I gasped, a dry, rasping sound that tore through my throat.
The door opened.
The doctor walked in, a syringe in his hand. He froze when he saw my eyes open.
“Mrs. Caldwell?” he whispered, his face draining of color.
I tried to speak, but my voice was a croak. I forced the words out, desperate and broken.
“Don’t… kill me.”
He took a step back, the syringe trembling in his hand. “I… I have orders. George… he’ll ruin me.”
“I’ll pay you,” I rasped, tears streaming down my face. “Double. Triple whatever he gave you. Just… let me live.”
He hesitated, looking at the door, then back at me. “He wants you dead, Eliza. If he finds out—”
“He won’t,” I begged. “Say I’m in a coma. Say I’m vegetable. Just… don’t kill me. Please.”
The doctor shook his head, sweat beading on his forehead. “I can’t. George owns this hospital. He owns me. If you live, I die.”
He raised the syringe, his eyes full of pity but his hand steady.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Caldwell. It will be painless.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the needle.
Bang.
The door flew open, slamming against the wall.
“Step away from her.”
The voice was deep, commanding, and dangerously calm.
The doctor jumped, dropping the syringe. It shattered on the floor.