Later that day, Charles found Jillian in the research lab, focused on her work as usual. She didn't seem to notice him at first, but when she finally looked up and saw the grave look on his face, she knew something was up.
Jillian (pausing her work), "What happened? What's going on, Charles?"
Charles (closing the door behind him), "It's over. I've got the proof. It was one of the administrative assistants. She was sent by Camilla Robbinson to sabotage your career. The file was planted in your pile as part of a larger plan to discredit you."
Jillian's eyes widened, a mixture of disbelief and anger flashing across her face.
Jillian (sharply), "Camilla... I should've known. She's always had it out for me."
Charles (nodding):
"I'm going to make sure she doesn't get away with this. I've already taken the evidence to the director, and the hospital's legal team is getting involved. You're going to be cleared, Jillian."
Jillian (sighing with relief):
"Thank you, Charles. I don't know what I'd do without you. But I have a way of dealing with her."
Charles gave her a reassuring smile. They both knew that the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but with this sabotage out in the open, Jillian's future was a lot more secure.
During a late afternoon, Jillian stood at the nurses' station, reviewing a patient's chart, her expression calm but her mind still running through the events of the past week. The hallway was quiet—until the soft click of leather shoes echoed down the corridor.
She looked up.
Ethan.
Dressed casually in a dark blazer and slacks, he walked toward her, holding a sleek black envelope. His gaze met hers—steady, unreadable.
"Dr. Jillian," he said, as if addressing her formally would soften the tension between them.
She blinked, steadying herself. "Mr. Ethan… what brings you here?"
"Follow-up, apparently. Charles insisted I stop by." His tone was easy, but his eyes never left hers. "I figured I should listen."
She gestured toward a nearby exam room. "Let's keep it quick then."
Inside, she did the routine check-up—silent, focused. He let her work, but as she placed the stethoscope back around her neck, he finally spoke.
"I heard… about the investigation. They're trying to paint you as someone you're not."
Her hands froze for a second before she turned to face him. "Hospitals run on rumors."
He leaned forward slightly. "Don't let them rewrite your story."
Jillian's throat tightened. The words weren't just sympathy—they were a warning. A reminder. And maybe, a whisper of guilt.
She gave him a short nod. "Thank you. You should rest more, by the way."
He smiled faintly. "So I've been told. Repeatedly."
As he stood to leave, the air between them thickened again—too much left unsaid.
When the door closed behind him, Jillian let out a quiet breath. But she didn't return to work just yet. She simply stood there for a moment, staring at the empty room.
*****
Days passed quietly, yet each one felt heavy with unspoken tension.
Jillian kept her head down, pushing through her duties, weathering whispers and sideways glances.
But the internal storm didn't pass.
Now, standing by her window with a cup of lukewarm tea in hand, she stared out at the Shanghai skyline.
Her suitcase sat by the door, neatly packed—every item folded with purpose, yet it all felt surreal.
Tomorrow, she would be heading to Beijing.
A research symposium. A professional milestone. An escape.
She took a slow sip, her thoughts racing. Will the scandal follow me there? Or will distance finally give me space to breathe?
A soft ping interrupted her. A message from her grandmother:
"Be safe on your trip, sweetheart. And remember, you carry more strength than you think."
Jillian smiled faintly. That gentle reminder helped her breathe easier.
She set her mug down and reached for her notebook, flipping to a page filled with scribbles—clues, suspicions, names.
The truth will come out, she reminded herself. But for now, Beijing waited.
The following day at the airport, the airport bustled with activity, the distant hum of announcements blending into the rhythm of hurried footsteps.
Jillian moved through the terminal with practiced ease, her suitcase trailing behind her, the familiar weight of her professional armor wrapped tightly around her.
She glanced at the departure boards, her mind still half on the events of the past week, the whispers at the hospital, and the looming shadow of her personal entanglements.
She stepped onto the plane and found her seat, buckling in with a soft sigh. Beijing. A fresh start.
A professional retreat. She adjusted her watch, and for the first time in days, the feeling of stepping into unknown air felt like a release.
As the plane ascended, Jillian allowed herself to close her eyes, trying to find the calm that had eluded her.
Just a few days of focus on the research. No distractions. No unresolved feelings.
Upon arrival, the lights of Beijing flickered outside the airport windows as Jillian stepped into the taxi, the city's skyline a mix of modern glass towers and ancient, shining architecture.
The taxi moved swiftly through the bustling streets, the hum of the city alive around her, vibrant and full of promise.
She could feel the energy, the pulse of a city she was only beginning to understand.
The hotel was a sleek, modern building, its lobby a welcoming oasis after the long flight.
Jillian checked in, handing over her passport, the desk clerk greeting her with a smile before offering directions to her room.
As she made her way down the long hallway to her suite, Jillian couldn't help but feel a strange mix of anticipation and uncertainty.
What will the next few days bring? She had no answers yet, only the quiet hum of the city to keep her company.
Later That Night
The symposium was held at a grand conference center—an impressive, open hall, filled with scientists, doctors, and researchers from all corners of the world.
The air was thick with intellectual energy, conversations echoing off high ceilings, with screens showcasing the latest breakthroughs in medical science.
Jillian moved gracefully through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with colleagues and peers, her mind constantly processing, absorbing new information, all while keeping a careful distance from her personal thoughts.
The weight of the past few days felt miles away here. For now, the symposium was her sanctuary.
A presentation was underway, and Jillian found herself taking a seat near the back, eager to listen and focus on her field.
As the speaker discussed advancements in heart disease treatments, Jillian's eyes narrowed.
The research aligned closely with her own work—there were overlapping themes that could elevate her current projects.
But as the night went on, the shadows of the recent drama seemed to follow her, even here.
The doubts, the whispers—unseen, but ever-present.
Her thoughts were interrupted when a colleague tapped her shoulder, and she turned with a faint smile.
"Dr. Smith, glad to see you here," the man said, his eyes gleaming with admiration.
"Good to see you too, Dr. Zhang," Jillian replied, shaking his hand, her smile never faltering.
One more night of focus. Then I can breathe again.