Gina's POV
A sharp, sterile scent filled my nose before I even opened my eyes. The faint beeping of machines echoed somewhere near my ear. My body felt heavy, every breath dragging through pain and confusion.
I blinked slowly until the blurry white ceiling came into focus.
"Miss Greenwood?" a soft voice called beside me. A nurse leaned over, relief flooding her face. "You're awake. You were brought in last night—you were hit by a car."
Hit by a car?
The memories crashed back—the blinding headlights, the screeching tires, the sudden darkness.
"My bag," I croaked, my throat dry and raw.
"Please, don't move too much," the nurse urged gently. "You need to rest. The doctor will—"
"My bag!" I said again, louder this time, forcing myself upright despite the throbbing pain in my head. "Where is it?"
She hesitated, then handed me a small brown satchel from the bedside table. My trembling fingers tore it open. My phone, some crumpled papers… and the black card Ethan had given me. Relief flooded through me like air after drowning.
"I have to go," I muttered, already swinging my legs off the bed.
"You can't leave yet," the nurse protested, holding my arm. "You're still weak—and your leg—"
"I don't care!" My voice cracked. "My mother needs her surgery this morning. I can't lose her."
Her expression softened, but she didn't stop me again. I limped out of the ward, ignoring the stabbing pain with every step.
Fortunately, the hospital I'd been brought to was the same one where my mother was admitted. I didn't waste a second. I went straight to the billing office, clutching the card like it held my last hope.
"Please," I said breathlessly to the accountant behind the counter. "I need to complete payment for my mother's surgery. The name is Grace Greenwood."
He nodded, typing quickly. "Alright, Miss. You can insert your card here."
My hands shook as I slid the card into the machine. A moment passed. Then another.
The screen blinked red.
"Transaction declined. Card inactive."
I frowned and tried again. The same result.
"Try again," I said, my voice tightening with panic.
The man gave me a sympathetic look. "It's been cancelled, ma'am. The account no longer exists."
His words echoed in my ears like thunder.
Cancelled?
"No… no, that's not possible," I whispered, shaking my head. "It worked last night. I saw the balance myself!"
He sighed, handing the card back. "I'm sorry."
My knees nearly gave out. I gripped the counter for support as the hallway spun—the nurses rushing by, the sharp scent of antiseptic, the faint sound of my mother's name being paged somewhere down the hall.
He tricked me. Again.
Ethan had used me one last time… and I had fallen for it.
My fingers tightened around the useless piece of plastic until I thought it might snap. Limping back to my room, I grabbed my phone and dialed his number. To my surprise, he answered on the first ring—almost as if he'd been waiting.
"We had a deal," I snapped the moment the call connected.
Ethan chuckled, the sound cold and mocking. "Yes, but my love said you don't deserve that amount of money. So I had the card cancelled this morning. If only you'd used it last night."
There wasn't a trace of guilt in his voice.
"You must think I'm a fool," I said, forcing my tone steady. "The moment you stepped outside yesterday, I started recording our conversation. If you don't activate that card, I'll post everything online."
He went silent for a heartbeat. Then his tone sharpened. "I didn't admit to anything."
"Didn't you?" I countered. "You admitted our relationship and coerced me into making that video. You might not care about your reputation—but what about Emily's? We both know the truth. Do you think she could handle the fallout?"
"I can deny the recording," Ethan said flatly.
"Fine. But how will you explain the video of my 'confession'?" I shot back.
He hesitated. "You're bluffing. If you had evidence, you'd have posted it already."
"Maybe," I said, lowering my voice. "But if I don't get that money in five minutes… I won't care anymore."
There was a pause on the line. Then his tone turned wary. "How do I know the recording's real?"
"That's your problem," I said coldly. "But if the card isn't active in five minutes, the entire internet will find out."
And with that, I ended the call.
I didn't actually have any recording. But if there was even a chance my bluff would work, I had to take it. My mother's life depended on it.
Five minutes passed. Nothing. No message, no transfer.
Desperation clawed at my chest. I decided to gamble again.
Opening my social media, I saw I'd lost followers—but still had enough to make noise.
> I am currently at the hospital. I've been silent for days because I've been gathering evidence to clear my name. Yesterday, I got my hands on something important. If you want to know the truth, join my livestream in two minutes. I'm worried that if I post the evidence without witnesses, it might be taken down.
I posted it, and within moments, notifications flooded in. Many didn't believe me, but the curiosity was enough—the view count climbed rapidly. I didn't dare open the comments, afraid of the insults, but within two minutes, I already had over a hundred thousand viewers.
Taking a deep breath, I started the stream.
She's really here.
Does she think we'll pity her because she's in a hospital?
I'm just here to see her next lie.
Their words flashed on the screen, but I ignored them.
"Like I said," I began, voice firm, "I've been gathering evidence. As you can see, I got into a car accident yesterday—but I'm afraid it wasn't an accident. If you don't believe me, come to Central Hospital. They're trying to destroy evidence…"
I paused. The comments slowed. I had their attention.
"Anyway, I'm not here to talk about my accident. I'm here to play a recording. Listen carefully and judge for yourselves. I'll release the full copy afterward."
I pretended to tap something on my phone—and just then, a notification popped up.
$520,000 credited to your account.
My breath caught. Quickly, I opened my banking app, checked the balance, then transferred the full amount to the hospital's account. My fingers trembled as relief surged through me.
Looking back at the camera, I smiled—wild, victorious, tearful.
"Thank you for the money," I said softly. "A clean hand needs no washing."
Then I ended the stream.
A laugh tore out of me—loud, broken, and wet with tears. I had fooled Ethan. For once, I'd won. I imagined his furious face when he realized what happened.
But as I laughed harder, the sound turned to sobs. I had never felt so small, so empty, or so sorry for myself.
I didn't even notice the door open until someone handed me a handkerchief.
"Thank you," I said, reaching out for it. I covered my face—I wanted to stop crying, but it was hard.
"I'm sorry," I heard a male voice say. It was calm and comforting, but I knew I had never heard it before, so I raised my head to look, assuming it was a male nurse.
The man standing before me didn't look like he belonged in a hospital room.
He was tall—easily over six feet—with the kind of posture that spoke of quiet confidence. His suit, though simple, fit him too perfectly to be anything off the rack. A few dark strands of his neatly styled hair had fallen across his forehead, softening the sharpness of his features.
His eyes caught mine—deep gray, calm yet intense, the kind that made you forget what you were about to say. For a moment, I could only stare.
"I didn't mean to intrude." His warm voice cut through my thoughts.