The world has shrunk to the size of a laptop screen.
To a single line of text.
Consultant, State of California Medical Board.
The enemy is not at the gates.
He is inside the fortress.
He is the judge, the jury, and for all I know, the executioner.
A cold, calm certainty settles over me.
It's the same feeling I get right before a patient has a major breakthrough, or a major breakdown.
The feeling of inevitability.
I am being railroaded.
And the man I once admired most is driving the train.
"Well," Maya says, her voice a low, furious hiss. "This changes things."
"It means the hearing is a formality," I say, my own voice flat and distant. "A show trial. The verdict is already in."
"The hell it is," Ms. Shaw, my new, terrifyingly expensive lawyer, cuts in. Her voice is sharp steel. "It means they've revealed their strategy. They've shown us their bias. We can use that."
Theo just stands there, silent.
His face is a thundercloud.
He's looking at the screen, at Harrison's name, and I can see the pieces clicking into place in his mind.
The mentor.
Sarah's therapist.
The board consultant.
The man who knows all the secrets.
"He's the one," Theo says, his voice a low growl. "He's behind all of it."
No one disagrees.
The war room is silent for a moment.
Five of us, against a ghost who has infiltrated the very system meant to protect me.
"Okay," Maya says, cracking her knuckles. "Let's get to work. We have less than a week to dismantle a god."
The night before the hearing is silent.
A thick, suffocating silence.
We've prepped for hours.
My lawyers have drilled me.
Question after question.
They've twisted my words, my history, my intentions, showing me every possible way the board could attack.
I feel like a lab specimen, pinned and dissected.
Now, the house is quiet.
Maya and the legal team are gone.
It's just me and Theo.
Two soldiers in a trench, waiting for dawn.
I'm in the living room, staring out at the black, empty ocean.
I haven't slept in two days.
I hear him approach.
He doesn't say anything.
He just hands me a glass of water.
I take it.
"Thank you," I whisper.
He sits on the other end of the couch.
A safe, respectable distance.
"How are you?" he asks.
The question is so simple.
So normal.
It almost makes me break.
"I'm a leading expert in anxiety management," I say, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "And I feel like I'm going to vibrate out of my own skin."
"You'll be great tomorrow," he says.
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do," he says, his voice firm. "You're the most competent person I've ever met, Elara. You're Dr. Voss. You've got this."
He's trying to comfort me.
To give me a pep talk.
The man whose life is a swirling vortex of chaos is trying to be my rock.
The irony is crushing.
And for a single, terrifying moment, I want to lean into it.
I want to crawl across the couch and let him hold me.
I want him to tell me it's all going to be okay.
But I don't.
Because we are a lie.
And tomorrow, that lie is going on trial.
The hearing room is beige.
A sterile, soul-crushing beige.
The color of bureaucracy.
And quiet judgment.
A long, polished table dominates the room.
Behind it sit the board.
Five men and two women.
Their faces are impassive masks of neutrality.
But their eyes are cold.
Dr. Harrison is not among them.
A small, insignificant relief.
My legal team sits with me at another table.
I am wearing my armor.
A gray suit.
Minimal makeup.
I am the picture of sober professionalism.
The head of the board, a stern-looking woman named Dr. Albright, reads the official charges.
The words wash over me.
Ethical violations.
Dual relationships.
Unprofessional conduct.
Undue influence.
My lawyer, Ms. Shaw, gives a brilliant opening statement.
She paints a picture of a respected clinician being targeted by a malicious, anonymous party.
She frames the Vegas wedding as the impulsive act of two people reconnecting, not as an ethical breach.
It's a masterful performance.
But the board looks unimpressed.
Their questions are sharp.
Hostile.
They twist my entire career into a series of questionable judgments.
"Dr. Voss, isn't it true you specialize in treating powerful men with narcissistic tendencies?"
"Dr. Voss, can you explain why you terminated Mr. Raine's therapy so abruptly three years ago?"
"Dr. Voss, do you often find yourself forming… personal attachments to your patients?"
It's not an inquiry.
It's an interrogation.
They've already decided I'm guilty.
They're just building the gallows.
Then, they call him.
"The board calls Mr. Theodore Raine to the stand."
Theo walks to the witness chair.
He looks calm.
Confident.
He is in his element.
He swears the oath.
And then he begins his testimony.
He tells them about his life before me.
About Sarah.
About the grief that was eating him alive.
He doesn't hold back.
He speaks of his own arrogance, his own destructive patterns.
He paints a picture of a man who was lost.
"And Dr. Voss?" the board's lawyer asks. "What was her role in this?"
Theo looks at me.
His eyes are clear and steady.
"She was the first person who ever saw past the money and the headlines," he says, his voice ringing with a conviction that feels terrifyingly real. "She saw the broken parts. And she wasn't afraid of them. She was professional. Rigid, even. She held me accountable. She saved my life."
He then tells them the story.
The lie.
Our lie.
About reconnecting years later.
About the spark.
About the whirlwind romance.
He's incredible.
He's passionate, sincere, and utterly convincing.
He's selling a fairy tale, and for a moment, even I want to buy it.
But the board is immune to his charm.
Their cross-examination is brutal.
"Mr. Raine, you're a man known for his… powers of persuasion, are you not?"
"Isn't it possible that you manipulated Dr. Voss, a clinician who was, by your own admission, emotionally invested in your well-being?"
"How can this board be sure that this 'whirlwind romance' isn't just another one of your famous hostile takeovers?"
They are twisting his narrative.
Dismissing his testimony.
They are predetermined against us.
My last ember of hope dies.
"The board has one final witness," Dr. Albright announces.
My lawyers and I exchange a confused look.
This wasn't on the witness list.
"We call Dr. Alistair Harrison to the stand."
The air leaves my body.
My blood turns to ice.
He walks in from a side door.
He's wearing his signature tweed jacket.
He looks grave.
Sorrowful.
He is the picture of a reluctant witness, forced to testify against a former protégé.
He is a snake.
Ms. Shaw is on her feet. "Objection! Dr. Harrison is a consultant for this very board. His testimony is a clear conflict of interest!"
"Dr. Harrison is testifying as a private citizen, as a former colleague of Dr. Voss," Albright replies, her voice cold. "Objection overruled."
He takes the stand.
He looks at me, his eyes full of that fake, paternal pity.
The board's lawyer begins.
"Dr. Harrison, you were Dr. Voss's mentor at the university, correct?"
"Yes," Harrison says, his voice heavy with false regret. "She was my most promising student. Truly brilliant."
"And in your professional capacity, did you ever have concerns about her methods? Her boundaries?"
Harrison sighs. A long, theatrical sigh of a man burdened by a terrible truth.
He looks at me again.
"I'm afraid so," he says, his voice barely a whisper.
"There were… patterns. A tendency to become overly invested in the emotional lives of her more… challenging patients."
"Do you have any proof of these concerns?" the lawyer asks.
And then it happens.
The final, unforgivable betrayal.
"Unfortunately, I do," Harrison says.
He reaches into the leather briefcase at his feet.
He pulls out a thin manila file.
He places it on the table in front of him.
He reads the label out loud for the board, for the record, for the whole world to hear.
"File label: VOSS, ELARA: PEER SUPERVISION NOTES, CONFIDENTIAL."
He looks up, his eyes meeting mine one last time.
"I have my notes from our supervision sessions," he says, his voice breaking with feigned sorrow.
"And I believe they will show a clear pattern of manipulation."