My mother collapsed at the company's IPO gala.

I scrambled to call 911, but when the paramedics arrived, my husband's secretary stepped in front of them and blocked their path.

"Ha! You guys got pranked. There's no patient here. We were playing a party dare, and the loser had to call 911."

The words hit me like a slap. I whipped around and stared at Doreen Stephens in disbelief.

My mother was lying right there on the floor, unconscious, her life hanging by a thread, and this woman was standing there with a straight face, telling the paramedics it was all a game.

But what truly turned my blood to ice was my husband's reaction. He backed Doreen up without missing a beat.

"Sorry about the trouble. I'll cover the overtime and the trip out here."

——

I stared at him. Everything inside me went cold.

This is the man I loved for five years?

My mother was lying on the ground waiting for emergency care, and he didn't show a shred of urgency. Instead, he played along with Doreen's lie.

Doreen Stephens was the secretary he'd hired a year ago. She had an obsession with party dares.

The first time, she locked me alone in a pitch-black bathroom and left me there for two hours, drowning in fear. Afterward, she'd laughed in my face. "Wasn't that a rush, Mrs. Abbott?"

The second time was the company's holiday party. She called me in a panic, said my husband had fainted. I threw on whatever I could grab and raced to the office in my pajamas, hair a mess, heart pounding out of my chest. When I got there, I found her doubled over laughing and my husband watching her with that helpless, indulgent smile of his.

There was a third time. A fourth.

Every single time I was about to lose my temper, he'd step in and wave it off with a grin. "Doreen just likes her little dares. Don't take it so seriously."

Because I loved him, I swallowed it. Every time.

But this was different.

My mother had just undergone coronary bypass surgery. Her doctor had been adamant: no alcohol, nothing cold. But I'd only stepped away to use the restroom, and in those few minutes, Doreen had goaded her into downing a glass of hard liquor.

By the time I came back, my mother was on the floor, convulsing. She needed to get to a hospital immediately. This was not the time for party dares.

"A dare?"

After hearing my husband's apology, the paramedics' expressions hardened.

"911 is an emergency line. Lives are at stake. You think this is something you can play around with? If we wanted to push this, we could report you for wasting emergency medical resources. Every single one of you would be facing a formal reprimand."

"Yes, yes, of course. We know we were wrong. It won't happen again."

My husband fell over himself apologizing, then turned to Doreen with a show of scolding her. "You hear that? No more using 911 for your dares."

Doreen giggled. "Fine, fine. I get it."

The paramedics clearly weren't satisfied with her attitude. Their faces stayed stony. But they couldn't exactly call the police and have everyone at a corporate gala hauled in, so they turned with tight jaws and started carrying the stretcher toward the exit.

Panic tore through me. "Wait! Don't go!"

The paramedics paused and looked back.

My husband was at my side in an instant, his voice a sharp hiss. "Haven't you caused enough of a scene?"

Then he leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Doreen's just being playful. Humor her. It's harmless. Let these people leave, and I'll drive your mother to the hospital myself."

"She might not last that long." I grabbed his arm, fingers digging in, my eyes pleading. "I'm begging you. Please, just let them take her to the hospital. Please."

"I promise, after this, no matter what Doreen wants to do, I won't get angry. I'll go along with everything. Just let them take my mom. Please."

Hesitation flickered across his face.

But before he could answer, Doreen burst out laughing.

"See? I told you this dare was fun! Look, even Mrs. Abbott can't get enough. She wants to keep playing!"

The paramedics' expressions shifted from confusion to outrage as they processed what they'd just heard.

"Did she seriously just ignore everything I said?"

"Call the police. Right now. She needs to be formally reprimanded."

My blood ran cold. "No, please don't call the police!"

Because the moment they took me away, even if Arnold eventually brought my mother to the hospital, there was no telling how long he'd drag his feet.

The paramedics' glares only hardened. I pointed frantically at my mother, who lay on the floor convulsing.

"Look at her! I wasn't lying to you. My mother needs emergency treatment now."

Their eyes followed my hand, and every face changed the instant they saw her.

"Cyanosis. She's going into shock."

"Call the hospital. Have a defibrillator standing by."

"Stretcher. Move!"

Before I could even exhale, Doreen's voice rang out again.

"Ha! You're actually buying this? They planned the whole thing ahead of time, just to fool you."

Every paramedic heading toward my mother stopped in their tracks.

"You—"

I jabbed a finger at Doreen, so furious the rest of the words died in my throat.

Arnold seized my wrist. "Enough. This is a gala celebrating the company's IPO, not a stage for your theatrics."

"Let go of me!" I wrenched against his grip, screaming with everything I had. "I am not making a scene! Mom needs surgery. You were right there when the doctor gave instructions after her coronary bypass. You heard every single word!"

Arnold went quiet. His fingers loosened just enough.

I tore free and ran to the paramedics, my voice cracking with urgency. "Please. Take my mother to the hospital."

"That's enough!"

One of the paramedics cut me off with a sharp bark.

"You show zero remorse. You're getting a formal reprimand today, no question."

He pulled out his phone to dial the police.

