One week.
The words echo in the silent, cavernous living room.
Seven days until my career is put on trial.
Seven days until a panel of my peers decides if I am a doctor or a disgrace.
The room feels like it's tilting.
I can feel the walls of my life closing in.
A wave of helplessness, cold and paralyzing, washes over me.
I'm going to lose.
The enemy, this ghost who knows all our secrets, is ten steps ahead of us.
They're not just ruining us.
They're doing it on an accelerated timeline.
I sink onto the sofa, the official email a glowing death warrant on my phone screen.
Theo watches me, his face a grim, unreadable mask.
The fight is gone from him.
The anger is gone.
All that's left is a cold, hard resolve.
He walks over and takes the phone from my trembling hand.
He reads the email.
His jaw tightens.
"Okay," he says, his voice quiet but firm.
I look up at him, my own hope a flickering, dying ember.
"Okay, what?" I whisper. "It's over, Theo. They have a police report. They have an anonymous source feeding them my entire history. I have one week to fight a case that's already been decided."
"No," he says, and there's a new fire in his eyes.
A dangerous fire.
"We're done reacting," he says. "We're done being their pawns. From this moment on, we go on the offensive."
He holds out a hand to me.
"They want a story, Elara? We'll give them one."
I stare at his outstretched hand.
He is the cause of all of this.
The walking, talking catalyst for my professional ruin.
He is also the only ally I have.
My survival is now inextricably linked to his.
I place my hand in his.
His grip is strong.
Warm.
"What's the plan?" I ask.
"We stop hiding," he says, pulling me to my feet. "And we start performing."
Two days later, I'm sitting on the white sofa that has become my cellmate.
Across from me sits Joanna Vance.
A Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist known for her sharp, insightful, and merciless profiles.
She is not from TMZ.
She is not a gossip columnist.
She is the real deal.
And she is in our living room.
Theo arranged it with a single phone call.
"An exclusive," he'd said. "We give her the whole story. Our story. Before they can twist it any further."
I'm wearing a cream-colored cashmere sweater.
It's designed to make me look soft.
Trustworthy.
In love.
I feel like a sheep being dressed for slaughter.
Joanna Vance smiles, a tight, intelligent smile.
"So," she begins, her digital recorder already on the coffee table between us. "A Vegas wedding. It's quite the story. Tell me everything."
Theo takes my hand.
His thumb rubs gentle circles on my knuckles.
It's a calculated gesture of intimacy.
It's for the performance.
I know that.
But my skin still prickles.
"It wasn't a plan," Theo says, his voice a smooth, practiced melody of sincerity. "It was… inevitable. I've known Dr. Voss for years."
He smiles at me, a look of pure adoration that is so convincing, it makes my stomach hurt.
"I was in a dark place in my life. And she was… a light. Even then, I knew there was something more. A connection that went beyond her professional capacity."
He's a masterful liar.
He weaves threads of the truth into the fabric of the lie, making it strong. Unbreakable.
"And you, Doctor?" Joanna asks, her sharp eyes turning to me. "You're a woman known for her discipline, her boundaries. What was it about Mr. Raine that made you throw out your own rulebook?"
I take a breath.
I look at Theo.
I deliver my lines.
"As a therapist, you spend your life helping others navigate their humanity," I say, the words feeling practiced and foreign. "You forget, sometimes, that you're allowed to have your own. Theo reminded me of that. He saw… me. Not the doctor. Just the person. And that was a feeling I realized I didn't want to live without."
It's a beautiful sentiment.
A complete and utter fabrication.
And as I watch Joanna Vance nodding, her expression softening, I realize with a sickening lurch…
It's working.
They're buying it.
The interview lasts for two hours.
Two hours of the most intense, draining performance of my life.
When Joanna Vance finally leaves, I feel hollowed out.
I collapse back onto the sofa, my body trembling.
"You were good," Theo says, loosening his tie. "A natural."
"Don't," I say, my voice shaking. "Just… don't."
He nods, understanding.
He gives me space.
My phone rings.
It's Maya.
"I saw the alert," she says, her voice frantic. "You're doing a sit-down with Joanna Vance? Are you insane? What are you doing, Elara? Talk to me."
And so I do.
I tell her everything.
The drugging.
The wiped footage.
The blackmail note.
Harrison.
The police report.
The hearing.
All of it.
The silence on the other end is long.
When she finally speaks, her voice is cold steel.
"That son of a bitch," she whispers. "He's not just your problem anymore, Elara. He's my client's problem. And I am going to bury him."
"What do I do, Maya?"
"You let me handle the legal. I'm on my way over. We need to strategize."
She hangs up.
I look up at Theo. He's on his own phone, pacing by the window.
He finishes his call and turns to me.
"Okay," he says. "Your legal defense. It's handled."
I frown. "What are you talking about? Maya is my lawyer. She's on her way."
"Maya is your friend," he says. "She's brilliant. But she's not who we need for this."
"And who do we need?"
"We don't need a lawyer," he says. "We need an army."
He tells me the name of the firm.
Sterling, Shaw, & Cohen.
It's a legendary firm.
A legal powerhouse.
They specialize in impossible cases.
In taking on government boards and corporations.
They cost a fortune.
And they never lose.
"I've already retained them," he says, as if he's telling me he ordered groceries. "They're the best. They'll represent you at the hearing."
I stare at him, a complicated mix of emotions warring inside me.
Relief.
So much relief it makes me weak.
And a sharp, bitter resentment.
"You can't just buy me a legal team, Theo," I say, my voice tight. "This is my career. My fight."
"And I'm giving you better weapons to fight it with," he replies, his voice firm. "You're not in this alone, Elara. Whether you like it or not, your fight is now my fight."
He's saving me.
And I hate that I need him to.
An hour later, the living room has been transformed into a legal war room.
I'm here.
Theo is here.
Maya is here, looking like she wants to commit a homicide.
And two lawyers from Sterling, Shaw, & Cohen are here. They are sharp, serious, and radiate an intimidating aura of competence.
We're all gathered around the coffee table, which is now covered in documents.
We're talking about the anonymous source.
The police report.
The timeline of the attack.
"This is a coordinated effort," says Ms. Shaw, the lead lawyer. "Designed to create a specific narrative. We need to find the source."
"We have a suspect," I say, my voice low. "My former mentor. Dr. Alistair Harrison."
I recount the entire conversation in my office.
His disapproval.
His connection to Sarah.
His final, chilling claim.
Maya, who has been silently typing on her laptop this whole time, suddenly stops.
Her head snaps up.
"Oh my god," she whispers, her eyes wide as she stares at her screen.
We all turn to look at her.
"What is it?" I ask.
"I've got something," she says, her voice grim. "Something bad."
She turns her laptop around for us to see.
It's a webpage.
A dry, official-looking site.
"Alistair Harrison isn't just some concerned old professor, Elara."
She points to a line of text on the screen.
My eyes focus on the words.
And the last bit of air leaves my lungs.
"For the past five years," Maya reads out loud, her voice shaking with rage, "he's been serving as a paid ethics consultant…"
She pauses for effect, her eyes meeting mine.
"…for the State of California Medical Board."