Ryan's brow was still furrowed, the crease between his eyes yet to smooth out-he'd clearly caught the barb in her tone and was about to press further.

"Who-"

But then the woman in his arms stirred, letting out a wet, hiccupping sob, and tilted her face up toward him, her voice soft and wounded.

"Ryan. it hurts."

That single, plaintive note yanked his attention back from the computer screen as if she'd physically reeled him in.

He glanced down at her pallid lips, and whatever unfounded suspicion had flickered through his mind a moment ago was swallowed whole by more urgent concern.

"I know. Almost done. I'm right here. You're not alone."

Rose observed the entire exchange with downcast eyes, refusing to look at him again.

With a deliberate press of her fingers, she swept the documents on her desk to one side and covered them over.

She'd also recognized the woman in his arms, Samantha, the fiancée of Ryan's cousin Ethan.

Ethan had been serving time for over five months now, and yet here she was, curled against Ryan in a pose far more intimate than any sister-in-law had a right to claim, streaked with blood.

A sight that would invite speculation from anyone with working eyes.

And Rose, his wife of seven years, was only learning of it now.

Pathetic didn't even begin to cover it.

She straightened her spine, and in the span of a single breath, her features settled back into place. The composed, capable physician snapping into readiness.

She turned toward the sink, cranking the faucet, and tossed an order over her shoulder to the nurse.

"Get her into the treatment room. I'll handle it."

The nurse acknowledged and moved to wheel the gurney forward, but Samantha's hand shot out and seized the rail as if burned, her voice climbing an octave in alarm.

"Not her!" She fixed Rose with a stare, all her earlier vulnerability transmuting into raw defensiveness. "I don't want her touching me!"

The air in the exam room went taut. Everyone froze.

Ryan, for his part, showed no sign of caving, though his tone remained steeped in patience.

"Samantha, all the doctors outside are male. You can't delay this, you're still bleeding. Trust me, okay?"

Samantha's jaw tightened, but she stopped arguing, her fingers white-knuckled around the bedrail as the nurse rolled her through the treatment room doors.

As the nurse pushed her into the treatment room and shut the door, her eyes never left Rose-not for a second.

As if she were guarding against something.

Rose ignored it all.

She raised her hands, walked over, pulled on her gloves, and bent down to examine the wound. Every movement was precise, efficient-flawlessly professional.

The treatment room lights were harsh, that unforgiving white that exposes every flaw and detail, and when Rose's gaze passed over the torn tissue, she paused.

The nurse leaned in for a look, then let out a knowing little hum, her eyes darting to Rose's face before drifting meaningfully toward the door where Ryan's.

"Well, that certainly looks like-" She left the sentence dangling, a suggestive curl to her brow, clearly fishing for Rose to join in the gossip.

Rose didn't look up.

Her fingers never faltered, but a wave of queasiness rose in her throat, nameless and sickening, and she had to grit her teeth to keep it down.

With sterile-gloved fingers, she gently separated the wound margins, assessing the extent of the laceration.

"Second-degree perineal tear, involving part of the posterior vaginal mucosa. Not arterial. Nothing to worry about. Try to stay calm."

"Blood pressure?" She didn't bother lifting her head.

"90/60, heart rate 102," the nurse recited.

Rose pressed gauze to the wound to stem the bleeding while continuing her directives.

"Start an IV line, normal saline to begin, and prepare lidocaine. I can do the suturing here-no need to send her to the ER."

"No! "

Rose had assumed it was another emotional outburst and adjusted her tone to something as professionally soothing as she could manage.

"Ma'am, you should trust a doctor's judgment."

But Samantha caught her wrist, her gaze skittering sideways, her voice dropping to something soft and almost shy. "It's not that. it's. I'm pregnant."

"Pregnant?"

The nurse nearly shrieked the word.

Rose's hands froze mid-air, her knuckles tightening around the syringe she held-a white-knuckled grip that threatened to shatter the glass.

Her eyes slid down to Samantha's midsection.

As far as she knew, Ethan had been incarcerated for five months, and Samantha's belly showed no signs of a four- or five-month gestation.

Rose's gaze lifted back to the woman's face, where a mixture of coyness and provocation seemed to be waiting, hungry for Rose's reaction.

The nurse, oblivious, was already spiraling into her own head.

