Chapter 3(Adrian P.O.V)

Around five in the morning, my phone rang from an unknown number.

“Ugh,” I groaned, reaching for it.

“Adrian Thompson,” I answered.

“Hey, Doc,” a woman’s voice said quickly. “We need you. A VVIP needs emergency surgery,deep cut.” Before I could ask anything, she hung up.

“Great,” I muttered, rolling out of bed. After a fast shower, I dressed, slipped into Nina’s room to kiss her forehead, and left some money beside her. Then I sped straight to the hospital.

Inside, Jasmine, the nurse who called rushed to meet me.

“Thank God you’re here, Adrian,” she whispered.

“What happened?” I asked, already pulling on surgical gloves. “And who is she?”

“She’s a VVIP. Nobody knows her real identity,” Jasmine explained. “She slit her veins with a broken flower vase. The cut is deep. Honestly… she seems mentally unstable.”

“She’s in Room 16, the VVIP suite.”

I masked up and stepped into the operating room. The woman on the table was unconscious. Blood smeared her face, and the gash on her right arm was severe. She looked young, fragile, not like someone suffering from a mental breakdown.

What really happened? Why would she injure herself this badly?

Something didn’t add up.

I operated on her and stitched up the wound. Thankfully, no major vessels were destroyed. I was about to leave when she suddenly grabbed a small broken shard of glass and tried to rip open her freshly stitched arm again.

I snatched it away before she hurt herself. She looked up at me weakly, reaching for the shard again.

“Please… I need to end this pain,” she whispered, then slipped back into unconsciousness.

I glanced at her hands. Her left hand showed signs of frequent use, she was left-handed, yet her right arm was swollen from countless needle marks. Why was she kept sedated so much? What pain was she talking about?

Room 16.

I was definitely going to find out what was happening.

As I washed my hands with antiseptic, Dr. Kingston, the doctor in charge of all VVIPs on the 13th floor, walked in.

“You attended to the patient in Room 16?” he asked sharply.

“Yes, sir,” I said, drying my hands and turning toward him.

“Good. You’re competent enough for that case,” he said, patting my back.

“Who is she?” I asked as he started to leave.

“Just a rich, spoiled brat,” he scoffed, and walked out.

No one was giving real answers. But I knew exactly who would.

By eight a.m., I walked up to the reception desk and smiled at Lola.

“Good morning, Lola.”

“Morning, Adrian,” she replied, smiling back.

“I need to ask you something,” I whispered.

“What is it?” she whispered too.

“Who’s in Room 16?”

“Oh,” she breathed, eyes widening. “Follow me.”

She dragged me to a small corner office and pointed at a wooden chair.

“Sit.”

I obeyed.

“She’s a VVIP,” Lola said, lowering her voice. “The heiress of Temple Corporation. She’s been locked in that room for about four years. I only know this because Dr. Kingston spilled everything one night when he was drunk.”

My heart skipped.

“Her name is Tori. They keep her sedated all the time; that’s why she’s always asleep. But lately, she’s developed resistance to the drugs, so they might switch her to something stronger.”

Lola leaned closer, her tone dropping to a terrified whisper.

“She must not get hurt… or die. Because if she does, everyone who knows the truth will be killed.”