Chapter 2

Ophelia’s POV

Six years Later.

Here I was, a third-year resident at UCLA Medical Center. These days, my routine was simple: rounds, surgeries, more rounds, and occasional drinks with friends. It wasn't exactly glamorous, but it was stable. Predictable.

Until tonight.

I was just finishing up my shift when Lisa's call came in, her voice shaking with that particular mix of anger and hurt that only comes from suspected betrayal. Twenty minutes later, I found myself trading my scrubs for street clothes and heading to the place Lisa mentioned on the phone. Some things you just do for friends, no questions asked.

When I pulled up to the Four Seasons, Lisa was already pacing outside, her usual confident demeanor replaced by nervous energy. She'd clearly come straight from her shift too – her hospital ID was still clipped to her bag.

"You didn't have to drive here so fast," she said as I approached, but the relief in her voice said otherwise.

"Please, after the time you stayed with me through that thirty-six-hour shift last month? I owe you way more than a late-night stakeout." I gave her a quick hug, noting how tense she felt. "Though I have to say, this is a first. Want to tell me how you even found out about this place?"

Lisa pulled me toward the entrance. "Remember Jenny from Radiology? She saw Mark here last week with some woman. Said they looked... cozy." Her voice caught on the last word.

I couldn't help but whistle softly as we walked into the gleaming lobby of the hotel. "Lisa, are you absolutely sure about this? A place like this..."

"5888," Lisa cut me off, her voice trembling slightly. "He's up there right now."

"With the mysterious businesswoman?" I watched her face carefully. Even off-duty, I couldn't quite turn off my doctor's instincts for reading people.

"Yes!" Lisa's hands balled into fists. "Can you believe it? Mark, who complained about splitting the bill at Cheesecake Factory last month, is suddenly staying in this place?"

I glanced around the opulent lobby. "You know, a suite here costs at least five grand a night." I paused, then added carefully, "That's more than what residents make in a week."

"Exactly!" Lisa threw up her hands. "And have you seen him lately? All those fancy new clothes, mysterious dinner meetings, always checking his phone..."

"Maybe he won a lottery?" I suggested, trying to lighten the mood. The look Lisa shot me could have frozen Hell over. "Okay, okay, bad joke. But are you sure it's not work-related? Maybe a medical conference or—"

"At midnight? In a luxury suite?" Lisa's voice cracked. "With a woman who keeps sending him expensive gifts?"

"Gifts?" This was new information. "What kind of gifts?"

"Designer watches, custom suits..." Lisa's eyes welled up. "Things we could never afford on our salaries. Things I thought we didn't care about."

I put my arm around her shoulders. "Hey, remember when we were in med school and you two shared that tiny studio apartment? The one where the microwave would blow a fuse every time you used the coffee maker?"

A small smile flickered across Lisa's face. "We were so happy then."

"Seven years is a long time," I said gently. "Are you sure you want to do this? We could just—"

"What? Pretend I don't know he's cheating? Wait for him to come up with more lies?" The smile vanished. "I need to see it with my own eyes."

I studied my friend's face. "And then what? What's your game plan here?"

"I'll kill him," Lisa declared, but her trembling voice betrayed her.

"Uh-huh. And I'm guessing you want me to help hide the body? Because let me remind you, I'm a neurologist, not a forensic expert."

That got a weak laugh out of her. "I just... I need to know the truth."

"Look," I said, making a decision. "Why don't you let me go up first? I'll check things out and call you if..." I trailed off, not wanting to finish that sentence.

Lisa bit her lip. "You'd do that?"

"Of course. That's what friends are for, right? Besides," I tried to keep my tone light, "if there's going to be a crime scene, better have a doctor present."

"That's not funny," Lisa said, but she was almost smiling.

"Seriously though, wait here. Have a drink at the bar. Try not to plan any murders." I squeezed her hand. "Let me handle this part."

Lisa fumbled in her purse and handed me a key card. I raised an eyebrow but didn't ask how she'd gotten it. Some questions were better left unanswered.

"Just... be careful," she said.

"Always am." I headed for the elevator, trying to ignore the knot in my stomach. I'd delivered countless difficult diagnoses in my career, but somehow, this felt worse.

The ride up to the 58th floor was smooth and silent. When I found 5888, I was surprised to see the door slightly ajar. Either someone was incredibly careless, or...

I pushed the door open carefully and walked in. The suite's living room was massive, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a spectacular view of nighttime in this city. But my attention was drawn to the clothes scattered across the floor.

Before I noticed, the door had closed somehow.

I moved closer, noting the details despite myself. A perfectly tailored black suit jacket. A crisp white shirt with hand-stitched details. A silk tie that probably cost more than my weekly grocery budget.

Mark had always dressed well enough, but this was different. This was new money, and lots of it. The kind of money a resident doctor definitely shouldn't have.

As I approached the bedroom door, I felt like I was about to deliver the worst kind of news to a patient's family. Some truths, once discovered, can never be undone.

"Mark, you’ll pay for what you have done to Lisa," I cursed him inwardly and entered the bedroom.