"But having sex so early in pregnancy. that's incredibly risky."

At those words, Samantha's expression grew even more self-satisfied, the last vestiges of her feigned modesty evaporating entirely.

Rose could take no more. She set down her instruments and addressed the nurse in clipped tones.

"Eliminate all NSAIDs from her chart, and switch the broad-spectrum antibiotics to penicillin-class. I'll finish up in a moment."

With that, she all but fled.

She made for the sink, the water gushing loud enough to drown the frantic rhythm of her own breathing.

Seven years of marriage.

She'd once clutched a positive pregnancy test, flown halfway around the world to show him, and gotten nothing but "I don't want children."

So she'd retreated to another city alone to raise their daughter, letting the girl grow up confused about why her father wasn't in her life.

And now this? What was this supposed to be?

Another child-this one arriving with the full weight of expectation, welcomed into a world that would give it everything her daughter never had.

Why?

Ariel had waited five years, and all she'd gotten was a father who never wanted her in the first place.

And it was all because of her-this incompetent excuse for a mother.

Ryan had never rejected fatherhood. He'd only rejected fatherhood with her.

Her stomach churned, her throat constricted, and she ground her molars together so hard her jaw ached.

It was only sheer professional muscle memory-years of training that refused to abandon her-that carried her through the rest of the procedure, letting her finish the suturing and hand off the post-op instructions to the nurse before she pulled the door open.

"How is she?"

Ryan was already there, shouldering past her the instant the door swung wide, his gaze cutting straight to Samantha without so much as a sideways glance at Rose.

Rose stood rooted in place, and the ghost of a smile-bitter, mocking-tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"She needs rest. You can take her to the observation ward for a while, then head home. All the aftercare instructions are on the sheet-you can read them yourself."

Ryan grunted an acknowledgment without looking up, bent down, and lifted Samantha into his arms, striding toward the ward with her cradled against his chest.

The image of his retreating back was all he left behind.

Behind her, the young nurse-barely out of training-was already sidling up to the senior nurse, her voice pitched in breathless, awestruck disbelief.

"Oh my God. they really went at it, didn't they? Torn up like that." She flushed crimson herself, then clicked her tongue in amazement.

The older nurse rolled her eyes and swatted her arm, muttering under her breath.

"Keep it down, will you?"

But the younger one wasn't done. She pivoted toward Rose with the unguarded, thoughtless curiosity of someone who hadn't yet learned where the lines were drawn.

"Dr.-you've been married for years now. Have you ever. you know. is it really that good?"

Rose stared down the corridor at the two dwindling figures, her voice flat and deliberate, and not bothering to modulate its volume.

"I wouldn't know. My husband has had erectile dysfunction for seven years. We've been in treatment the whole time."

The young nurse's smile froze solid. Her ears went scarlet as she realized how far over the line she'd stepped.

"I-I'm so sorry. I didn't mean-" She stammered, shrinking back, her voice trailing off into nothing as she fumbled with the instruments in her hands.

Down the hallway, Ryan's stride faltered.

He stopped dead, his head swiveling around, and that gaze of his cut across the distance.

The young nurse went pale. She forgot her embarrassment entirely, grabbed Rose's arm, and tried to tug her back into the exam room, babbling in a panicked whisper.

"Oh no!! he heard that, didn't he? He definitely heard, come on, let's just get inside!"

Rose didn't move.

She stood her ground, letting the nurse pull uselessly at her sleeve, her eyes locked on Ryan's from across the long corridor, unflinching.

Not a flicker of guilt, not a shred of apology in them.

The nurse, caught between them, grew more frantic by the second.

She let out a nervous, brittle laugh and gave Rose's arm another desperate yank. "So sorry! So sorry-our mistake!"

Rose allowed herself to be pulled back a step, as though she'd finally decided to let the scene play itself out.

But just before she turned away, she added, her voice carrying clearly across the corridor, pitched just loud enough to be heard.

"Then again, who knows? Maybe my husband's just been spending all his stamina in other women's beds."

She didn't wait to see the fallout. She turned and walked into the exam room, letting the door swing shut behind her, leaving nothing but dead silence in her wake.

Ryan, for his part, didn't even realize he'd tightened his grip on Samantha until she winced and let out a small cry of protest.

"That hurts."

He blinked, glanced down at her, and set his jaw.

