Emergency Betrayal: Second Chances

Tiffany patted my back gently as she set down the cup of water.

Just then, the department head walked in.

"Well, well, Tiffany, look at you pampering Lilianne like a child. She even needs someone to feed her medicine." He tapped the doorframe lightly with the clipboard in his hand. "Your health comes first. Take a moment to rest after the medication. Madam Pratt’s ambulance just arrived. You’ll be busy soon enough."

With that, he turned and left.

Tiffany glanced at me, let out a sigh of relief as if the matter was settled, and shoved the remaining pills back into my hand before hurrying after the department head.

Once their footsteps faded into the distance, I rushed to the sink and forced myself to vomit everything I had just swallowed.

Then, a chilling realization struck me.

How did the department head know I had consumed medicine? Was he in on it with Tiffany?

But why would he help her set me up?

Before I could process my thoughts, my phone rang.

"Where are you? My mom needs surgery. Why aren’t you here yet?" Gareth’s voice was urgent, almost accusing.

I found his impatience ironic.

In my last life, when I was wrongfully blamed for everything, he was the first to step forward and admit guilt on my behalf before I even had a chance to defend myself. He took responsibility for my "mistake" as if it were undeniable, sealing my fate.

Recalling every moment we had spent together over the years, my heart ached.

The department head I admired, the best friend I trusted, the man I loved—all three of them had conspired to destroy me without hesitation.

But how exactly had they orchestrated it?

I bit my fingertip, carefully recalling every detail before and after the surgery.

How could someone’s blood type change so easily?

Even if they had bribed everyone, the hospital database wasn’t something that could be tampered with manually.

A week ago, during Madam Pratt’s routine check-up, I had seen it clearly—her blood type was A.

So where had the mistake happened?

Just as my thoughts spiraled, Tiffany suddenly burst into the room, her voice excited. "Lil! I have great news! There’s only one slot for the deputy chief promotion. I already spoke to the department head. Given how talented you are, I’ll step aside and give it to you!"

I forced a smile, my expression unreadable.

In my last life, after the surgical disaster, Tiffany had publicly knelt before the media in tears, claiming I had bullied her at work and stolen her rightful promotion through underhanded means. She painted herself as the victim of workplace harassment, while I became the villain who trampled over others for power.

My face paled as I spoke softly, "Tiff, I don’t know why, but after taking the painkiller you gave me, I feel dizzy. There wouldn’t happen to be any hallucinogens in it, would there?"

Tiffany flinched but immediately recovered. "Of course not!" she blurted out.

I studied her expression closely but found no visible flaw.

"I’m really not feeling well, Tiff. I think I need to lie down for a while."

She quickly helped me to the break room and even poured me a glass of water, her face filled with concern—nothing like the ruthless person who had pushed me toward death in my past life.

As soon as she left the room, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my photos.

There it was: a picture of Madam Pratt’s medical report, with her blood type clearly marked as A.

In my last life, everything had happened so fast. I never had time to react before I was drowned in false accusations.

But if the check-up results were already recorded, then why had her blood type suddenly changed to B?