The call

Gina’s POV

I got a notification from the nurse shortly after Roland left my room ; my mum was awake, and I could see her for a bit before she was taken to surgery. I threw the business card he had given me onto the bedside table, with no plans of calling him.

Then I hurried out of the hospital room to find something to wear. With my mother going into surgery, I didn’t want her to worry about me; afraid that it might affect her during the operation. With not much money at hand, I could only buy something from a thrift shop close to the hospital. After that, I returned to see my mother.

“Mum,” I called softly as I entered the room. I tried my best to hide the fact that I was still limping.

“My dear.” My mother had a faint smile on her lips. Though she looked weak, seeing her smile and how proud she was to see me made me feel relieved. She was the one person in my world who had not turned against me.

“How do you feel?” I asked, sitting on the chair next to her bed.

“I’m fine. The doctor said I’ll be going in for surgery soon.”

My mother looked genuinely happy. I could tell she was looking forward to finally becoming healthy again once the surgery was over.

Before I could respond, my phone buzzed on the chair beside me. Once. Twice. Then again and again, until it wouldn’t stop.

I frowned and picked it up, expecting another update from the nurse or maybe a text from the hospital pharmacy. But the moment I unlocked the screen, my breath caught.

Hundreds of notifications. Mentions. Tags.

My name was everywhere.

I blinked at the screen, confused at first until I saw it.

A post already shared thousands of times.

#GinaGreenwoodAccident

#EthanColeTransfer

#ScandalAlert

My hands trembled as I opened one of the tags. Someone had posted a screenshot from my livestream earlier that morning — the exact moment when the transfer alert from Ethan Cole appeared on my screen. The amount was clearly visible, and so was the sender’s name.

“Ethan Cole sends Gina Greenwood $520,000.”

 “Did anyone else notice this during her livestream? Look at the top of the screen — she got an alert from someone named Ethan Cole. $520,000. What’s going on here?”

The attached screenshot was clear, my livestream window, my face mid-sentence, and in the top corner, the payment alert.

A sick weight settled in my stomach. I hadn’t even realized it had popped up while I was live. I had simply tapped my screen, hoping to fool Ethan, but I had shared my screen at that moment — causing this chaos.

The comments were worse. Not cruel, not yet but full of doubt, curiosity, and growing confusion.

 “$520,000? Why would Ethan Cole send her that kind of money?”

“Are we sure it’s the Ethan Cole? Could be fake.”

“No, look at the timestamp — especially the way she ended the livestream.”

“Wait… what if she’s telling the truth? What if she was in danger?”

“Or maybe she’s staging this whole thing for attention.”

“If she’s lying, she’s finished. But if she’s not…”

“@EthanCole come and clarify — did you send her the money?”

There were various speculations, and each new comment made my pulse quicken. The narrative was no longer mine, it was a wildfire spreading faster than I could think.

My hand trembled as I scrolled, eyes stinging.

They didn’t know what to believe — and somehow, that was worse than hatred. Doubt was slower, quieter… but it spread deeper. Some people were even beginning to call me, asking if I needed help or support, but I didn’t know how to respond. I had no real evidence at the moment to fight back.

“Mum,” I unconsciously whispered, my voice trembling as I stared at the screen.

She turned her head weakly, her eyes soft with concern. “What is it, dear?”

I swallowed hard, forcing a smile that barely held together. “It’s nothing. Just… the internet being the internet.”

“You should use your phone less, especially now that you’re signing with Prime Entertainment,” my mother advised with a kind smile.

“I know, Mum.” I continued to force a smile. I couldn’t tell her anything that would upset her. I wanted to keep looking at the news and find a way to pull myself out of the trend, but I also didn’t want her to catch on to the situation, so I turned off my phone.

I stayed with Mum. We laughed about the past and planned for the future after her surgery. When she brought up my uncle and his family, I had no choice but to lie — saying he had come to visit while she was unconscious and that he’d been busy with the company. I even forced myself to announce Emily’s engagement as though it were a good thing.

“What about your boyfriend? Has he announced your relationship now?” she asked. My mum knew I had been in a secret relationship for three years. She had always wanted to meet him, but because of my agreement with Ethan, it never happened.

“What happened? Did you guys break up?” my mum asked she must have picked up something from my reaction.

