Derek Finch's wails echoed through the hospital corridor. I laughed.
In my past life, I'd be lying in the bed next to him right now, mummified in bandages, foolish enough to expect his gratitude—waiting for a "thank you" that would never come.
Not this time. I stood outside the emergency room, completely unscathed.
The girl who "saved" him had a death grip on a nurse's arm, her voice sharp enough to shatter glass.
"Hey! Don't walk away! That guy hasn't paid me yet! Two million! He said he'd give me two million!"
The nurse looked ready to snap. "Miss, the patient is severely burned and unconscious. He needs immediate trauma care. Get out of the way!"
"No! If he dies, who am I supposed to get the money from?" She actually lunged for the stretcher. "I risked my life for this!"
Watching her claw at the dying man, her face twisted with greed, I couldn't reconcile her with the "Department Beauty" Derek had hallucinated about.
I shook my head and turned to the police officers.
As the sole eyewitness, I laid out the facts exactly as they happened—especially the most crucial detail: Derek had refused my help.
"He was lucid," I told the officer. "He explicitly rejected my rescue attempt because he was waiting for the 'Department Beauty' to save him."
I also described how the other girl's clumsy dragging caused the secondary explosion.
The young officer frowned. "Let me get this straight. The victim was conscious, and he refused to be rescued?"
"Yes. He insisted on waiting. The hallway surveillance cameras will back me up. I didn't abandon him—he sent me away."
The officers exchanged baffled looks.
After finishing my statement, I stepped back into the corridor just in time to run into Derek's parents.
In my previous life, Vincent and Isabella Finch had despised me. They picked apart every aspect of my existence, claiming my common background made me unworthy of their "genius" son.
Now, Isabella was sobbing hysterically while Vincent cornered the doctor, his face purple with rage.
"What do you mean his hands are gone?" Vincent roared. "He's going to hold a scalpel! He's a future surgical prodigy! You have to save his hands!"
The doctor shook his head. "Mr. Finch, the hands were subjected to extreme sustained heat. But the real damage came from the secondary tearing caused by rough extraction. The nerves and tendons are necrotic."
He paused. "Saving his life is a miracle in itself. As for his hands... he'll struggle to hold chopsticks, let alone a surgical instrument."
Isabella's eyes rolled back. She collapsed in a dead faint.
Vincent slammed his fist against the wall. "I don't care! My son is not ruined! Fix him!"
Watching from the sidelines, I felt nothing but cold detachment.
Is this the choice you wanted, Derek?
In the past, I'd cut the power and used wet cloths to shield his hands. I'd used leverage to move the debris carefully, ensuring he was extracted intact. I destroyed my own lungs in the process, leaving me with a lifelong respiratory illness.
And he hated me for it.
I wondered if he'd be satisfied with the "Department Beauty" who'd just crippled him for life.
Right on cue, the savior herself stormed over.
"You're his parents, right? Perfect!" She held out her hand. "Your son promised me two million if I got him out. Hurry up and pay!"
Vincent whipped around, brows knitting furiously. "Who the hell are you? This is a hospital—stop screaming!"
"I'm his savior!" The girl puffed out her chest, oblivious to the atmosphere. "If I hadn't dragged him out, he'd be a pile of ash by now! Pay up. Two million, not a cent less!"
Vincent froze. His eyes narrowed.
"You dragged him out?"
