But now, my child was just a small, formless mass of flesh on a metal tray. My coworker on duty stood next to me, her expression a mix of pity and helplessness.

"Dr. Williams… Mr. Floyd put pressure on the hospital. He demanded that the hospital punish you. The hospital has decided…" She paused and swallowed hard. "They have decided to revoke your medical license. And they are going to pursue compensation. I heard it is more than a million."

I closed my eyes.

The bitterness rising in my chest nearly choked me.

Sensing my pain, her voice softened even further.

"How did Mr. Floyd change so suddenly? He once invested tens of millions of dollars in the hospital for your sake. He even nearly died saving you once." Her voice trembled slightly. "He loved you so much. How could he now break your hand and ruin your career as a doctor, all for another woman?"

'Yes, why indeed?' I shook my head, but no words came.

When I first met Michael, I did not know he had a foster sister.

He had been street racing that night and was brought into the ER with shattered bones, barely hanging on to life. I spent ten straight hours in the operating room fighting to pull him back from the brink.

He woke three days later.

The moment Michael opened his eyes, he ordered his closest friends to bring me to him.

Through layers of gauze and bandages, he forced a smile.

"Dr. Williams, you saved my life. Would you consider letting me repay you with my own?"

I had not taken it seriously.

I assumed it was just another rich young master's joke.

But he pursued me relentlessly for an entire year.

He invested money in rebuilding my hospital until it became the best in Harbor City.

He knew I was always too busy with surgeries to eat, so he cooked for me himself and waited in my break room every day.

It was hard not to be moved, although I tried to resist at first.

Three years ago, a patient falsely accused me of botching his surgery and causing severe headaches while attempting to extort money. He then stormed into my office armed with a knife.

Michael, eyes blazing red, threw himself in front of me and took three stabs meant for me.

When he survived, I accepted his confession.

Our three years together went smoothly after that.

Until the engagement party, when he never showed up.

He returned three days later, holding the hand of a young girl.

Speaking gently, Michael told me, "Jenna just came back to the country and is not feeling well. I have been taking care of her these past few days. I forgot about the engagement."

It was only then that I learned he had a foster sister who had been abroad for years. Her name was Jenna.

Michael asked me to take good care of her.

Naturally, I dedicated myself fully.

Three days ago, Jenna told me she felt discomfort 'down there.' She begged me again and again not to tell her brother.

Assuming she was simply shy, I brought her in for tests and prescribed medication for inflammation.

But when the results arrived, I froze in shock.

Before I could figure out how to tell her or Michael, he burst into my break room with bodyguards, one arm protectively around a tearful Jenna.

With a single command, the iron baton came down.

My right hand twisted under the blow.

Curled on the floor, writhing in agony, I could only whimper and ask him why.

He stared down at me, his expression carved from ice.

"I really thought you were different from other women," he said, each word clipped and cold. "Kind. Gentle. Someone above all those disgusting tricks."

His voice hardened as he continued, anger simmering beneath every syllable.

"But you're vicious. All because I took care of Jenna and missed the engagement, you gave her low-quality ointment and let her contract a dirty disease? She's only twenty. And you ruined her."

He crouched slightly, bringing his face closer to mine, his eyes burning with contempt.

"A person like you has no right to be a doctor," he said quietly. "Breaking the hands you use to write prescriptions… consider that your lesson."

Behind him, Jenna suddenly burst into tears and pointed at the test results on my desk.

"Zoey… so you planned this all along. You used that ointment to give me a dirty disease, and then you forged the test results."

"Do you really hate me that much?" Jenna screamed. "If my existence disgusts you so much, then I'll just die!"

She pointed at the test results, her voice rising into hysteria. "You showed my results to so many people, didn't you? My reputation is ruined because of you. Living is worse than dying now!"

Before I could react, she suddenly bolted toward the window as if ready to throw herself out.

Michael lunged forward and caught her just in time. Holding her trembling body close, he turned back to me. His eyes showed disappointment and accusation.

"Zoey, you would push my sister to suicide over a simple engagement party? You have really disappointed me."

His tone grew colder as he continued.

"Apologize to her. I want you to publicly admit that you resented Jenna for delaying the engagement, that you intentionally gave her cheap ointment to infect her with a serious illness, and that you attempted to slander her with false test results."

I stared at him through a blur of tears, hollow and stunned.

"Michael, if I really did that, my entire career would be destroyed," I choked. "I will never confess to something I didn't do."

But no matter how much I cried or explained, no matter how desperately I begged him to test the ointment, he refused to listen. He didn't even try.

With a quiet, irritated click of his tongue, he signaled the bodyguards.

They grabbed me, forced my head to the floor, and held me there.

And I had to kowtow one hundred times to Jenna.

Blood splattered across the tiles. Patients and visitors stopped in the hallway, lifting their phones to record every moment of my humiliation as if it were entertainment.

By the time I finished, every ounce of strength had drained from my body. I collapsed and fainted.

When I woke up again, my phone flashed a message from one of Michael's friends, telling me to come to the bar to 'explain things' to him.

Clinging to the last fragile thread of hope I still had, I went.

Only to hear words that dragged me straight into hell.

Afterward, my colleague saw the devastation written on my face. She didn't pry. Instead, she quietly handed me the post-exposure medication.

"Take it on time for a month," she murmured. "Then come back to confirm you weren't infected."

I thanked her softly and drifted home like a ghost.

Not long after, my phone lit up again.

