After being banned by my biological father, I started a new life

I studied for eight years. Eight years to finally land a spot at my father's hospital.

But on my first day, the HR staff frowned at her screen and said there'd been a mistake. The position wasn't mine after all—it had gone to my father's star student, Chloe Dawson.

I left in a daze, convinced I'd somehow failed him. That I wasn't good enough.

Then I overheard two senior residents talking in the hallway.

"Did you hear? Professor Gilbert pulled strings to give his daughter's slot to Chloe Dawson. His own kid, and he just—handed it over."

I whipped around. "That's ridiculous. My father has always been fair. Chloe must have outscored me."

The senior gave me a long look, then sighed and pressed a crumpled transcript into my hands.

"Found this in your dad's trash. Your combined interview and written scores were forty-eight points higher than hers."

I stared at the paper. My name sat at the top—crossed out with a thick red X. Below it, in my father's unmistakable handwriting:

"To avoid conflict of interest, this candidate will never be hired."

Never.

My hands started shaking.

Fine. If he wanted to play the righteous man so badly, I'd show the world exactly what kind of man Nathaniel Gilbert really was.

1.

The truth? My father had been utterly mediocre back then—no talent, no connections, nothing. It was my grandfather, Dr. Harold Winfield, who built him from the ground up. Grandpa got him into the hospital. Arranged for him to study under the best mentors. Pulled strings so he could observe every major surgery. Everything my father had, my grandfather handed to him.

And now this man—who climbed to the top on someone else's back—wanted me to step aside for appearances?

I'd respected him. I'd done everything on my own, never once asking for his help. And he repaid me by crushing my dream with a single stroke of his pen.

I snatched up the transcript and ran toward his office. Halfway there, I spotted him strolling down the corridor with Chloe, both of them laughing. She was clutching her completed onboarding paperwork.

"Alice!" He waved me over, beaming. "Chloe got in! Come congratulate her—after eight years of hardship, she's finally made it!"

He clapped her shoulder proudly.

"As for you—better luck next year!"

"Even if I tried for a lifetime," I said slowly, "I don't think I could ever catch up to Chloe. Right, Dad?"

His smile vanished. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what it means."

I shoved the transcript into his chest.

"My score was forty-eight points higher than hers. So why did she get hired and not me?" My voice cracked. "And that note—'never be hired'—that's your handwriting. You knew my dream was to work here. To stand beside you. Why would you do this?"

"Nonsense!" He snatched the paper and crushed it into a ball, hurling it into the nearest trash can. Then he grabbed my arm and started pushing me toward the exit. "Go home. Stop making a scene."

"No."

I wrenched free and dove for the trash can, digging out the crumpled transcript.

"You're going to explain this. Today. Or I swear I won't let this go."