The Genius Doctor's Perfect Fake Death

The elevator chimed. The polished steel doors slid open to the top-floor VIP ward. Alivia stepped out first, her fingers gripping the edge of the leather medical binder Eleanor had handed her. She squeezed the binder tight, using the physical pressure to steady her racing heartbeat. The harsh, sterile white lights of the hospital corridor beat down on them. Collis stepped out behind her. His long strides quickly overtook hers. He walked point, his presence dominating the wide hallway, radiating an absolute, unquestionable authority. Suddenly, the heavy double doors at the far end of the corridor burst open. “Code Blue! Room 412! Move!” A team of nurses and a doctor sprinted out, pushing a heavy metal crash cart. The wheels squealed violently against the linoleum floor. They were moving at a frantic, reckless speed, heading straight toward them. Collis reacted instantly. To avoid being clipped by the heavy cart, he stopped dead in his tracks and took a sharp, sudden step backward. Alivia, walking right on his heels and distracted by the chaos, didn’t have time to stop. She slammed face-first into the solid wall of his back. The impact was jarring. The force of hitting his rigid muscles threw her completely off balance. Her ankle twisted sharply in her high heel. Alivia gasped as her feet slipped out from under her. She fell backward, bracing herself for the hard impact of the floor. It never came. With terrifying speed, Collis spun around. His long arm shot out like a steel whip. His large hand clamped securely around her waist, catching her mid-fall. With a powerful jerk, he hauled her flush against his body. Alivia’s hands flew up instinctively, her palms flattening against his chest to push him away. Beneath the fine fabric of his suit, she felt the steady, heavy thud of his heart. The position was intensely intimate. His arm was a vice around her waist, holding her completely suspended against him. The sheer physical power he possessed was overwhelming. The second her body pressed into his, Collis’s entire frame went rigid. It wasn’t just a pause. It was a sudden, unnatural stillness, as if his muscles were suddenly reacting to an old, deeply ingrained memory. The curve of her waist fitting perfectly into his palm. The specific way her muscles locked up in panic beneath his touch. It didn’t bring immediate recognition, but rather a profound, indescribable sense of déjà vu—like a forgotten, haunting melody flashing through the deepest, darkest corners of his subconscious. He snapped his head down. His dark gray eyes locked onto her panicked face. Alivia saw the shift in his eyes. The cold indifference was gone, replaced by a dark, terrifying intensity. He knows. Panic exploded in her chest. She pushed hard against his chest, twisting her torso to break free from his grip. “Let me go,” she hissed. But Collis didn’t let go. His arm flexed, the muscles turning to stone, pulling her a fraction of an inch closer. He lowered his head further, his cheek almost brushing against the strands of her hair. In that split second, beneath the sharp, overpowering stench of hospital bleach and rubbing alcohol that polluted the air, he caught something else. It was a faint trace radiating from the roots of her hair, warmed by her body heat. Vanilla and orange blossom—a cheap, mass‑produced drugstore perfume. It was the same scent Asha had worn for years, a brand she had loved because it reminded her of her mother. The familiarity was like a key, violently unlocking a black box of memories he had buried years ago. Collis’s pupils dilated until his eyes looked almost entirely black. A look of absolute, predatory hunger flashed across his face. He leaned in, his lips hovering right next to her ear. “Dr. Clay,” he whispered. His voice was a raw, gravelly rasp that sent a violent shiver down her spine. “Have we met before?” The question was a live grenade detonating inside Alivia’s skull. The blood drained completely from her face. Her hands went numb against his chest. Eleanor, who had stepped aside to avoid the crash cart, saw the dangerous shift in Collis’s posture. She immediately stepped forward, her heels clicking loudly on the floor. “Alivia!” Eleanor’s voice was intentionally loud, cutting through the heavy tension. “Did you twist your ankle? Are you alright?” The interruption broke the spell. Using the distraction, Alivia shoved her hands hard against Collis’s chest and ripped herself out of his grip. She stumbled back two full steps, putting a safe distance between them. She reached up, her trembling fingers violently smoothing down the lapels of her white coat. She forced her chin up. She locked her knees to stop them from shaking. She looked him dead in the eye. She channeled every ounce of the arrogant, untouchable surgeon persona she had built. “Mr. Duncan,” Alivia said. Her voice was a sheet of solid ice. “This is our first meeting. I assure you.” She didn’t blink. She didn’t look away. She held his stare with a defiance that Asha Lowery had never possessed. Collis narrowed his eyes. His gaze acted like a scalpel, slicing across every millimeter of her face. He searched for a seam, a scar, a lie. But the face was flawless. It was a stranger’s face. He slowly lowered his arm. His fingers curled inward, the ghost of her body heat still lingering on his palm. A dark, cruel smirk touched the corner of his mouth. “Let’s hope your scalpel is sharper than your memory, Doctor,” he said softly. He turned his back on her and walked toward the double doors of the VIP suite. Alivia leaned her shoulder against the cold wall. Her legs were shaking so violently she thought she might collapse. She closed her eyes for a split second, knowing she had just danced on the absolute edge of a cliff.