Ryan had gone pale.
My father stared at me like I had walked into the wedding wearing someone else’s life. My mother whispered, “You never told us it was that serious.”
I almost laughed. They had refused to help me pay for medical school, then bought Marcus a car, a condo deposit, and every second chance he ever needed. I had built my career alone.
Then Ryan stepped close enough that only I could hear him.
“Nine years,” he said. “Toronto General. You were the med student.”
My blood went cold.
Before I could answer, his fingers closed around my wrist, hard enough to hurt.
“You should have stayed gone, Claire,” he whispered. “That old file isn’t dead.”
Ryan did not recognize me because of my success. He recognized me because I had once caught the mistake that could have destroyed him, and the secret he buried that night was much bigger than I understood.
I wrenched my wrist out of his grip, my expression hardening into stone.
“Patient 414,” I said, my voice dangerously low, cutting through the distant chatter of the wedding guests. “You administered a lethal dose of potassium instead of Lasix, panicked when his heart stopped, and altered the electronic logs to frame the night nurse.”
