Chapter 108

The crisp rustle of fresh scrubs filled the air as Evelyn adjusted her disguise—wig perfectly in place, mask secured, and glasses perched on her nose. Every detail mattered.

Through a private entrance, the team of four moved like shadows toward the operating suite. In the sterile sanctuary of their exclusive prep room, Simone assisted Evelyn with the final touches—tying the surgical gown, securing the mask, adjusting the protective goggles, and smoothing the gloves over her slender fingers.

After the meticulous sterilization ritual, they entered the OR with practiced precision.

Next door, in the observation gallery, the selected physicians buzzed with barely contained excitement as the legendary Dr. Hartley’s team took their positions.

“That’s her? She looks barely out of med school!” one doctor whispered, eyes wide.

“I’ve read every paper she’s published, but seeing her in action? This is surreal,” another murmured, gripping his notepad like a lifeline.

“Her speed is unmatched. They say she operates like a metronome—flawless rhythm,” a third added, leaning forward.

Meanwhile, Dominic Pierce’s jaw tightened. At twenty-eight, he’d still been fumbling through his residency, yet here was Evelyn—younger than him—commanding an OR with the grace of a veteran. The whispers of her unbroken streak of successful complex surgeries gnawed at him.

Inside the OR, Evelyn’s voice was calm as she outlined the plan: aortic valve repair, sinus reconstruction, ascending aorta replacement, and total arch replacement. Once anesthesia took hold and the patient stabilized without complications, the dance began.

In the gallery, all chatter died. Every eye tracked Evelyn’s hands—each movement deliberate, each incision exact. The doctors barely breathed, unwilling to miss a single stitch.

Hours slipped by. Spectators shifted in their seats, muscles stiffening, but Evelyn’s focus never wavered.

“Heart rate steady.”

“BP holding.”

“Hemostatic clamp.”

Four hours in, Gabriella dabbed sweat from Evelyn’s brow. Yet her hands remained rock-steady, her concentration unbroken.

Then, the quiet command: “Begin closure.”

Donovan responded instantly, “On it.”

Just like that, the critical phase was over.

A stunned murmur rippled through the gallery.

“That’s it? Four hours?”

“Her precision—like watching a master violinist. No wasted motion.”

“No wonder they call her the best.”

As Donovan finished suturing and Evelyn stepped back, Dominic stood frozen. Words failed him. The sheer brilliance of her technique left him hollow with awe—and something darker, festering beneath.