He said nothing-just resumed his long strides toward the ward, his expression carved from stone.

---

Back in her office, Rose's composure finally shattered.

She slumped against the closed door for a long moment, her entire frame trembling beyond her control, before she forced herself to the desk and sank into her chair.

Her phone screen glowed with a string of unread messages stacked at the top. Caleb's name stood out, his texts abrupt and urgent:

"What's going on over there? I heard Ryan's voice-did he find out?!"

Her gaze drifted to the stack of documents on the corner of her desk. The top page bore the bold heading "Equity Transfer Agreement," and a diagonal line had been scratched through the signature block-unsignable now.

The pen lay beside it, cap off, still wet.

A dry, hollow laugh escaped Rose's throat.

She didn't even need to ask herself anymore whether she still wanted to fight this battle.

The answer had been handed to her, plain as day.

She picked up her phone, paused over the keyboard for a single breath, and typed her reply:

"I want a divorce."

For three straight days, Rose barely slept.

On the first day, she dug out the marriage agreement from years ago and went through the divorce clauses one by one.

Assets, real estate, shares-everything that could be itemized was written with meticulous clarity, leaving no room for dispute.

On the second day, she handed in her resignation at the hospital.

Back then, she had chosen that job for one simple reason-it was close to Ryan's company. Now, she wished she could put as much distance between them as possible.

On the third day, a weekday, she finally went home to pack.

At this hour, Ryan should have been at the office. His mother, Selena, and his younger brother, Evan, were unlikely to be there either. All Rose wanted was to collect what little belonged to her and leave quietly, without running into anyone.

There wasn't much to take.

Seven years of marriage, and her personal belongings didn't even fill two suitcases.

She crouched in the corner of the walk-in closet, folding clothes piece by piece, until her fingers brushed against a velvet box.

She paused.

Inside lay the ring, resting quietly against deep blue lining.

The day she received it, there had been no proposal, no kneeling, no sense of ceremony. It had been nothing more than a family dinner.

The long table was filled with Ryan's relatives, and from across the table, he had tossed the ring box toward her, his tone as indifferent as if he were discussing a business matter.

"My grandfather had this prepared for you."

That was all. Not a single extra word. He hadn't even looked at her.

Rose stared at the ring in her palm, then let out a faint, almost self-deprecating smile. Without hesitation, she dropped it into the folder containing the divorce papers, letting it rest among the cold legal documents.

It felt oddly appropriate, as though she were finally returning it to where it belonged.

She crouched down again and continued packing.

Then suddenly, noise erupted downstairs.

Footsteps. The sharp roll of suitcase wheels against the floor. Voices overlapping.

She had miscalculated. At this hour, no one was supposed to be home.

Straightening, she picked up the folder and walked toward the staircase. Before she even reached it, a string of insults floated up along the banister-low in volume, but perfectly clear.

"That bitch."

"Manipulative little schemer."

"Gold-digging trash."

Evan's voice carried most of it, with Selena chiming in now and then.

There was no need to guess who they were talking about.

Rose stood at the landing for a brief moment, listening without expression. Then she stepped forward and walked down.

In the living room, Evan charged in first, Selena close behind. They flanked Ryan and Samantha as they entered, followed by several servants hauling suitcases upstairs.

It was obvious at a glance-Samantha was moving in.

She hadn't even bothered to wait for the legal wife to leave.

Evan turned sharply and spotted Rose, his expression lighting up like he had finally found his target.

"How dare you show your face here?!"

Rose glanced at him, her tone calm, almost instructional.

"This is my home-mine and my husband's. That's a question you should be asking yourself."

Evan choked on the reply, his face flushing with anger. He yanked out his phone and shoved it in her face.

"Did you do this?!"

Rose lowered her gaze.

The screen was filled with trending posts-a video of Ryan carrying Samantha in and out of the hospital.

The caption read with absolute certainty: Ryan Knight & Samantha Hill-Suspected Pregnancy! Illicit Affair with Sister-in-Law!

The comment section was a frenzy of speculation and mockery. Samantha's name was now tightly bound to the scandal.

Some even romanticized the footage, praising the so-called devotion of a man protecting his lover.

In this day and age, public opinion had long since lost its moral compass.

Rose watched without reaction, but Evan took her silence as confirmation.

