Chapter 2

The shock felt like a physical blow, a jolt that ran through my entire body. My breath caught in my throat. I looked down at my hands again, flexing them. They were my hands, the hands of a 38-year-old surgeon at the peak of his career, not the weak, trembling hands of a dying prisoner. The memories of the cold cell, the despair, the slow decay-they were still sharp, still raw. It wasn't a dream. It was a memory of a future that I now had the power to change.

"Ethan? Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost," Olivia said, her voice laced with a faint, mocking concern.

I met her eyes. The same beautiful face that had once promised me a lifetime of love now looked like a mask for deceit. I saw the cunning behind her smile, the ambition that overshadowed any oath she had ever taken.

"I'm fine," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "Just focused. Let's go."

We walked into the operating room. The sterile environment was exactly as I remembered it. The rhythmic beep of the monitors was a sound I had once found comforting, but now it sounded like a ticking clock, counting down to the moment of betrayal. Councilman Thompson lay on the table, draped in blue, a life entrusted to us. This time, I would not fail that trust.

The surgery began. I made the first incision, my movements precise and confident. The years in prison hadn't dulled my muscle memory. This was where I belonged. For the first hour, everything went smoothly. The team worked like a well-oiled machine. I could almost forget what was coming.

Almost.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the movement. Liam, believing he was shielded from my view by the surgical drape, shifted his weight. His hand slipped below the level of the operating table. I didn't need to see the phone to know it was there. I remembered the chime from my past life.

I didn't wait for it.

"Liam," I said, my voice calm and low, but carrying an unmistakable edge of command. "Eyes on the bypass monitor. Report the perfusion pressure."

Liam flinched, his head snapping up. "It's stable. 65 mmHg."

"I want you to call out the readings every thirty seconds," I ordered. "And keep your hands where I can see them."

The implication was clear. A tense silence fell over the room. Liam' s face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. He shot a look at Olivia, a silent plea for her to intervene.

Olivia, as expected, did not disappoint.

"Ethan, what is your problem?" she said, her voice tight with irritation. "You're treating him like a child. He's perfectly capable of doing his job without you breathing down his neck."

"His job is to focus one hundred percent on this patient," I replied, not looking up from the delicate work of dissecting the calcified aorta. "That means no distractions. None."

"I wasn't distracted!" Liam whined, his voice rising. The arrogance was back, fueled by Olivia' s support. "I was just stretching my hand."

"Stretching your hand into your pocket?" I asked coolly. "Just call out the numbers, Davis. Every thirty seconds."

The challenge hung in the air. I had called him Davis, not Liam. The formal address was a clear line drawn in the sand. I was his superior, not his rival for his lover's affection.

Liam's jaw clenched. "You know what? I don't need this. I have family on the board of this hospital. I don't need to be harassed by a washed-up surgeon who's jealous of his ex-wife."

The insult, so close to the one from my past life, barely registered. I was prepared for it.

"Your family connections mean nothing in this room," I said flatly. "Here, there are only doctors and a patient. And right now, you are failing at being a doctor."

That did it. Liam threw his suction instrument onto the sterile tray with a clatter, a shocking breach of protocol.

"I'm done," he announced, his voice trembling with spoiled rage. "I'm leaving."

He started to untie his gown. Dr. Chen, the anesthesiologist, gasped. "Dr. Davis, you can't leave now! We're at a critical stage!"

"He can do it himself! He's the great Dr. Blackwood!" Liam sneered, mimicking Olivia's future words. He ripped off his mask and stormed toward the door.

I looked at Olivia, my eyes pleading with her for a shred of professionalism. "Olivia, stop him. We need him here."

But her expression was cold, her loyalty already decided. She was looking at Liam's retreating back with concern, not for the patient on the table, but for her lover's bruised ego.

"You brought this on yourself, Ethan," she said.

Just then, the familiar sound of a ringtone cut through the tension. It was coming from the hallway where Liam had just disappeared. Olivia's head snapped toward the sound. She pulled out her own phone from her scrub pocket-another gross violation of sterile procedure.

She looked at the screen and her expression softened. It was Liam. He was calling her. In the middle of a heart transplant he had just abandoned, he was calling her.

I stared at her, a cold dread washing over me. It was happening again. But this time, I was ready.

"Don't you dare answer that phone, Olivia," I said, my voice a low warning. "That man on the table is your patient. He is your only priority right now."

She looked from her phone back to me, her eyes filled with a pure, unadulterated selfishness that chilled me to the bone. "You don't give me orders anymore, Ethan."