Chapter 3

Three years. That was exactly how long Julian Sterling had been operating on pure, unadulterated ruthlessness and a terrifying lack of sleep.

The sprawling penthouse boardroom of Sterling Enterprises was dead silent, save for the frantic scribbling of a terrified rival CEO signing away his life’s work. Julian sat at the head of the long obsidian table, his dark eyes hollow and predatory. He did not smile as the broken man slid the acquisition papers across the polished surface. He simply dismissed the room with a flick of his wrist.

As the executives scrambled to leave, Julian poured himself a glass of water, his gaze drifting to the locked, bulletproof display case sitting behind his desk. Inside, perfectly preserved under specialized lighting, was a heavy crystal glass containing a single, three-carat diamond ring resting at the bottom. It had not moved a millimeter in thirty-six months. It was a macabre monument to the night his wife had driven her car off Devil’s Peak and burned to ash.

Julian’s empire had doubled in size since Elara’s death. He had become a machine, crushing competitors and dominating global markets with a cold cruelty that terrified even his own board of directors. Yet, inside his chest, there was nothing but an echoing, agonizing void. He had married Chloe a year after the funeral, just as he had always planned. It was supposed to be his triumphant happily-ever-after.

Instead, it felt like a beautifully decorated prison.

Julian left the corporate tower and directed his driver toward Sterling Memorial Hospital. The familiar, suffocating scent of sterile lavender and bleach hit him the moment the elevator doors opened on the VIP floor. It was a scent that had come to define his entirely miserable existence.

Chloe was propped up in the center of the massive hospital bed, looking ghostly pale and terrifyingly frail. The alternative bone marrow donor they had scrambled to find three years ago—a desperate measure after Elara’s fiery demise—had ultimately failed. Chloe’s body was aggressively rejecting the marrow, mutating the illness into something faster and far more violent.

"Julian," Chloe whimpered as he stepped into the room. She reached out with a trembling, heavily bruised hand. Her voice held that familiar, delicate flutter, but lately, the sound only set Julian’s teeth on edge. "You came. It hurts so much today. The doctors... they don't know what they are doing."

Julian took her hand out of sheer obligation. He felt absolutely nothing. No surge of protective warmth, no desperate love—only a heavy, suffocating exhaustion. "I am handling it, Chloe. I have flown in the best specialists from Geneva and Tokyo."

"They are useless!" Chloe suddenly shrieked, her fragile mask slipping to reveal a flash of the bitter, terrified woman beneath. She gripped his tailored sleeve with surprising strength. "You promised to save me, Julian! You promised when Elara died that you would fix this!"

Julian flinched visibly at the sound of his dead wife’s name. A phantom scent of rain and cheap vanilla soap washed over him, making his chest tighten violently. He pulled his arm away from Chloe’s grasp, his expression hardening into a mask of ice. "I said I am handling it. Rest."

He turned on his heel and walked out of the suite before she could utter another word, the sound of her weeping fading behind the heavy oak door. He needed answers, and he needed them now.

Julian strode down the pristine corridor and kicked open the frosted glass door of the Chief of Oncology’s office without knocking. Dr. Aris, a world-renowned specialist who made a million-dollar salary on Julian’s payroll, jumped out of his leather chair, spilling hot coffee across his desk.

"Mr. Sterling!" Dr. Aris stammered, his face draining of color as he scrambled to wipe up the mess. "I was just... I was just reviewing Madam Sterling's latest panels."

"Skip the medical jargon, Aris," Julian snarled, slamming his hands down on the desk and leaning over the terrified doctor. "I pay you to be a miracle worker. The Japanese specialists were a dead end. The Geneva team wants to put her in a medically induced coma. Give me a solution, or I will ensure your medical license is permanently revoked."

Dr. Aris swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he picked up Chloe’s thick medical file. He looked like a man standing before an executioner. "Sir... there is no conventional solution. Her immune system has completely collapsed. The mutation is aggressive. With the current rate of cellular degradation, Madam Sterling has... she has less than a month to live."

The words hung in the air, heavy and absolute. Julian slowly stood up straight, adjusting his cuffs. He did not feel grief. He felt a terrifying, cold rage at his own powerlessness. He controlled billions of dollars, politicians, and entire industries, yet he could not buy his way out of this room.

"You said there is no conventional solution," Julian noted, his eyes narrowing into lethal slits. "What is the unconventional one?"

Dr. Aris wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, glancing nervously at the closed door before dropping his voice to a hushed whisper. "There are rumors, Mr. Sterling. Myths, really, whispered among the highest echelons of the global medical underground. There is a surgeon... an absolute ghost."

"A name, Aris," Julian demanded, his voice a deadly, quiet rumble.

"They call her Dr. S," the older man breathed, his eyes wide with a mixture of reverence and fear. "She is the phantom of the medical world. She operates entirely outside the jurisdiction of any global health organization. She has cured paralyzed royalty, reversed terminal organ failure in cartel bosses, and performed neurosurgeries that defy modern science. If anyone on this earth can synthesize a cure for your wife's specific mutation, it is her."

Julian’s pulse kicked into a steady, predatory rhythm. Finally, a target. A problem that could be hunted down and bought. "Where do I find this Dr. S?"

"You don't find her, Sir," Dr. Aris replied, shaking his head grimly. "She finds you. She is backed by a syndicate so wealthy and heavily armed that they make sovereign nations nervous. She resides at the Genesis Institute—a fortress island. No one knows the exact coordinates. She does not take appointments, and she certainly does not care about your money."

Julian stepped back from the desk, a dark, arrogant smirk curling the corner of his mouth. "Every person on this planet has a price, Aris. If she is a ghost, I will buy the entire underworld to drag her into the light." He turned toward the door, his mind already calculating the billions he was about to unleash.

"Prepare Chloe for transport," Julian commanded over his shoulder, his hand on the doorknob. "I am putting a one hundred million USD bounty on the black market tonight. Whoever this Dr. S thinks she is, by the end of the week, she will belong to me."