One and a half years later…
A luxurious black Mercedes pulled up smoothly in front of the hospital entrance. The polished metal glinted under the morning sun. The door opened, and a slender leg stepped out, followed by the graceful figure of a woman dressed in a crisp white shirt tucked into tailored black trousers. Over it, she wore a long beige trench coat that swayed with her every step. Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor as she walked, effortlessly balancing three shopping bags in her arms.
Her hair flowed freely, dark and glossy, gently brushing her back. Her lips, soft and naturally pink, had no trace of makeup—yet her beauty turned more than a few heads as she moved through the hospital corridor. Her eyes, however, were not warm. They were cold and steady, a deep shade of midnight, hiding the storm that had lived within them for far too long.
She took the lift to the 10th floor.
Ding.
Ward 778.
