The Maybach weaves majestically and smoothly through Manhattan's traffic, like a shark slicing through a sea of yellow taxis. Sloan gazed out at the tinted glass outside the car window, the city's lights blurred into an abstract band of colored light. For now, she is safe. In the quiet, leather-scented space inside the carriage, she carefully considered her words, word by word. She will remember her childhood, her family, and everything before she went to Stanford at eighteen. And the memories that follow—meeting Brian, founding the company, getting engaged—will be a blank slate. A four-year gap. Clean and simple, and it can also make sense in medicine.
They arrived at the private ward of Mount Sinai Hospital. Assistant Mark quietly and efficiently completed the admission procedures, and Sloan was helped onto a wheelchair and taken to the VIP suite on the top floor. The room felt less like a hospital and more like a luxury hotel—elegant artworks hung on the walls, and windows overlooked Central Park.
Sloan lay on the hospital bed in a clean, cool sheet, a thin blanket pulling up to his chin. Julian Vanderbilt stands by the window, his tall figure intimidated by the dazzling skyline. The silence between them was heavy and oppressive, filled with his unspoken doubts and the vulnerability she carefully crafted.
A nurse came in to measure vital signs. The blood pressure monitor cuff tightened on her arm, the thermometer tucked under her tongue—these routine checks in her carefully crafted deception offered a small yet reassuring sense of reality. This makes everything seem even more believable.
After the nurse left, Julian finally moved. He glanced at his watch—the Patek Philippe piece flickered faintly under the soft light.
"The doctor will be here soon. Mark will stay behind to handle the bill. He took a card out of his suit pocket and placed it on the nightstand. The card was thick, black, and printed in striking silver lettering. "If you remember who you are, have your family contact my office."
He was about to leave. She couldn't let him think she was just a clumsy girl who accidentally had an accident. She needed to leave a different impression—she wanted to make sure the accident had no aftermath, no troublesome police reports, and no opportunity for Brian to find an insurance claim.
"I'm very sorry." Her voice was soft and hoarse, yet carried a hint of determination. He stopped at the door, his hand on the doorknob. "It's all my fault. I didn't look at the road—I walked straight onto the road. She slightly propped herself up against the pillow and met his gaze. This accident, your car ...... Please don't blame anyone. She made this sentence hang in midair, a straightforward plea. If we could ...... I'd be very grateful if nothing ever happened. ”
Julian studied her for a long time. A cold, analytical look flashed in his gray-white eyes, then replaced by an elusive expression. He nodded briefly.
"There's nothing to forget." he said. "The car will handle it. You won't hear anything about it anymore. ”
He left, taking away the immense pressure brought by his presence. The air in the room seemed much lighter. Sloane exhaled the breath he'd been holding for a while.
She immediately reached for the landline on the bedside table, clumsily dialing the number she knew more than her own—Liam's personal phone.
After the second ring, he answered. "Sloane?" Where are you? Brian kept calling, saying you ran out of town hall. ”
She took a deep breath, her voice trembling slightly. "Liam." She lowered her voice, infusing a trace of genuine fear. "I'm in the hospital. I had an accident. I don't know...... No one knows what happened. ”
Thirty minutes later, the door to the suite was suddenly pushed open. Liam strode in, his face full of heavy worry; Her parents followed closely, their faces full of panic.
"Sloan!" Her mother, Catherine, rushed to the bedside and spread her arms.
Sloane flinched.
This was the hardest thing she had ever done. When her mother reached out to hold her, she shrank back into the pillow, her eyes wide with feigned fear.
"You...... Who are you? She whispered, her words bitter as ashes in her mouth. Why are you all here? ”
This question hit her family like a heavy blow. My mother froze, her hands hanging in midair. Robert's face turned pale as he reached out to steady his wife's shoulder. Liam suddenly stopped in his tracks, his face turning pale. The disbelief and pain in his eyes were like a knife stabbing into her heart.
She hated herself for this. She hated hurting them. But it is necessary. Brian is a cancer, and she must remove it without killing the patient.
"Sloane, it's us." Liam's voice was tense. "It's Mom and Dad. I'm Liam, your brother. ”
She looked at him, her gaze hollow and unfamiliar lingering for a long time before allowing a trace of emotion to flash by. She was an actress, and this was the most important performance of her life—or rather, a performance that cost her life.
Later, when her father gently mentioned Brian's name, she showed a heartfelt, undisguised disgust. Just that name sent chills down her spine.
"I don't know anyone named Brian." Her voice grew sharp. "I would never get engaged to someone with that name."
The attending neurologist—a kind-faced man with tired eyes—walked in with her MRI and CT results.
"Physically, she's fine." He explained to his family. "There were signs of a mild concussion, most likely caused by a fall. Plus that major psychological stress source this morning...... Dissociative amnesia is not without precedent. The brain has its own way of protecting itself. ”
This is the official endorsement she needs. The family's last shred of doubt vanished, replaced by overwhelming sympathy and intense, protective anger toward the invisible source of trauma—Brian.
Her mother sat by the bed, gently stroking her hair. Sloan nestled against that touch, closed her eyes, and immersed herself in the maternal warmth she longed for in her last lonely moment in her previous life.
"I want to go home." She nestled beside her mother and whispered. She needed the security of Hayes Manor, that gate, that professional security team.
Liam immediately took over, his voice crisp and decisive by phone—double down on security and deny entry to anyone not on the pre-approved family list. Brian is now officially excluded.
Her gaze fell on the nightstand—the black card Julian Vanderbilt had left behind. The silver text was now clearly visible.
Julian Vanderbilt, CEO, Vanderbilt Group.
She gasped. Vanderbilt Group—one of the world's most powerful private equity firms—is a giant that can quietly swallow up her family business. Why would a man like that personally drive around Midtown on Tuesday morning?
A cold anxiety condensed in her stomach. She quickly returned to a calm confused expression, not letting her family see the shock that must have appeared on her face. This makes things complicated.
She looked at her family gathered around the bed, their faces filled with love and worry. A strong determination welled up in his heart. She had failed once and failed to protect them. She would rather die than let them down again.
At that moment, a commotion suddenly erupted in the corridor outside the suite—the volume was raised, a man's angry and tough tone, and the nurse's firm and persistent refusal.
Sloane's blood froze.
She recognized that voice.
Trouble isn't just coming—it's pounding on the door fiercely.
