Girlfriend, Childhood Friend, and a Broken Hand

The cold floor pressed painfully against my cheek.

"I think you're the one trying to kill Mr. Williams Senior!" Jason's voice echoed above me, full of smug satisfaction. "Spill it. Did you take money from the Williams family's rivals and infiltrate our hospital to sabotage the surgery?"

Such absurd accusations.

I, Ashton Howard, the youngest chief of cardiovascular surgery in the country at 33 years old, had saved countless lives.

Today, in my own operating room, I was being framed as a murderer by a security captain, who had only gotten the job through connections.

"Let go of me! You're committing a crime!" I struggled, desperately trying to break free from their grip.

But just then, a polished leather shoe came down hard on the back of my right hand.

It was Luke.

He looked down at me with a cruel smile. Then, he slowly put more pressure on my hand.

I heard a sickening crunch.

The force crushed my finger bones.

The searing pain made my vision blur, and I knew that this hand, which I'd held a scalpel with for over a decade, was ruined.

"Ah!" I let out a muffled scream.

Meanwhile, Katie just stood by with her arms crossed, coldly watching everything unfold.

Suddenly, the monitor blared with an urgent, piercing alarm. The heart rate line on the screen trembled wildly before turning into a flat line.

That was a ventricular fibrillation! Devan was having a cardiac arrest!

The anesthesiologist and nurses screamed in panic, "Dr. Howard! The patient's in V-fib! We need to defibrillate immediately!"

I lay there on the cold floor, agony shooting through my right hand.

Through the gap in the crowd, I caught sight of the monitor. The cold, flat line pierced my heart like a blade.

I raised my head, my bloodshot eyes locking onto the three faces before me—Katie's triumphant grin, Luke's cruel smirk, and Jason's arrogant sneer.

"You murderers." My voice was hoarse, yet dripping with an icy rage. "None of you are getting away!"

The pain and fury made my blood burn with heat.

"Defibrillator! 200 joules! Get it ready!" I shouted at the stunned nurses with every ounce of energy in my body.

My hand was ruined, but my mind was still sharp. I was still the lead surgeon in this operating room.

Jason's foot pressed harder into my hand as he warned, "Stay down!"

"Get off me!" I roared, my voice echoing in the room. "If the patient dies, you're all murderers!"

Perhaps the word "murderers" struck a chord. Jason's foot lightened for a moment.

The nurses snapped out of their shock and scrambled to push forward the defibrillator.

"Charging! Stand clear!"

Propping myself up with my left hand, I forced my upper body off the floor and watched as the nurse pressed two electrode pads onto Devan's bare chest.

With a dull thud, Devan's body jolted upward before slamming back down onto the table.

The heart monitor still showed that flat line.

"300 joules!" I barked.

Sweat and tears blurred my vision.

My hand and career could be ruined in this very room. But right now, I couldn't think about that.

All I cared about was keeping the patient alive.

"Boom!"

Another shock.

On the heart monitor, a faint wave-like line finally flickered to life.

Sinus rhythm restored!

A collective sigh of relief swept through the operating room.

But I didn't let myself relax for a second. I immediately issued a string of commands. "Push 1 mg of adrenaline. Start a Lidocaine drip. Get the rib spreader ready. I'm going back on bypass."

My voice trembled from pain, but my instructions were clear and decisive.