“No, of course not. He traveled… I just miss him,” I lied, forcing a smile.

Mum looked at me — it was obvious she didn’t believe me. “You promised I would get to meet him after graduation. So I hope to meet him after my surgery,” Mum said.

“Mum, what are you saying? He traveled. How can you meet him until he returns?” I replied, half smiling.

“Then how about a video call now?” Mum suggested. I froze at her words.

“Mum, you’ll be going into surgery soon. Why don’t you wait until after. Besides he should be quiet busy now?” I said, already planning to figure something out before then.

Mum looked at me, and I saw the doubt in her gaze. “You know you can trust me with anything, right?” she asked gently.

I smiled, forcing myself not to break down. I had to be strong for her. “Of course, Mum. Just make sure you come out of the surgery,” I said quickly, trying to shift the topic.

“I will. God will protect me, like He has always protected us,” my mum said.

“Amen.” I had no choice but to put my hope in God. After all, the nurse had already explained that because of the complications from the previous day, the surgery had become more dangerous.

The nurses wheeled my mother out of the room an hour later. I followed quietly until the red light above the operating room blinked on.

“She’ll be fine,” one of the nurses assured me before disappearing inside.

I sat in the corridor, my hands clasped so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Every second stretched into an eternity. I tried to distract myself — counting the tiles, listening to footsteps, whispering silent prayers — but the clock refused to move any faster.

Two hours passed. Then three.

Each time the doors swung open, my heart leapt, only to crash again when it wasn’t the doctor. The waiting area was quiet except for the soft hum of the vending machine and the occasional roll of a stretcher down the hall.

By the fourth hour, I could barely feel my legs. When the red light finally went off, I was on my feet before the door even opened. “God, please,” I prayed over and over again.

The doctor stepped out, removing his gloves. His expression was calm — tired, but relieved.

“The surgery was successful,” he said, and I nearly broke down from the weight that lifted off my chest.

“Thank God,” I whispered, the exact words my mum would say in this moment.

“But she’s still weak. Her heart is fragile, and her blood pressure dropped several times during the procedure. For now, avoid giving her any emotional stress or bad news. Any shock could be dangerous,” he advised.

I nodded quickly, tears burning behind my eyes. “Thank you, doctor. Thank you so much.”

He smiled kindly and patted my shoulder. “We’ll monitor her for the rest of the night before transferring her to her ward. You should get some rest — you’re a patient too,” he advised before walking away.

I sank onto the nearest bench, covering my face with trembling hands. My mother was safe. That was all that mattered.

When my breathing finally steadied, I decided to return to my hospital room to get some rest, just as the doctor had suggested. After all, I couldn’t see my mother until the next morning and I needed to be strong for her. Fortunately, Roland had arranged a private room for me in the hospital, so I could rest.

I cleaned up and got into bed. It was only at that moment that I remembered my phone. I picked it up from my bag; it had been off for hours. The moment I turned it on, it came alive, vibrating violently in my hand.

Hundreds of missed calls, countless messages, endless notifications.

I opened my social media, then immediately wished I hadn’t.

The internet had exploded.

Dozens of trending posts, edited clips from my livestream, screenshots of the transfer alert, even videos analyzing my expression. Headlines screamed across every platform:

“Ethan Cole and Gina Greenwood Scandal — What Really Happened?”

“$520,000 Transfer: Bribe or Blackmail?”

“Leaked Footage: Is Gina Greenwood Hiding the Truth?”

Someone had even taken a picture of my meeting with Ethan the previous night when he had met me outside my uncle’s house.

Some claimed I was trying to seduce Ethan; others said I’d faked everything for attention. Influencers were already making commentary videos, and Prime Entertainment’s name was dragged into every post.

Someone had even come to the hospital to verify my claim of being admitted after a car accident the previous night.

#EthancoleSaySomething also became a trend. The video of my confession that Ethan had released that morning had gained a lot of attention — this time, people were no longer just cursing me, but demanding clarification.

My stomach knotted as I scrolled.

Then my screen flashed with an incoming call. Although I had deleted the number, I could recognize it even in my deepest sleep.

My hands froze. For a second, I thought of ignoring it. But I knew him well enough to know silence would only make things worse.

I pressed accept.