He Found My Secret Revenge

The water was freezing. It bit into Faith's skin, turning her knuckles a raw, translucent red, but she didn't pull her hands back. She needed the cold. She needed the shock to travel up her nerve endings and slap her brain awake.

Twelve hours. She had been on her feet for twelve hours, stitching up bar fight losers and reassuring parents that their toddler's fever wasn't meningitis. It was a far cry from the boardroom strategy meetings and high-stakes venture capital negotiations she had commanded two years ago, but anonymity required sacrifice. Her lower back throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache that matched the flickering fluorescent light above the scrub sink.

She pressed the pedal with her foot, cutting off the stream. Silence rushed back into the small alcove, heavy and smelling of antiseptic.

The door behind her banged open.

Faith didn't flinch. She just reached for a paper towel. "If that's the drunk from Bed 4 vomiting again, Betty, you're on your own. I'm technically off the clock in three minutes."

"Not the drunk," Betty said. Her voice was tight. Breathless.

Faith turned. Betty was a veteran nurse who had seen drive-by shootings and pile-ups without blinking. She wasn't blinking now, but her lips were pressed into a thin, white line.

"Trauma 3," Betty said. "He refused the resident. Said he needs a female attending. Specifically."

Faith frowned, tossing the crumpled paper towel into the bin. "A preference for female doctors usually means a rash in a place they don't want another man looking at. Send Dr. Liu. He's persistent."

"He asked for you, Dr. Neal."

Faith paused. Her heart gave a single, uncomfortable thump against her ribs. She used her maiden name here, a name that hadn't appeared on a Forbes list in a decade. "Me?"

"He knows your name. Well, he asked for 'Faith', not Dr. Neal." Betty lowered her voice, glancing down the hallway. "And... honestly? I don't think you want to say no to this guy. He walked in with a hole in his leg, bleeding through his custom-tailored suit trousers, and he hasn't made a sound. It's... unnerving. He looks like he owns the building."

Faith sighed, the exhaustion settling back onto her shoulders like a lead vest. "Fine. Give me the chart."

"No chart. He wouldn't give his insurance info until he saw you. Said his legal department would handle the billing directly."

Faith grabbed a fresh pair of gloves and marched down the corridor. She shoved the fatigue into a box in the back of her mind and locked it. It was a survival mechanism she'd perfected during the hostile takeover of '19, long before she started playing doctor.

She pushed open the curtain to Trauma 3.

The smell hit her first. It wasn't just the sharp sting of Betadine. It was something earthier. Iron. Expensive scotch. And the distinct, acrid scent of spent gunpowder.

Then she saw him.

The room felt suddenly too small. The air seemed to thin out, leaving