As I closed the blue folder, my eyes lingered on Dr. Sterling’s name printed on the letterhead.

*Dr. Noah Sterling, Chief of Surgical Medicine.*

The name felt heavy, familiar in a way that had nothing to do with my medical history.

I had seen that name before, but not in a hospital.

I remembered a luxury charity gala from three months ago.

Jared had spent the entire evening in a private booth with a tall, silver-haired man.

That man had been Dr. Sterling.

My thoughts were interrupted by the quiet rustle of paper from the hallway.

I hurried back to the bed, climbing under the sheets just as the heavy door began to swing open.

I pulled the blanket up to my chin and closed my eyes.

A nurse entered the room, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking against the floor.

She checked the IV drip, wrote something down on a tablet, and walked out without speaking to me.

Once the door clicked shut again, I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling.

I needed to get this tea sample to an independent laboratory immediately, far away from anyone associated with Harlan Media.