Chapter 1

The last thing I remembered from my first life was the cold. It was a deep, damp cold that seeped into my bones, a permanent resident of the prison cell that had been my home for ten years. My hands, once steady enough to repair a beating heart, trembled uncontrollably. I was dying. Not from a prison shank or a guard's beating, but from a simple, treatable infection that had been left to fester. It was a slow, pathetic end for Dr. Ethan Blackwood, once a celebrated cardiac surgeon.

My life ended because of one surgery, one man, and two people I once trusted.

The memory played in my head on a loop, clearer than any television show. The sterile white of Operating Room 3. The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor. The open chest of Councilman Thompson, his life literally in my hands. It was a complex heart transplant, a delicate dance of skill and timing. I was the lead surgeon, the best in the hospital. My assistants were my ex-wife, Dr. Olivia Hayes, and her new protégé, Liam Davis.

The surgery was proceeding perfectly. Then I heard it. A soft, digital chime. I looked over the surgical drape. Liam, who was supposed to be monitoring the bypass machine, was looking down at his phone, hidden below the sterile field. A faint glow lit his face.

"Liam, put the phone away. Now," I said, my voice low but sharp.

He looked up, startled, a flash of guilt in his eyes before it was replaced by arrogance. "It was just a text, Ethan. Relax."

"This is not the place to relax. This is an operating room. That man's life depends on your full attention," I snapped, my focus never leaving the patient's heart.

Olivia, standing opposite me, sighed dramatically. "Ethan, for God's sake, don't be so dramatic. He glanced at his phone for a second. It's not the end of the world."

Her defense of him was immediate and absolute. I saw the look they shared over me, a look of shared secrets and conspiratorial annoyance. They were sleeping together, I knew that. The whole hospital whispered about it. But I never imagined they would let their personal lives bleed into the sanctity of the OR.

"The end of the world is exactly what it could be for him," I said, pointing my forceps at the councilman's chest. "If you can't understand that, neither of you should be in here."

That was the line. The one I should never have crossed.

Liam's face hardened. He ripped off his surgical gloves. "Fine. If you think you're so much better than everyone, do it yourself." He turned and walked out of the operating room.

I was stunned. A surgeon abandoning a patient mid-procedure was unthinkable. It was a cardinal sin.

"Liam, get back here!" I yelled.

But Olivia was already moving. "You pushed him too far, Ethan," she said, her voice cold. She started taking off her own gloves. "He's just an intern. You humiliated him."

"He was on his phone! Olivia, the patient-"

"You handle the patient. You're the great Dr. Blackwood, after all," she said with a sneer. She followed Liam out of the room, leaving me with an open chest, a complex procedure half-finished, and only a junior nurse and an anesthesiologist for support.

Panic set in. The patient's blood pressure began to plummet. The anesthesiologist, Dr. Chen, was yelling out numbers. We were losing him. The crucial next step, the anastomosis of the aorta, was a two-person job. I tried. God, I tried. But it was too much, too late. The monitor flatlined. The steady beep turned into a single, unending tone of failure.

Councilman Thompson was dead.

The aftermath was a nightmare. Olivia and Liam painted a picture of me as an unstable, arrogant surgeon who bullied his intern out of the room. They claimed I became erratic, that my personal vendetta against them-my ex-wife and her new lover-caused me to lose control and kill the patient. They were calm, collected, and believable. I was a grieving, furious wreck.

I was charged with medical malpractice and involuntary manslaughter. They were the star witnesses. I was convicted. My license was revoked. My reputation was destroyed. My life was over.

And then I died, alone and forgotten in that cold, dark cell.

My eyes snapped open.

The air smelled of antiseptic. The light was bright, almost blinding. I was standing. My hands, steady and strong, were in front of me, covered in blue surgical gloves. I was wearing scrubs.

I looked around. I was in the scrub room adjacent to Operating Room 3. Through the large window, I could see the team prepping the patient. I saw Dr. Sarah Chen, the kind anesthesiologist who had looked at me with pity during the trial. I saw the junior nurse.

And then I saw them.

Olivia and Liam. They were scrubbing in beside me, laughing quietly about something. Olivia looked at me, her smile fading slightly.

"Ready to go, Ethan? Let's not keep the councilman waiting."

My heart hammered against my ribs. I looked at the clock on the wall. 10:15 AM. October 26th.

The exact time. The exact day. The day my life had ended.

I was back. I had been given a second chance. And this time, I would not let them win. This time, I would save my patient. And I would get my justice.