Irina's POV
The room's main display flickered into holographic mode, casting the Shaw family's comprehensive file into the air before me. Five centuries of bloodline stretched across the projection—ancestors who'd served as royal counselors, pulling strings from behind thrones.
Fresh intelligence revealed they'd gathered Hillview's finest doctors at Colton Tower, vetting candidates to treat family head Wilson Shaw. Medically speaking, the man was a lost cause.
Now this was getting interesting. I leaned back in my chair, crossing one leg over the other. "Count me in."
"Excellent. I'll arrange the wire transfer."
"Payment on delivery," I cut in. "Standard terms."
Sure, money drove most of my decisions, but hopeless medical puzzles ran a tight second. The more impossible, the better the rush. This Shaw case? Textbook perfection.
Here I was—the infamous Specter Healer.
The irony wasn't lost on me that I might be the only doctor in the city who couldn't care less about the Shaw reputation. Families like the Bernards would cash in every chip they had just for an invitation.
By dawn, Hillview was electric with gossip. First, Anastasia's power players hunting for some missing heiress.
Then the Shaw family's medical call-out.
Word spread that they'd chosen this city specifically because the Specter Healer worked these streets.
Local speculation about the mystery doctor ran wild. Some swore he was middle-aged, went by Miguel. Others insisted he was some ancient ghost. With the Shaws in play, maybe the phantom would finally surface.
---
Dawn broke early for me. I splashed cold water on my face and skipped the car to dodge rush hour traffic. Instead, I grabbed my scooter from the gate and cruised at an easy pace.
"Irina, early start today," a neighbor called out.
I flashed a grin. "Bills don't pay themselves."
An hour later, I pulled up to Colton Tower—one of Hillview's crown jewels. The lobby thrummed with energy, the entrance thick with bodies.
Every power broker in the city had shown up. My beat-up scooter looked pathetic next to the parade of luxury vehicles.
Security here sorted people by their rides, not their credentials.
Before I could even park, a guard waved me off. "Move along. This isn't a public lot. Private function."
I gave him a flat look. "I'm here for the Shaw patient."
He burst out laughing. "Right. What are you, twelve? You don't look old enough to have finished med school."
I pulled out my phone, recording a quick voice message for my team. "Tell them the Specter Healer's arrived. Someone needs to escort me up."
The guard slapped the phone from my grip. "Specter Healer? Nice try, kid. Got an invitation? No? Then quit wasting my time."
He nodded toward a sleek luxury sedan. "Now that's real VIP status. Bet you've never been within fifty feet of a car like that." Plastering on his most servile smile, he rushed to open the door.
---
Inside the vehicle sat Annie, the recently recovered Bernard heiress, clinging to an elderly gentleman's arm.
"Mr. Cross, Ms. Bernard, everything's ready upstairs," the guard gushed.
They acknowledged him with barely a glance.
Through the tinted window, Annie spotted Irina.
Her face went pale with recognition. 'What's she doing here?' she thought.
The older man beside her caught her hesitation. "Problem, Annie?"
She manufactured a smile. "No, Erik. Just nervous about my first high-profile event. I'll stick close and learn."
Erik Cross nodded approvingly.
---
Irina's POV
I didn't bother arguing. I swung my leg over the scooter and kicked off. Any decent doctor knew when to walk away—some patients needed healing, others just wanted to throw money around.
This wasn't a medical consultation anymore; it was theater. My phone was already in my hand, ready to cancel the whole arrangement.
Then a piercing scream shattered the morning air. "Oh God! What happened?"
Near the luxury car, a crowd was forming fast.
"Whose child is this? Running around unsupervised?"
"Is she breathing?"
My instincts fired. Without hesitation, I pushed through the gathering crowd.
A little girl, maybe five years old, lay twisted on the concrete. Pain contorted her features, sweat beading her forehead.
This was the Shaw family's exclusive medical event, so doctors were everywhere. A bystander grabbed a woman in a white coat. "You're medical, right? Please help her."
The woman jerked her arm free, scowling. "I can't treat her without parental consent. What if complications arise? I won't jeopardize my license for some stranger's kid. She'll probably come around on her own. I have actual patients to see."
My jaw clenched. "A doctor who chooses which lives matter doesn't deserve the degree." I dropped beside the girl, my voice slicing through the chaos. "Everyone step back. She needs space."
Something in my tone commanded instant obedience. The crowd shuffled backward.
I pressed my hand to the girl's forehead, then found her pulse.
The offended woman sneered, "Who do you think you are? Some teenage prodigy? You're in no position to judge me."
Panicked whispers rippled through the crowd.
"Just call emergency services. Don't make it worse. If this child dies, that's on you."
"I witnessed everything. She's got no parents here. Must have wandered off."
"Listen, girl, don't screw this up or her family will destroy you in court."
I tuned them out. I cut open the girl's shirt and carried her to the shade of a nearby tree.
The woman watched with contempt. "Do you even have credentials? You're going to kill her."
I barely looked up, a slight smile playing at my lips. This was the first so-called professional stupid enough to challenge my abilities. "Relax. If she doesn't make it, that's my responsibility."
My hands moved with practiced precision as I opened my medical kit. The needle array was perfectly organized. I checked her pulse once more, preparing for acupuncture.
"Stop right there," the woman snapped. "You can't just stick needles in people randomly."
I didn't hesitate. The needles found their marks as I monitored her pulse.
The woman's voice dripped with superiority, "I'm Louise Cross, graduate student at Anastasia Medical University. My uncle is Erik Cross, Hillview's premier surgeon. You think you can play doctor without a license? Enjoy your fraud charges."
I stayed focused, my voice steady. "Who told you I'm unlicensed?"
Hillview's medical boards were notorious—testing both knowledge and skill with ruthless precision. Louise had barely scraped by, and only because Erik had connections. She scoffed, "What are you, eighteen? There's no way you're certified. Just wait for the ambulance. Drop the act."
I didn't lift my eyes from my patient. My tone turned arctic. "Wait? So she can die during the 'golden hour'? What kind of doctor are you?"