JAMES POVI was lying slumped on the central chair in my office; exhaustion was making my bones feel like soaked foam.My breath was shallow, a reminder of the six hours that I just spent in the operating room.One thing about complicated surgeries like the one I just saw through was that same-old feeling of weariness that would settle on top of you hours after it was over. It was like paralysis.Indeed, today had been a tough one. It was actually an arterial graft surgery I handled.And in the few times I have done it, I have always managed to pull through, yet something about it always gnawed at me.I sometimes hate these surgeries, to be honest.Not because of the technical complexity, but because of what they represented as human fragility.And the bluntness of physical rigor.Nevertheless, the successes always made it worth it.I stared vacantly into space, my mind replaying the delicate moments of the procedure all over again.Then, with a heavy sigh, I leaned back further, st
JAMES POVI readjusted as I waited with bated breath, each ring feeling much longer than it ordinarily was.The last echo faded before Dr. Langston’s familiar voice finally broke through.“James.”The older man’s tone was light, almost mocking, as though he knew I was going to call back sooner than expected after dragging my feet the last time. I inhaled deeply, the action more ceremonial than needed; I was already decided... My mind was so made up.“I’m ready,”I said, my voice unwavering, mirroring the resolve I felt within.A small pause followed, just long enough for me to wonder if he was still there.But Dr. Langston’s voice came soon enough, still sounding slightly amused but also slightly skeptical.“Are you sure about this?”My jaw tightened, but I stayed firm. “Lets just go on, sir.” I blurted, the impatience in my voice umistakable, so great that it triggered laughter from the doctor. His chuckle from the other end was faint and fleeting, then it stopped to give way to
ISABELLA'S POVI was in my sitting room, legs stretched out comfortably, head resting against the cushion.The armrest held my phone, and everything felt calm, at least for the moment. But then I heard the soft vibration of my phone. My gaze dropped casually, my head barely moving, expecting another notification or a meaningless message.But the tiny icon that caught my eye wasn’t a call or text; instead, it was a barrage of notifications from my social media app.The casualness in my posture disappeared, and I sat up sharply, my hand darting for the phone.I unlocked it quickly, as I wondered what could be behind such a sudden surge of activity.My fingers moved almost automatically, logging me into the app.And then, with an automatic quickness, my face tightened with confusion as I saw the unbelievable number... over a thousand mentions of my username on the app.I clicked on one of the notifications, my heart rate quickening.It didn’t take long before the cold, paralyzing shock
GENERAL POVThe room was suffocating in its silence. Owen's expression shifted as his gaze remained locked on Isabella, who sat hunched, her fingers twisted together on her lap, barely holding back the tears pooling in her eyes.The longer he stared, the harder his face became—a rage in his eyes.His eyes moved to Claire, who stood several paces away, rigid and uneasy, her arms tightly folded as if to protect herself from something.Owen’s voice cut through the oppressive quiet like a blade. "Did you say let it die down?" His words were sharp, almost incredulous, as he spoke, his eyebrows drawing together in disbelief.Isabella flinched at the sound of his voice, her shoulders tensing. like a child being scolded."What do you mean, let it die down?" His voice escalated, each word sharper than the last, and the sudden rise in volume made Isabella shrink further into herself. She couldn’t face him, not like this.Owem, sensing the crack in the moment, now spoke a little bit gently, a
GENERAL POVOwen threw his legs forcefully as he marched through the hospital’s corridor, his face red with fury, his footsteps echoing.Claire's description repeated in his mind, and with each step, his anger intensified. The moment he got to the third floor, he stopped to look around the area; his fists tightened at his sides like a gladiator. Then he turned sharply to the right, barreling down the rear, too focused on his destination to notice much else... until, without notice, he suddenly collided with a large, robust figure in suit.The man staggered back, a middle-aged doctor with streaks of white in his dark hair. A sthethoscope around his neck.The man’s face twisted in a wince as he grabbed his shoulder where Owen had knocked into him. He looked at Owen expectantly, clearly waiting for an apology.But Owen's red eyes had no patience for such and looked past him, up to the office door where the man had just come out from.His eyes narrowed on the name tag on top of it, Dr
Isabella’s POVAs I stepped out of my car and walked toward the hospital complex, I instantly felt that familiar switch in the air again.It was that same switch I observed in the air just yesterday.And I only had to take just about three steps forward before my suspicions were confirmed.My heart stopped and my eyes widened in surprise as I saw yet another crowd gathered in front of the hospital entrance, just like the day before. But this time, they weren’t newsmen. These were protestors—angry-looking people, loud, and determined. I slowed my pace slightly, scanning their faces. Most of them were dressed in casual clothes, jeans, t-shirts, and hoodies, some even holding cups of coffee as if this was just another morning ritual.But their loud chanting voices were not casual.Another thing that wasn’t casual were the signs and placards; a bunch of them were waving from side to side.“No Nepotism at Our Hospital!”“Unfit to Lead!”“Harrington has to go!”“No more privileged leader