That was when Doreen sauntered over, hips swaying, and plucked the phone right out of his hand with a coy smile. "Oh, come on. It was just a party dare, a little joke. Is that really worth calling the cops over?"

She tilted her head, all sweetness. "You medical folks are always wound so tight. Would it kill you to loosen up once in a while? Have a laugh?"

She gestured toward me with an air of magnanimity. "Mrs. Abbott didn't mean any harm. She gave you all a good laugh, so why not let it slide this once?"

Then she winked at me, as if to say: You're welcome. Now thank me.

I nearly blacked out from rage.

By now, the scene had grown ugly enough that a few employees finally stepped forward.

"Secretary Stephens, this is a matter of life and death. There's a time and place for jokes."

"Exactly. Look at Mrs. Abbott's mother. Does that look like an act to you?"

"Secretary Stephens, a word of advice. If you keep stalling and something happens to her, you could be looking at a charge of intentional homicide."

"…"

"Shut your mouths." Doreen planted her fists on her hips and snapped at them, then turned to Arnold with a wounded pout.

"Mr. Sanchez, do you see this? I'm your secretary. I represent your image, your reputation. And these people have the nerve to lecture me right in front of you. Imagine what they say behind your back."

She dabbed at the corner of her eye. "A few harsh words at my expense, I can take. But your dignity? That's what's really at stake here."

Arnold's expression darkened. He swept a cold look over the employees who'd spoken up, then turned to Doreen.

"What do you think should be done?"

Doreen's eyes lit up. "Fire them. Insubordinate, disrespectful to their superiors. The company has no use for people like that."

"Fine. Handle it exactly the way you said."

The employees who had just spoken up went pale, every single one of them.

I stared at my husband, eyes wide, unable to believe what I was hearing.

All they'd done was say something fair. Doreen put on her wounded act, and now he was going to fire them all.

I knew my husband spoiled Doreen, but I never imagined it went this far. Terminating employees on her word alone? At this rate, a few more sentences out of her mouth and he'd hand her the whole company.

"I don't agree," I said coldly.

My husband's expression darkened, but before he could speak, Doreen let out a light laugh. "It's just a few employees, Mrs. Sanchez. Why so worked up? Unless they're all loyalists you planted inside the company?"

I locked my eyes on Doreen, the fury I'd been holding back finally clawing its way to the surface.

"Doreen Stephens, shut your mouth!"

"You said we were playing a party dare? Go ahead. Ask every single person in this room whether we were playing a party dare."

"You said my mother and I planned this together. Where's your proof? Did you hear it with your own ears? Do you have it on video?"

Doreen's expression flickered.

I didn't look at her again. I turned to the paramedics. "My mother genuinely needs emergency treatment. Please—"

"Wait!"

Doreen's voice cut through the room.

"Mrs. Sanchez, I didn't want to take things this far. I wanted to leave you some dignity. But you forced my hand."

She turned to my husband.

"Mr. Sanchez, didn't you hear it yourself? Mrs. Sanchez and her mother conspiring to fake an illness and deceive the paramedics?"

My head snapped toward my husband. My heart hammered, caught between desperate hope and sickening dread as I waited for his answer.

He didn't clear my name. Not immediately. Instead, he frowned at Doreen.

"Do I really have to say it?"

Doreen's tone turned earnest, almost maternal in its false concern. "Mr. Sanchez, I understand you love your wife. But you can't indulge her like this. Today she wastes public medical resources for fun. Tomorrow she'll be undermining the company's interests."

"Better to teach her a lesson now. Let her truly understand how wrong she is. Nip this in the bud."

"Fine. I understand." My husband closed his eyes for a moment. When he turned to face me, guilt flickered across his features.

I already knew what he was going to say. A cold numbness spread through my chest.

Five years. We'd been married for five years.

My mother was dying, and he was about to commit perjury for an outsider.

"I can confirm it," he told the paramedics. "I heard them with my own ears. The two of them conspired to fake an illness and deceive you."

The moment those words left his mouth, triumph bloomed across Doreen's face.

"Mrs. Sanchez, why don't you be a good girl and accept your reprimand?"

The paramedic who had been reaching for the phone dialed 911, face stony.

"I need to report an incident. Someone here has been deliberately abusing emergency medical resources. We need officers to take her in for a formal warning."

I stared at Doreen, my eyes burning red, every fiber of my being screaming to lunge at her and tear her apart.

When my husband saw the paramedics were actually going to have me taken away, he frowned.

"There's no need to blow this out of proportion. She was just having a bit of fun."

The paramedic's expression was granite. "Fun? Medical resources are not her playground. Deliberately abusing public emergency services without a shred of remorse, doing it over and over again, is a criminal offense."

"If a real patient needed emergency care during this time and we couldn't get there because of her, and that patient died, who takes responsibility for that?"

"But—"

My husband opened his mouth to argue, and something inside me snapped.

"Shut up! You're the one who told them my mother and I faked the whole thing. And now you want to play the good guy?"

"Arnold Sanchez, I'm telling you right now: if anything happens to my mother today, I will never forgive you. Not for the rest of my life."