This time, a new message appeared with a plane ticket attached.

[Zoey, don't be afraid. I'm coming to get you. No matter what it costs, I'll heal your hand.]

Curling into my blankets, I sobbed until my voice was gone. I didn't know how long I cried before a sharp, crushing pain shot through my broken wrist.

Terrified, I jolted awake and struggled blindly.

"Don't touch me!"

"Zoey, it's me!"

In the dim light, my vision slowly focused. Michael stood over me.

He smelled freshly showered, and the scent clinging to him was the same body wash Jenna used.

I froze.

Unbothered, he pulled me into a loose embrace. "I only left you with that drunk last night. Do you really have to make such a big deal out of it? I can't even touch you now?"

At his words, my entire body trembled. Tears spilled again.

He frowned, annoyed. "Do you have to be so dramatic? I'm a regular there. Everyone knows me. Everyone knows you're my fiancée. Who would dare lay a hand on you? And look, you're perfectly fine right now, aren't you?"

His casual justifications knocked the breath out of me. I could not form a single word.

With a hint of condescension, he asked, "Is your wrist still giving you trouble? I asked someone to get a special ointment. Use it, and your hand will heal completely. You'll still be able to be a top surgeon."

His tone softened slightly, as though he were humoring a child.

"Now you won't hold a grudge, right? You can come with me to apologize now?"

But all I felt was a cold, bitter ache spreading through my chest.

"Michael," I whispered, "let's break up."

I barely finished the sentence when he glanced at his phone, a faint smile lifting his lips as if he had not heard a word I said.

Then, his gaze snapped back to me. "What did you just say?"

Before I could answer, he waved a dismissive hand. "If you want to buy something, just buy it. No need to ask. Consider it compensation."

Already shifting gears, he stood up as he added, "Jenna said she wants to help you choose your wedding dress. Come with me. We'll try on dresses for her to see."

Half-threatening and half-coaxing, he squeezed my injured wrist.

"This time, you had better please Jenna properly and earn her forgiveness. Do you understand?" His voice dropped lower. "If you mess it up again, I really will hand you over to that buyer."

He just grabbed me and tossed me in the car, bridal shop bound, before I knew what was happening.

I said nothing. I only meant to retrieve the keepsake my mother left me, a piece of jewelry I had stored there so I could wear it on my wedding day.

Clinging to that thought for strength, I followed him silently.

When we arrived, Jenna stood there exactly as she had the first time we met, her head lowered shyly and her posture soft and frail. I looked closely for any sign of triumph or guilt after everything she had done to me, but her expression stayed perfectly composed.

Clinging to Michael's arm, she half-hid behind him and whispered, "Zoey, I'm so sorry. Are you glaring at me because you hate me?"

She looked up at him for protection.

"Zoey," Michael snapped sharply.

He pinched my injured wrist, lightly but with enough pressure to make my entire body flinch.

Pain shot through me.

I bit down and forced out, "No."

Only then did Jenna smile sweetly, her voice softening. "Zoey, let's go try on wedding dresses."

At her request, the clerk brought out the gown Michael had explicitly ordered for me. Jenna let out a delicate gasp and snuggled even closer against his arm.

"Michael, can I try on Zoey's wedding dress?" she asked, her voice trembling with rehearsed fragility. Her eyes turned red with fake sorrow. "I am already dirty. I may never have the chance to get married. This might be my only shot at wearing a wedding dress."

Michael's expression softened immediately, heavy with pity.

"Of course you can."

He turned to me then, a sharp warning in his eyes. I lowered my head and nodded silently.

"Great," Jenna chirped, her gaze drifting toward the necklace displayed next to the gown.

"Michael, this necklace is beautiful. Can you give it to me?" she asked sweetly.

Before he could respond, I stepped forward and picked up the necklace.

"I am sorry, this—"

"Of course," Michael cut in coldly. "Anything you want, I will give you."

He extended his hand toward me, his expression hard as stone.

"Hand it over."

A dull ache spread through my chest. I pressed my lips together and swallowed the pain.

"Michael, that necklace is my mother's keepsake," I whispered.

"So what?" He yanked my hand aside and ripped the necklace from my grasp. "Do not forget, you owe Jenna. Consider this necklace compensation."

My heart lurched. I reached for it again, desperate.

"Michael, punish me however you want. She can have anything else, but not this necklace."

The moment I raised my hand, Jenna screamed and fell backward.

"Zoey, why did you push me?"

"Jenna!" Michael shouted.

He shoved me aside to catch her.

My foot slipped. The world tilted violently around me.

I tumbled down the stairs.

Pain detonated through my body. My bones screamed as if everything had cracked apart. My vision flickered, fading in and out. A metallic taste filled my mouth, and I choked up a mouthful of dark blood.

Then everything went black.

When I woke again, I was lying in a hospital bed.

My colleague stood beside me, her eyes full of sorrow.

"Zoey, your pelvis was shattered," she said quietly. "We managed to save your legs from amputation, but paralysis was unavoidable."

I stared at the still lower half of my body as grief overwhelmed me with crushing force.

I broke down and sobbed.

If I were paralyzed, even if my hand healed, I could never step onto an operating table again.

My colleague wiped her eyes, her voice trembling with anger.

"Michael is a bastard. You are hurt like this, and he still doesn't care. But that woman sprained her ankle, and he called every available doctor to treat her."

She squeezed my shoulder gently. "Zoey, you do not deserve any of this."