ISABELLA’S POVThe atmosphere in the boardroom grew tense the moment Robert stood up to make that statement.His cynical, rebellious voice was cutting through the air like a sharp blade.As soon as he suggested a vote to challenge my position as chairlady, I could feel that slight jump in my heart rate.I had not prepared for this, and seeing how Robert had taken advantage of the entire situation, I could not help but feel cornered.Refusing to yield to what he was asking for might end up proving him and the protesters outside the hospital right—that I was indeed a tyrant—and forcing myself on the board.But it could also lead to me losing my position as chairlady just like that and without any prior arrangement.Worse still, without the knowledge of my parents, who had appointed me in the first place.For a moment, the room fell into an unsettling silence, broken only by the faint shuffling of papers and a few muffled coughs.My gaze instinctively locked onto Robert, who stood at the
ISABELLA’S POVThe friction in the room jumped to greater heights from the moment my parents entered and from the moment those words escaped Robert’s mouth, betraying the fear in his voice.The question hung in the air, unanswered.And that made him shift even more uncomfortably on his seat, his eyes darting between myself and my parents.As they made their way in, their footsteps echoed, their unexpected appearance making every board member take on various masks of puzzled expressions.Nevertheless, they all rise in unison to receive them as a sign of respect.Robert was a little bit slower than the rest, but he finally stood, his fear and his bewilderment still etched on his face.Even James, who had been unnervingly calm since the meeting began, started to show the first signs of cracking.The impassive face he wore earlier started to twitch as he glanced at Robert, clearly unsettled by the turn of events. Meanwhile, Robert's focus remained fixed on my parents, his anxiety evident
ISABELLA'S POVA year had passed since our wedding ceremony, and as expected, so much had changed. And this change began from where we had chosen to start a family.A towering off white mansion.It was everything we had dreamed of as a couple: It really made the experience feel like what it was called—exactly settling down.Think about the spaciousness; think about meaningful layout. It was just perfect.However, our new home was one out of many of the positive developments. My career as the “Phantom Medic” had soared in ways I hadn’t thought possible. Over the past year, I could no longer count the number of lives, performing surgeries that others deemed initially impossible had saved.My renown had grown by twice, not just as a surgeon but as an advocate. Remember the foundation I had fought so hard to establish? It had also grown to become a beacon for research into rare diseases, and that had been a deeply personal mission born out of my own health struggles... my near-death
ISABELLA'S POVThree weeks had passed, and it felt like a lifetime since everything had come together so perfectly. I was standing at the entrance of the outdoor venue of Augustine's parish, it was the same church my maternal grandfather currently attended.The garden was so, so breathtaking.The large hall adjacent to the garden was filled up with family, friends and well wishers.The groom boy, Michael, my grandparents, cheerful as always, was sitting proudly among executives from his family's company. His own family mingled with the guests, their smiles radiating pride. My parents, always a picture of grace, were seated in the front row. My dad, Elliot Harrington, was wearing a navy blue suit that complimented his tall frame, while my mother looked radiant in an elegant gown. Owen and Nathan, my loving brothers, sat beside them. Owen, always the typical charmer that he was, wore a fitted burgundy suit.While Nathan opted for a classic black tuxedo, looking more reserved than
MICHAEL’S POVMy grandparent’s large living room felt like a theater of looming judgment this afternoon.Every seat was occupied, and none of us was sitting with ease. It was like we all had fire under our buttocks.At the head of the room, Grandpa Howard sat, his large frame rigid in his high-backed chair, his normal face was a mask of barely contained rage, lips pursed, eyes narrowed. He gripped the armrests, staring at Elsa, who, as usual, was sitting in the far corner of the room; this time, she was avoiding his gaze like it would burn her alive.Her posture was stiff, hands clenched tightly in her lap, her eyes moving about in every direction but Grandpa’s.I found myself also mirroring Grandpa’s expression, the same fire in my own eyes.I could feel my parents sitting on either side of me, their faces drawn tight with disgust, eyes locked on Elsa.My mother’s lips were twisted, and my father’s fingers twitched as though ready to lash out at any moment. The only person who wasn
