The world came back in flashes of blinding, sterile white.
First came the sharp, chemical smell of bleach. Then, the terrifyingly cold bite of heavy leather straps digging into my wrists and ankles. I was completely immobilized, strapped flat to a cold metal delivery bed.
"Ahhh!"
A vicious contraction ripped through my abdomen, shattering the drug-laced fog in my brain. My body was screaming, desperately trying to push the babies out.
"She's awake," a clinical voice echoed in the empty room.
I blinked rapidly. Dr. Evans stood alone over a stainless-steel tray, calmly snapping on surgical gloves beside a row of gleaming scalpels.
I whipped my head around frantically. "Where... where are they?"
"Mr. Russell and Ms. Holland are in the VIP suite down the hall, popping champagne," Dr. Evans said smoothly, picking up a large syringe of local anesthetic.
"They prefer not to witness the messy part of the procedure. They're already celebrating their new family."
My heart pounded against my ribs, but my mind was razor-sharp. They had left me alone. They were so arrogant, so utterly confident in their victory, that they hadn't even bothered to stay and watch me die.
It was the biggest mistake George could have ever made.
"I'm going to perform the C-section now, Natasha," Dr. Evans said, his tone chillingly casual as he turned toward my swollen stomach. "I'll extract the triplets for George. Then, I'll simply sever a major artery. You'll bleed out on this table, and your biological anomaly will go straight into the incinerator. Nothing personal. It's just business."
"Bad business, Doctor," I spoke up. My voice suddenly lost all its tremble. It was cold, hard, and completely steady. "How much is he paying you to murder me?"
Dr. Evans paused, the scalpel hovering inches from my skin. "Two million."
"You're never going to see a single penny of it," I stated.
Dr. Evans scoffed. "Mr. Russell is a very wealthy man."
"He's bankrupt, Doctor," I continued, a dark, mocking smile spreading across my lips. "His tech company is a hollow shell. He owes an underground syndicate twenty million dollars. He doesn't have a dime to his name."
Dr. Evans frowned, lowering the blade slightly. "He has offshore accounts. He showed me the ledgers himself."
"He had offshore accounts," I corrected maliciously. "I drained them an hour ago while he was busy fighting with Carmen. I wired all fifteen million dollars into an untraceable crypto-wallet. Why do you think he's so desperate for my grandfather's trust fund tonight? He's planning to take the babies, claim the fifty million, and run to a non-extradition country. He's going to leave you holding the bag for a quadruple homicide."
Dr. Evans froze. The color slowly began to drain from his face as my words sank in. He was a corrupt doctor, but he wasn't an idiot. He knew exactly how ruthless George was.
"You're lying," Dr. Evans whispered, though the heavy doubt in his eyes betrayed him.
"Go out there and ask him to transfer your two million right now," I challenged, staring dead into his eyes. "See what he says. But if you walk out that door, my offer is off the table."
Dr. Evans swallowed hard. "What offer?"
"I have fifteen million dollars sitting in my private wallet right now," I said, my voice dripping with absolute authority.
"Deliver these babies safely. Save my life, and save my biological child. Do that, and I will transfer five million dollars to your account the second I am unstrapped from this bed."
The room fell dead silent.
Outside, faintly through the walls, the sound of a champagne cork popping echoed down the hallway, followed by Carmen's muffled laughter. They were celebrating my death. They were celebrating their stolen fortune.
Dr. Evans looked at the closed doors, then down at me. The calculated greed in his eyes was unmistakable. He realized George was a sinking ship, and I was his only guaranteed payday.
Without breaking eye contact with me, Dr. Evans reached over to the wall console and slammed his hand against the security button.
A heavy, satisfying click echoed through the room as the electronic deadbolt slid into place, sealing the heavy metal doors.
"No one gets in or out of this OR without my override code," Dr. Evans said coldly.
He set the scalpel down on the metal tray. Reaching up, he quickly unbuckled the heavy leather straps binding my wrists and ankles.
I rubbed my bruised wrists, a fierce surge of triumph exploding in my chest.
"Alright, Mrs. Russell," Dr. Evans said, moving to the foot of the bed and preparing the sterile drapes. "Let's earn my five million dollars. It's time to push."
