The day ended quietly, the calm rare but welcome. After the emergency earlier, the rest of Jillian's shift passed with minimal activity. No unexpected surgeries, no trauma calls—just soft murmurs from the nurses' station and the rhythmic beeping of monitors in the distance.
As the sun dipped beyond the hospital windows, casting a warm golden hue across the floor, Jillian found herself taking a deep breath—one that felt like a pause.
She checked the final charts, signed off her reports, and strolled toward the locker room.
*****
Several quiet days had passed, the hospital hallways unusually calm, with fewer emergencies than usual. Jillian had taken the time to review research notes, attend briefings, and even catch a few extra hours of sleep. But in her gut, she knew peace in her line of work never lasted long.
Late one afternoon, the hospital director's secretary came knocking during a departmental meeting.
"Dr. Jillian," she said softly, "the Director needs you. It's urgent."
Jillian excused herself, brushing down the front of her white coat as she walked briskly toward the top office. Inside, the Director was standing by the window, phone still in hand, face etched with confusion and tension.
He turned as she entered. "We just received a call. Someone from MyCorp Group—yes, that MyCorp—called directly. No formal request, no details. They only said it was an emergency." He paused, emphasizing his next words. "They asked specifically for a top cardiac surgeon. I'm sending you."
Jillian's brows knit. "Did they mention a name? Condition? Anything?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. Only that it's time-sensitive. And it must be discreet."
Her breath caught slightly at the mention of MyCorp. The name wasn't just powerful—it was intimidating. A fortress of wealth, political reach, and whispers of secrets buried beneath its marble floors. Jillian had never been summoned there, nor had she ever heard of any other doctor being called directly.
Still, duty was duty.
She returned to her office, grabbed her portable cardiac kit, slung her stethoscope around her neck, and changed into her long coat. As she stepped outside, the hospital's winter light cast soft shadows across the pavement.
Her car arrived moments later, gliding through the city toward the towering silver-blue glass building that shimmered at the very heart of Shanghai. MyCorp Group looked more like a monument than a workplace—its base protected by high gates, its upper floors vanishing into the sky.
As the car pulled to a stop, Jillian stepped out, her boots clicking against the stone tiles. A suited man was already waiting at the entrance.
"Dr. Jillian," he said, confirming her identity with a nod. "Right this way."
The sliding doors opened soundlessly, swallowing her into the world of MyCorp—a place where money moved faster than time, and where secrets, she suspected, had their own elevators.
The suited man took a step to the side and spoke softly into a small earpiece.
"She's here. The doctor requested is here."
A few seconds passed in silence.
Then the elevator doors dinged open, and a second man emerged, walking fast—his polished shoes clacking against the marble, a sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the building's cool air. There was an urgency in his gait, his breath shallow, eyes darting nervously behind Jillian as if someone—or something—might be following.
"Dr. Jillian," he said quickly, reaching her side. "This way. Please."
His voice was controlled, but she could hear the strain beneath it.
Jillian gave a firm nod, her instincts shifting into full alert. "What's the situation?"
He didn't look at her. "I'll explain on the way. But you'll need to be fast. We don't have much time."
They entered a private elevator, glass-walled, rising up through the inner core of the massive tower. Outside, Shanghai glittered, but inside the capsule, there was only silence and tension.
"You still haven't told me what I'm walking into," she said sharply.
He hesitated, then finally spoke. "He collapsed during a closed-door meeting. Chest pains. Breathing difficulty. The others in the room… cleared out. We didn't call an ambulance—we couldn't risk word getting out."
Jillian's eyes narrowed. "So this is about reputation."
He glanced at her. "This is about survival, Doctor."
The elevator came to a stop on the 49th floor with a soft chime. The doors opened into a hallway lined with black-tinted windows, floors polished to a mirror shine. Two more men stood outside a large room, guarded, tense.
The man guiding her stepped forward and pushed open the door. "He's inside."
As Jillian entered, her eyes swept the room—sleek, opulent, with minimalist furniture and a view of the entire city. But on the couch, half-slouched, clutching his chest… was a man whose face made her blood still.
She froze. No.
She recognized him.
He was the last person she ever expected to see again—especially here.
But she had no time to ask questions.
Training took over.
Jillian dropped her bag to the floor and rushed to the man's side. His breathing was shallow, skin pale, and sweat beaded on his forehead. His eyes flickered open for a moment—there was recognition in them—but Jillian pushed that thought away.
"Help me lay him flat," she instructed sharply. The man who had escorted her moved quickly, following her lead.
She opened her emergency kit, gloves on in seconds. Her fingers checked for a pulse. Faint. Thready. His heartbeat was irregular—arrhythmia.
"Has he had heart conditions before?" she asked, already attaching a portable ECG monitor from her bag.
"We… don't know. He's private," the man said, voice taut. "We just know he collapsed."
The ECG confirmed her fear—ventricular tachycardia. Dangerous. Fast. A silent killer if not stopped.
"We need to stabilize him now or he won't make it," Jillian said, reaching for medication. "This dose should help regulate the rhythm—if it doesn't work, I'll have to use a defibrillator."
Her hands didn't shake, even as her heart pounded.
She was saving someone again. Even if her mind screamed at the familiarity of the face before her—this wasn't the time to unravel. She gave the injection carefully, every movement precise.
Moments passed. The heart rate monitor began to level.
Then, slowly, the man's breath deepened. His muscles relaxed just slightly. His eyes opened—and this time, they stayed open.
He stared straight at her.
"Jillian…" he whispered.
"You are not doing well, you should rest, for a while, I will be waiting incase of anything," Jillian said.
Jillian's words hung in the air as she gently placed a reassuring hand on the man's shoulder, her voice soft yet firm. His eyes flickered with a mix of exhaustion and uncertainty, but he nodded, clearly too tired to protest.
"You're right," he murmured, his voice strained, as he sank back against the pillows, finally giving in to the exhaustion he had been fighting for so long.
Jillian took a step back, her eyes scanning the room, her mind racing through the medical procedures, the unexpected turn of events. She stayed calm, her years of training and experience guiding her every move.
"You need to rest, let your body recover," she repeated, her voice taking on a quieter, more soothing tone as she arranged his blanket. "I'll be right outside if anything changes."
Her gaze lingered for a moment longer, a small flicker of concern passing through her eyes before she turned toward the door. The weight of the situation wasn't lost on her—this wasn't just another case. Something felt different.