The Genius Doctor's Perfect Fake Death

Alivia sat rigid against the plush leather of the Maybach. She forced her eyes to remain locked on the side of Collis’s face. She refused to look away. Looking away meant weakness. “Thoracentesis is too risky given his age and current cardiac output,” Alivia said. Her voice was sharp, clipping the medical terms with practiced precision. She was, after all, dual‑board‑certified in critical care pulmonology and neurosurgery—a rare combination that made her worth every penny of the exorbitant fee the Duncan family was paying. “I will initiate a targeted diuretic therapy intravenously, combined with a continuous positive airway pressure system to reduce the preload on his heart. If the fluid doesn’t recede within four hours, we place a pigtail catheter under ultrasound guidance. Not a millimeter deeper.” Collis stopped scrolling. His thumb hovered over the screen. He slowly turned his head to look at her. One dark eyebrow arched slightly. It was the closest thing to approval she had ever seen him give anyone. “Acceptable,” he murmured coldly. He turned back to his tablet. He didn’t speak another word. The silence in the car became a physical weight. It pressed down on Alivia’s chest, making every breath a conscious, exhausting effort. The Maybach crawled through the congested streets of Manhattan. The neon lights from the storefronts bled through the tinted windows, washing over Collis’s sharp features in alternating flashes of red and blue. Alivia pressed her shoulder blades hard against the door panel. She wanted to melt into the metal. She needed to put as much physical distance between her body and his as the confined space would allow. Her stomach cramped violently. It was a sharp, stabbing pain. Her body remembered the trauma of his control, even if her mind was trying to play a different role. The heavy car suddenly rolled over a speed bump. The chassis bounced slightly. A single sheet of paper slipped from the stack of files resting on Collis’s knee. It fluttered through the air and landed face-up right next to the toe of Alivia’s high heel. Alivia instinctively looked down. Her breath caught in her throat. The air vanished from the cabin. Printed in bold, black ink across the top of the private investigator’s report was a name. SUBJECT: ASHA LOWERY – MISSING PERSONS UPDATE A massive spike of adrenaline shot straight into Alivia’s heart. Her vision swam. She violently jerked her eyes away from the paper. She stared straight ahead at the back of the driver’s headrest, her jaw locked so tight her teeth ached. Collis leaned forward to retrieve the fallen document. As he reached down, his broad shoulder brushed against Alivia’s arm. The heat of his body radiated through the thick fabric of her trench coat. It felt like a branding iron against her skin. A violent shudder ripped through her. Goosebumps erupted across her arms and the back of her neck. She flinched. It was a hard, uncontrollable jerk backward, pressing herself even tighter against the door. Collis froze. His hand paused over the paper. He slowly sat back up, the file grasped in his fingers. He turned his head and looked at her. His eyes were no longer completely indifferent, but they hadn’t shifted to outright hostility either. Instead, they were narrowed with a sharp, probing curiosity. It was the look of an experienced hound catching a sudden, unusual scent on the wind, trying to decipher if it belonged to friend or prey. “Is the air conditioning too high for you, Dr. Clay?” he asked. His voice was dangerously soft. It was a probe, digging for a nerve. Alivia forced her hands to unclench. She smoothed the fabric of her coat over her knees to hide the trembling in her fingers. “No,” she said, keeping her voice perfectly flat. “I am simply dealing with jet lag. It was a long flight.” Collis stared at her for another long second. His eyes tracked the slight pulse beating rapidly at the base of her throat. Then, he looked away. The Maybach finally descended the concrete ramp into the VIP underground parking garage of St. Jude Medical Center. The car rolled to a smooth stop right in front of the private elevator banks. The bodyguard opened the door. Alivia practically threw herself out of the car. She stood in the dim, concrete garage and sucked in a massive breath of the stale, exhaust-filled air. It tasted like absolute freedom compared to the oxygen inside that car. Standing directly in front of the polished steel elevator doors was a woman in a sharp navy pantsuit. Eleanor Vance. Eleanor was the hospital’s chief liaison. More importantly, she was the real Alivia Clay’s best friend. She was the only person in New York who knew exactly whose face Asha was wearing. The moment Eleanor saw Alivia step out of the car, her face broke into a wide, relieved smile. She rushed forward and threw her arms around Alivia in a tight, professional-yet-warm embrace. “Alivia, thank god you’re here,” Eleanor said loudly. As she pressed her cheek against Alivia’s, Eleanor’s voice dropped to a barely audible whisper right against her ear. “Breathe. Lock it down. You’re shaking.” Alivia gave a microscopic nod against Eleanor’s shoulder. She pulled back, forcing the corners of her mouth up into a polite, weary smile of old friends reuniting. The heavy thud of a car door closing echoed through the garage. Collis stepped out of the Maybach. His towering frame instantly blocked the harsh overhead fluorescent light, casting a long, dark shadow over the two women. He stood there, his hands in his pockets, watching their interaction with eyes as cold as dead ash. There was a flicker of suspicion in his gaze, calculating the authenticity of their hug. Eleanor turned smoothly. She extended her hand toward Collis, her face a mask of perfect corporate gratitude. “Mr. Duncan,” Eleanor said smoothly. “Thank you for personally escorting Dr. Clay. We have everything prepped upstairs.” Collis didn’t take her hand. He merely stared at it for a second before his eyes flicked back to Alivia. He gave a sharp, dismissive nod. “Take us to my grandfather. Now.” Eleanor dropped her hand, unfazed. She turned and pressed the call button. The metal doors slid open. The three of them stepped inside. The doors closed, sealing them in a steel box that was significantly smaller than the Maybach. The elevator jerked slightly as it began its rapid ascent. The hum of the cables was the only sound. The air pressure dropped, popping in Alivia’s ears. The tension in the confined space was so thick it felt like it was crushing Alivia’s windpipe. She stared at the changing floor numbers, praying the doors would open before she suffocated.