ISABELLA’S POVI was sitting on my couch that afternoon, my TV tuned on some spaces away. The live broadcast had been on for nearly an hour, but my focus hadn’t wavered. There on the screen was Michael, seated among the press, his expression calm but resolute, just as we had rehearsed together the night before. His dark suit was perfectly tailored, and his eyes were sharp. Michael sat in the center of the long table, surrounded by journalists whose pens moved rapidly across their notepads, eager to catch every word.His posture was upright, shoulders squared, but I could of course feel the tension he bore.I leaned forward on the couch as Michael began speaking, his voice strong and unwavering despite the gravity of what he was about to expose."After months of working with Robert Carlisle, I’ve uncovered disturbing truths." Michael began, his voice steady but his eyes darkening with emotion."I discovered that he’s been altering the properties of our product to make it more addict
GENERAL POVOwen stood in front of the full-length mirror, tightening his tie with slow, deliberate movements. His reflection stared back.He brushed a few wrinkles from his collar, muttering under his breath, ticking off the list of meetings and cover-ups waiting for him at the office. After some time of thinking about the office and where he had to be, the same old thoughts crept back, uninvited and heavy.The same old sense of discomfort he had tried to bury for days now…his tangled feelings for Claire.Came yet again.However, his thought pattern was a little different this time.For reasons he couldn't explain, the scene from that fateful night replayed in his head.He had gone to meet her, intent on laying everything out his feelings, urge to speak his mind only to find her in the VIP section, lips locked with another man. Owen had frozen, his eyes startled and alarmed.But thinking about it now, what had haunted him more than the betrayal was actually her reaction. Claire ha
ISABELLA'S POVI sat at the edge of my couch, my mind a storm of thoughts.It's been three days. Three days since I’d stormed out of Scarlett’s place, a trip of reconciliation that had quickly developed into something else I didn't bargain for.Now, it was followed by her trying to reach out to me, forwarding. desperate and pleading in the text messages...I had ignored them all, as if refusing to acknowledge them would make the gnawing suspicion less real.My gaze drifted out of the window. Inside me, there was only a deepening gloom. The things I had seen that day, the contracts with Xander, strange inconsistencies in Scarlett’s defense—it had all begun to fester like an open wound.No, something isn’t right. The words escaped my lips in a low murmur, barely audible.I needed answers. And I needed them now. I picked up my phone, quickly dialing Claire’s number and agitation in my veins.“Good morning, Dr. Isabella,” Claire’s voice greeted me, bright and efficient as always.“Morn
MICHAEL’S POV The moment I stepped into the club,music hit me, vibrating floors dim lights, charged atmosphere…name it. I paused just inside the entrance, scanning the room casually, my eyes adjusting to the low lighting as I searched for Owen. We had agreed to meet here. The club was one of those exclusive spots, packed with people who knew they were being watched but pretended otherwise. As I looked around, I saw a few groups clustered in private booths, laughter merged with the hum of conversation, while some others wriggled their tiny waists on the dance floor. Taking a breath, I made my way in, walking slowly and moving through the crowd, my hands brushing past people’s shoulders. Owen would be waiting in the VIP section, and I needed not to rush to get there. However, the urgency of what brought me drove me. The VIP area was cordoned off by a velvet rope, guarded by a bouncer who gave me a curt nod of recognition before unhooking the rope. I slipped past without a
ISABELLA'S POVNathan had shared with me how Scarlett had been visiting him of late, lingering too long at his door, just enough to stir old wounds. And even reaching out to the estate security personnel whenever he wasn't around. At least it showed a level of desperation on her part. And that was why I was on my way there today.Despite the hurt, part of me hoped we could still talk this out. Even though restoring her back into his life wouldn't be all that possible.But we could still arrive at something that works. Just like James and I had done.After all, we had been friends for years. All I wanted was a hint of remorse from her, an acknowledgment of the line she had crossed.As I parked in front of the gallery, the emptiness of the space mirrored the hollow feeling in my chest. The lights were off, the windows dark, and not a soul in sight. I stood for a moment, staring at the locked door, a quiet sigh escaping my lips. So, she wasn’t here. And perhaps indoors or something
GENERAL POVOwen pushed the door to his apartment and entered.He shut the door softly behind him, pausing for a second, as though leaving the world outside was not quite enough.He moved with slow, deliberate steps, crossing the room with a weariness that had become second nature to him over the past few days.His face was hard to read; his brows were slightly drawn, lost in thought.When Owen reached his bedroom, he stopped at the center of the room, standing there as though uncertain of what to do next.His eyes were scanning the space, landing on nothing in particular, and for a long moment, he didn’t move.The room felt too big, too empty. It swallowed him whole.With a heavy sigh, his hand reached up to undo the buttons of his shirt, one by one, slowly. The fabric fell away from his body, and he carelessly tossed it onto the bed. He stood shirtless and then made to sit down on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely as his head hung low.For day