mother had beaten her, she didn't resist at all.

This demon wasn't from her family.

Who was it? Who could that demon be?

She screamed, "Let me go!"

Then, she woke up with a start.

I stood at her bedside.

She had a concussion, which caused her vision to be temporarily impaired. She couldn't make out who was standing in front of her. She only knew there was someone in a white coat.

In an instinctive reaction, she bolted upright and huddled under the covers, looking absolutely petrified.

"Don't come any closer!" Scarlett's scream echoed through the room.

I spoke slowly. "Calm down. It's me."

When she heard my voice, she gradually relaxed. "Where's my mom?"

"I've handed her over to the police."

I stood with my hands in the pockets of my lab coat, watching her closely for her reaction.

"Who told you to call the police?"

Scarlett couldn't see me clearly, so she stared in my direction with a fixed gaze.

Look at her. There was always something detestable about those who were pitiable.

"Why did you send my mom to the police station? You'd better bring her back!"

I raised an eyebrow. "She assaulted you in the hospital, causing panic. Even if I didn't call the police, the security would've done it when they arrived.

"I could get your mom out by claiming she has mental health issues, and she wouldn't have to spend time in jail. But you'll have to agree to one condition."

Her expression turned cautious, like my words had hit a sensitive nerve. "What condition?"

"Tell me why you didn't want to save Martin."