The Surgeon's Sacred Flower Trap - Chapter 6: Chapter 6

I jolted awake in the sterile hospital room, startling Liam Sinclair, who had dozed off in the chair beside my bed.
His face tightened with concern. "Sweetheart, are you in any pain?"
"No," I croaked, wincing at how raw my throat felt.
Liam immediately reached for a glass of water, steadying me as I took slow sips. The warmth soothed the ache, but nothing could ease the knot in my stomach.
"I had the doctors run tests," he said quietly, his jaw clenched. "That bastard didn’t just sedate you—he slipped aphrodisiacs into your drink too."
My breath hitched.
No wonder I’d felt like I was burning up, like my skin was crawling with need.
Tears pricked at my eyes. If Liam hadn’t followed me, hadn’t kicked that door down—
"Did you go to the police?"
He shook his head. "Not enough evidence. The glass was cleaned, no cameras in his office. No way to prove the drugs came from him."
Panic clawed at my chest. "Then what do we do?"
A sickening thought struck me. Swallowing back bile, I whispered, "He... touched me. Maybe—maybe they can find his DNA?"
Liam’s silence was heavy. Finally, he exhaled. "They checked while you were out. Nothing. He must’ve worn protection."
"Saliva?"
"Gone. You washed up afterward."
The realization hit like a punch. I crumpled against him, shaking.
"So that’s it? He just... gets away with it?"
Liam’s arms tightened around me, his voice rough with fury. "No. I’ll make him pay. I swear it."
After discharging me, Liam left to dig up dirt on Ethan Holloway—starting with his coworkers.
But the moment he stepped into the hospital, security shoved him out.
From a second-floor window, Ethan smirked, mouthing a single word: "Idiot."
Liam couldn’t fight back—not without dragging my name through the mud. So he waited instead, ambushing staff near the subway after their shifts.
No one talked. One even called the cops, accusing him of harassment.
Defeated, he came home, slamming his fist against the wall. "I’m useless. I can’t even protect you."
My heart shattered.
"Maybe we should just... drop it," I whispered.
"No." The word was a snarl.
So we fought back the only way we could.
Liam flooded review sites with fake accounts, tanking the clinic’s ratings. I lurked outside, intercepting patients with whispered warnings: "Don’t trust him. Look what he did to me."
It wouldn’t ruin Ethan—but it was something. A scratch on his perfect facade.
Then, at the end of the month, my phone rang.
Ethan’s voice slithered through the line, smooth as poison.
"You’re due for a follow-up."
He still had my number.
And he wasn’t done with me.