Isabella's POV
I'm finally sleeping peacefully for the first time in days when the soft knock on my hospital room door pulls me back to consciousness. Through the haze of exhaustion and mild sedation, I expect to see Dr. Walsh or one of the nurses who've been monitoring my condition since we returned from Tokyo.
Instead, I see a woman in her fifties with silver hair pulled back in an elegant chignon, wearing an expensive white coat over what looks like designer clothing. Her smile is warm, professional, and somehow predatory all at once.
"Mrs. Cross," she says in accented English that I can't quite place. "I'm Dr. Elena Vasquez. I've been consulting on your case."
