Chapter 3
A notification illuminated my screen. It was an Instagram story from Seren's account, maliciously locked to Close Friends so only I could see it.
The image showcased the tangled linens of a hotel bed, capturing Caspian's bare, sleeping shoulder.
A ragged, desperate laugh clawed its way out of my throat. It was the laugh of a woman who had nothing left to lose.
With shaking, bloodless fingers, I opened a new draft on my public social media account and typed out the raw, unvarnished truth:
[My mother's life is currently failing in a convalescence wing, but her lead surgeon, Dr. Caspian Thorne, is too busy sleeping with his apprentice—the same apprentice whose documented surgical negligence permanently paralyzed my mother three years ago.]
I attached the uncensored hotel photos, hit post, and watched the internet erupt.
Within minutes, the post skyrocketed to the top of the trending charts.
Millions of eyes across the West Coast fixated on the scandal, the anonymous gossip forums ablaze with outrage. Users flooded the tags, demanding Seren's medical license be revoked and calling for criminal charges.
My phone vibrated violently. It was Caspian.
"Have you completely lost your mind?" his voice thundered through the speaker, radiating pure, lethal fury.
"How dare you threaten Seren like this? I'll ask you once, Liora: do you want your mother to live?"
I gripped the phone, my eyes burning with unshed tears.
"Does your heart ache for your mistress? Then get to the hospital and do my mother's surgery right now."
A chilling, disgusted scoff echoed on the other line.
"You fabricated this pathetic medical emergency just to orchestrate a smear campaign? I didn't receive a single surgical page from the board!"
With that, he hung up.
Five minutes later, my notifications shifted from support to absolute vitriol. I refreshed my feed, only to find a pinned, highly boosted response from Caspian's official public relations account.
[My wife, Liora Marlow, suffers from severe clinical paranoia and psychiatric deterioration. The allegations she posted are wild hallucinations born from a tragic, unfounded jealousy of Dr. Veyra's youth and talent. I apologize on her behalf and will ensure she publicly apologizes to Seren. Attached is Liora's clinical evaluation.]
Beneath the post was a meticulously forged psychiatric assessment document, complete with heavily redacted but official-looking medical seals.
The backlash was instant and merciless.
[Get locked up in an asylum, you psycho bitch!]
[If your mom dies, she deserves it. Stop trying to ruin a young doctor's career!]
[Make her apologize or let the old woman rot!]
Trapped in a nightmare, I sat paralyzed as the digital lynch mob tore my life to shreds.
The phone rang again. Plunged in ice, Caspian's voice offered no room for negotiation.
"Get down to the third-floor media concourse immediately and apologize to Seren. Before you refuse, think very carefully about your mother."
He was holding my mother's fading heartbeat hostage.
Knowing the monitors in the surgical suite were flatlining, I scrambled to my feet and ran down the stairs.
The moment I pushed open the double doors to the third floor, I was blinded by a flashing sea of camera lenses. Vloggers, paparazzi, and rabid internet defenders had swarmed the VIP lounge.
At the center of it all, Seren was weeping against Caspian's chest.
"Mrs. Thorne," she whimpered into the microphones, "why would you invent such cruel lies to destroy me?"
The mob turned feral. I was engulfed by a crush of bodies, people screaming slurs and shoving recording devices into my face.
A heavy hand slapped me across the cheek, the stinging blow sending my head snapping to the side. Amid the chaotic violence, someone's grip ripped the collar of my blouse, leaving me exposed and humiliated.
A brutal kick to the back of my knee sent me crashing onto the floor. The taste of copper flooded my mouth as my cheek split open.
Through the forest of flashing cameras, I looked up at Caspian. He frowned, turning his eyes away in sheer disgust, embarrassed by my disheveled, pathetic state.
I didn't care about my dignity anymore. I crawled forward, ignoring the tearing pain in my pregnant abdomen, and looked at the man I had loved for eight years.
"I'll apologize!" I begged, my voice cracking in raw desperation.
"I'll do whatever you want! But my mother's condition flared up early! Please, Caspian, she needs the surgery now—"
"Enough of this pathetic act, Liora!" Caspian interrupted.
"If you ever want me to step foot in that operating room, you will get on your knees and slap your own face a hundred times for these cameras! You will physically punish yourself until Seren forgives you! Do you really have to destroy her future to feed your sick ego?"
The oxygen left my lungs. The demands were monstrous. He wanted me to utterly degrade myself, to bleed for the woman who ruined my family, just for the chance to save my mother's life.
I unclenched my trembling jaw. I raised my shaking hand, prepared to strike my own face to buy my mother time.
Before I could land the first blow, my ruined phone buzzed against the floor.
I answered it on speaker.
"Ms. Marlow," the on-call surgeon's voice trembled with defeat, echoing through the sudden, deadly silence of the media lounge.
"Your mother's heart just failed. If you want to say goodbye, you need to come right now."
