Misdiagnosis in andrology, My Billionaire Husband

The locker room smelled of stale sweat and cheap disinfectant, a scent that had burrowed into the fibers of Jeanine's scrubs over the last forty-eight hours. She slammed her locker shut, the metallic clang echoing in her skull, but the noise didn't drown out the pounding of her heart.

She looked down at the crumpled paper in her hand. The red stamp across the top-OVERDUE-seemed to pulse like an infected wound. It was the third notice from the long-term care facility.

Her mother's life support.

A shoulder slammed into hers, hard.

Jeanine stumbled, clutching the bill to her chest as if it were a fragile bird.

"Watch it, McIntosh."

Dr. Thorne didn't even look back. The attending physician stood by the mirror, adjusting his tie with a narcissism that made Jeanine's stomach turn. He spun around, his eyes landing on her with the predatory focus of a hawk spotting a field mouse. He marched over and slammed a heavy metal clipboard against her chest.

The impact knocked the breath out of her.

"You're lagging," Thorne barked, his spit landing on her cheek. "I need a prep done in VIP Suite One. Now."

Jeanine gripped the clipboard, her fingers trembling. She glanced at the schedule on the wall. "Dr. Thorne, I… I'm on the Nephrology rotation today. That's Urology. I have rounds with-"

"Do you think I care about your schedule?" Thorne stepped closer, invading her personal space until she could smell the stale coffee on his breath. "You're here on a charity scholarship, aren't you? A grant case."

He poked a finger into her shoulder, right where the strap of her bag dug in. "You don't get to pick and choose. You do what I tell you, or I write an 'F' on your evaluation so fast your head will spin. And we both know what happens to your precious scholarship then."

Jeanine's throat tightened. Her stutter, a ghost from a childhood she tried to forget, clawed at her throat. "B-but the protocol..."

"Silence," Thorne hissed. "Patient needs full surgical prep. Shave and scrub. It's a circumcision revision. He's under light sedation. Go."

Jeanine swallowed the bile rising in her throat. The threat was a physical weight, heavier than the debt, heavier than the exhaustion. Without that scholarship, the medical bills would crush her. Her mother would be evicted from the facility. The machines would turn off.

"Yes, Doctor."

"Good. Don't make me wait."

Jeanine turned and ran.

Her sneakers squeaked against the linoleum as she navigated the labyrinth of the hospital. Her brain was a chaotic storm of pharmacological formulas and debt calculations, but her body moved on autopilot. She grabbed a prep tray from the supply cart-betadine, razors, sterile drapes, gloves.

VIP Suite One.

The hallway to the VIP wing was quieter, the air conditioning cooler. Two men in black suits stood outside the door like gargoyles. They were wide, their necks thick with muscle, earpieces coiling down into their collars.

Jeanine slowed, her breath hitching. This wasn't