Chapter 2

Truth be told, the whole situation was a little ridiculous.

The last time I faced off against someone else in a hallway was in a field hospital three years ago. We'd been fighting over a ventilator.

The other person had been holding a gun while Sylvia was now holding a phone.

It certainly was a downgrade.

Just as she was about to call Dylan, a woman in a doctor's coat with slightly damp hair ran over to us.

She stepped between us and bent down to pick up the medical charts. She then organized the charts before handing them to Sylvia with both hands.

"My apologies, Dr. Chase," she said sincerely. "I'm Layla Lewis, a neurosurgeon. He's an intern from our department who just started today and doesn't know how things work around here yet. Please don't hold it against him."

Sylvia glanced at her before putting her phone away with a look of disdain.

"Keep a better eye on your subordinates next time. At the very least, make sure he knows his place," she said with a raised eyebrow at me.

I completely ignored her provocation. Instead, my eyes were glued to the medical report in her hand, which seemed to contain a misdiagnosis.

I frowned, but just as I was about to reach for the report to get a closer look, Zoe slapped my hand away harshly.

"Will you knock it off already?" she snapped. "If you're too poor to afford a mirror, try looking at yourself in the bathroom! I can't believe you think someone like you could possibly win Dr. Chase's heart!"

"Zoe, let's go!" Sylvia ordered. "It's almost time for Mr. Garcia's surgery!"

She rolled her eyes at me, then walked away with her documents clutched tightly to her chest.

I frowned and was just about to go after her when Layla pulled me back.

"Are you crazy?" she hissed. "That's Dr. Chase, our star surgeon. Last month, a male doctor eyed her for a moment too long during lunch, and now nobody even knows where he is! If you give chase, you may as well kiss your internship goodbye."

I sneered. "Then she really is a delusional narcissist."

Layla's jaw dropped slightly, and she looked at me like I had two heads.

"Is this an intern's sense of pride?" she muttered under her breath.

Seeing that I was about to leave, she held me back once more. "Let's go. I'll show you around, then you'll need to report in for your new job."

I nodded and followed after her.

As we passed the department's monitoring room, I noticed that the monitors were displaying footage of Sylvia preparing for the surgery in the operating room.

I glanced over the screens without any intention of looking closely, but when I glimpsed the CT scan results in one corner of the screen, I stopped in my tracks.

Layla turned to look back at me. "What's wrong? Our department head is still waiting for you."

I continued to stare at the CT scan result, my pupils constricting.

"Dr. Chase mustn't perform this surgery! You have to stop her quickly!" I exclaimed.

Layla was stunned. "What?"

I pointed at the screen. "The preoperative diagnosis is incorrect. That's not an ordinary meningioma but an aneurysm disguised as one in the scan."

"Are you certain?" Layla asked, her voice trembling.

I couldn't tell if it was because she hadn't understood me or didn't dare believe me.

"There are pulsation artifacts on the third slice, which is typical of an intracranial aneurysm! She mustn't perform the surgery!" I yelled.

I'd already turned and started walking toward the operating room.

Layla jogged to catch up with me. She argued, "But Dr. Chase has already reviewed the scan three times. She even held a pre-operative discussion—"

"Well, she saw wrong!" I cut her off.

My steps didn't falter. The operating room was located on the third floor, so I made my way toward the elevators.

"If she operates on the aneurysm assuming it to be a meningioma, it'll be like setting off a bomb. Just one cut, and the patient will suffer brain death right then and there."