The Genius Doctor's Perfect Fake Death

The deafening slam of the heavy oak door echoed in the room, cutting off Collis’s violent exit.

Alivia sat in the plastic chair for three seconds. She stared at the crescent-shaped bloody indentations her fingernails had left in her palms.

She uncurled her fingers. She forced her spine straight and stood up. Her face was a blank, emotionless mask. She reached into the pocket of her white coat and pulled out her stethoscope.

Eleanor rushed over. Her face was pale. She reached out and squeezed Alivia’s shoulder, mouthing the words, Are you okay?

Alivia didn’t speak. She gave a single, tight shake of her head. She leaned over the bed and began to meticulously check Theodore Duncan’s vital signs.

She looked down at the frail, skeletal old man hooked up to the machines. A complicated knot of emotion tightened in her chest.

Five years ago, when she was locked in that basement, it was this old man who had slipped a burner phone and a stack of cash through the crack in the door. Theodore Duncan had given her the means to escape his grandson’s madness.

She had risked everything to come back to New York for one reason: to use her hands to save his life. It was a debt of blood.

Alivia gently lifted Theodore’s eyelids, shining a penlight into his pupils. Her touch was incredibly soft, betraying a tenderness she couldn’t completely hide.

Outside the room, in the darkened hallway, Collis hadn’t left.

He stood perfectly still in front of the one-way observation glass built into the wall. The room was not fully soundproofed; through the glass, he could hear muffled, unintelligible murmurs—the beeping of monitors, the shuffle of feet—but not distinct words. Still, he watched.

He watched the way she moved. He watched the gentle, almost reverent way her fingers brushed against his grandfather’s cheek. That sickening, paralyzing sense of familiarity coiled around his heart again, squeezing tight.

Inside the room, Alivia reached down to adjust the IV line taped to Theodore’s bruised hand. Her knuckles accidentally brushed against his dry, papery skin.

Suddenly, Theodore’s index finger twitched.

It was a violent, spastic jerk.

Alivia froze. She instantly dropped the IV line and leaned down, bringing her face inches from the old man’s.

Theodore’s pale, cracked lips began to tremble. His jaw worked weakly. A faint, raspy sound rattled deep in his throat.

Alivia turned her head, pressing her ear right next to his mouth to catch the sound over the hiss of the ventilator.

Theodore pushed the air past his vocal cords with agonizing effort.

“Asha…”

The whisper was broken, barely a breath of air, but the two syllables hit Alivia’s eardrum like a gunshot.

Her eyes blew wide open. Her entire body went rigid. The breath was knocked completely out of her lungs.

Behind the one-way glass, Collis couldn’t hear the word—the sound was too faint, lost in the ventilator’s hiss. *But he saw Alivia lean in. He saw the exact millisecond her face contorted in absolute, naked horror. He saw her body freeze in a state of pure shock. And he saw the old man’s lips form a single, unmistakable shape: Ah‑sha. *

The suspicion in Collis’s brain instantly ignited into a raging inferno.

He didn’t hesitate. He shoved the heavy door open and stormed back into the room.

He moved with terrifying speed. He shoved Eleanor out of the way with his forearm, not even looking at her. He marched straight to the side of the bed and stopped inches from Alivia.

His eyes were wild, boring holes into her skull.

“What did he just say?” Collis demanded. His voice was a harsh, guttural bark.

Alivia’s heart was hammering so fast it felt like a hummingbird trapped in her ribcage. Her brain scrambled, desperately trying to calculate a way out of the trap.

She forced the shock off her face. She pulled the icy, clinical mask back on.

She stood up straight, meeting Collis’s furious glare without flinching.

“The patient is experiencing delirium,” Alivia said smoothly. Her voice didn’t waver. “He is vocalizing meaningless syllables as he drifts between states of consciousness.”

“Bullshit.”

Collis’s hand shot out. His large fingers wrapped around Alivia’s wrist. He squeezed. The grip was brutal, grinding her delicate bones together.

Alivia winced, a sharp hiss of pain escaping her lips.

Collis yanked her forward, pulling her face inches from his.

“I saw your face,” he snarled, his breath hot against her skin. “I saw the way you looked. He said a name. I saw his lips. He called for Asha. Didn’t he?”

The pain in her wrist was excruciating, but it cleared her mind.

Alivia glared at him. She let a look of utter disgust cross her features.

“Who is Asha?” Alivia asked, her tone dripping with condescension. “Your ex-wife? Your mistress? I don’t care. I am a dual‑board‑certified physician—critical care and neurosurgery. I care about his brainwave activity, not his hallucinations. ”

With a sudden, violent jerk, Alivia ripped her wrist out of his grip.

She snatched a thick manila folder from the end of the bed. She slammed it hard against the center of Collis’s chest.

“Look at the CT scan,” she snapped, her voice echoing loudly in the room. “Look at the swelling in the frontal lobe. It causes auditory and vocal hallucinations. Read the science before you assault my staff.”

Collis looked down at the folder pressed against his chest. He looked back at the heart monitor. The jagged green line was steady. Theodore’s lips were still.

Collis slowly took the folder. His dark eyes shifted back to Alivia. They were cold, calculating, and filled with a lethal promise.

He didn’t say a word. He just stared at her, letting her know this was far from over.