"Everyone knows it was you! This happened at your hospital!"

Rose's lips curved slightly, a trace of cold amusement in her eyes.

"You really don't know me at all. If I had written it, the wording would've been much harsher. Want me to give you an example?"

That single remark set Selena off completely.

She rushed forward, face livid. "He's just a child! How dare you talk like that!"

Her hand swung toward Rose's face.

Rose shifted slightly, just enough to avoid the blow. Selena stumbled forward, losing her balance right at the top of the stairs. One foot slipped into empty space, and she nearly fell backward, only to be caught by Evan at the last second.

The room erupted into chaos.

Selena stood there, pale and shaken.

Rose remained upright, looking down at them, her tone suddenly "considerate" in a way that felt almost ironic.

"A child? The way he speaks says otherwise."

Her gaze shifted to Samantha. "And early pregnancy requires rest. Emotional stress isn't good for anyone."

A faint chill flickered in her eyes.

Her words fell like a bucket of cold water, silencing everyone.

Ryan was the one who broke the silence.

"Apologize."

His voice was low, but firm.

Rose didn't move.

Ryan's expression darkened. "Samantha isn't pregnant. You treated her-you know that."

He paused, then added with unmistakable contempt, "And, you've never been pregnant yourself. You're not even an OB-GYN. How exactly did you make that call so confidently?"

He knew exactly where to strike.

Even in a marriage that existed in name only, he understood her vulnerabilities better than anyone. The words hit harder than a slap ever could.

Samantha wasn't pregnant?

Rose's gaze shifted to her, studying her carefully, and once again, she caught that fleeting trace of smugness.

So it had all been deliberate.

A calculated move to force her hand.

But what Samantha failed to understand was that, pregnant or not, it made no difference to Rose anymore.

Samantha leaned out from behind Ryan, her tone light, almost playful.

"Let's just drop it. I know it wasn't you, Rose." She blinked with feigned sweetness. "Just keep making tiramisu for me, okay? I absolutely love the one Ryan brings me every time."

That struck deeper than anything else.

Rose's breath hitched.

That tiramisu. she had tested the recipe countless times, adjusting proportions over and over just to reach a version Ryan had once said was "good enough."

She didn't make it often, but every time she did, she poured herself into it with near devotion.

Even Ariel had barely tasted it.

She had believed it was one of the few quiet intimacies they shared-a small sweetness in an otherwise hollow marriage.

Only now did she realize that none of it had ever reached Ryan.

Every single one had been delivered, again and again, to Samantha.

Seven years of quiet, stubborn effort-and not a single person had ever cared.

Ryan shifted slightly, placing himself in front of Samantha as if shielding her, his gaze wary.

Rose let out a soft, almost dismissive laugh.

Then she began walking down the stairs, one step at a time.

"No," she said calmly. "I absolutely owe you an apology."

Her voice was unnervingly steady.

"I should film a video right now-apologizing to my husband, and his mistress. who also happens to be his sister-in-law."

She paused, enunciating every word.

"I was wrong to interfere. Wrong to try to stop my dear sister-in-law from being with my husband. Clearly, I'm just narrow-minded and small-hearted. After all-"

She lifted her gaze, sweeping it across Samantha, then Ryan.

"How could I possibly compete with Miss Hill, who is so dedicated to being a mistress? Or Mr. Knight, who seems perfectly capable of running two households at once?"

The room fell into complete silence.

Even the ticking of the clock seemed loud.

"So," she continued evenly, "would you like me to clarify that Samantha isn't pregnant-and that her hospital visit was for. other reasons?"

Even now, her professionalism held her back. She couldn't bring herself to expose a patient's privacy.

And she hated herself for it.

Selena's face turned ashen. Evan stood there speechless.

Ryan's expression darkened visibly, his gaze finally settling on Rose with a complexity she could no longer read.

But Rose didn't look at any of them again.

She didn't even bother going upstairs for her suitcases.

Instead, she stepped forward, stopped in front of Ryan, and slammed the folder against his chest.

The dull sound echoed in the room.

Then she walked past him without hesitation, her steps growing steadier with each stride.

Only then did Ryan glance down and see the bold title on the document.

Divorce Agreement.

The words left his mouth before he could stop himself.

"Wait."

His voice cut through the silence.

"No. We're not getting divorced."