THE MIRACLE SURGEON'S MASK: A LOVE REDEEMED

At 7:45 PM, the Grand Ballroom of Carter Tower was a dazzling sea of black-tie elegance. Towering floral centerpieces of white orchids and hydrangeas stood under five massive crystal chandeliers. Photographers’ flashes illuminated the red carpet at the entrance, capturing the city’s most prominent figures.

I walked down the grand marble staircase dressed in a high-collared, long-sleeved emerald silk gown that Ethan’s stylist had brought to the suite within five minutes, meticulously covering every bruise along my arms and neck.

At the bottom of the stairs stood Andrew Vaughn.

Dressed in a sharp designer tuxedo, with his silver-streaked dark hair perfectly coiffed, he looked every bit the dashing, heroic surgeon the media adored. But when his dark eyes landed on me, a flash of cold, proprietary malice flickered behind his charming smile.

"There you are, darling," Andrew murmured smoothly, stepping forward and wrapping his arm firmly around my waist. His fingers dug with deliberate pressure into the exact bruised muscle above my hip, sending a jolt of sharp pain through my spine.

I forced myself not to flinch.

"You look breathtaking, Ava," Andrew whispered into my ear, his lips brushing my temple while his grip tightened warningly. "Make sure you keep that charming smile on your face when the New York Times photographer steps up. One wrong word tonight, and your mother’s attending physician will receive an administrative transfer notice."

"I remember, Andrew," I replied quietly, keeping my gaze level.

Across the crowded room, near the VIP stage, Ethan Carter was standing with the Mayor and the Police Commissioner. His posture was impeccably relaxed, holding a crystal glass of sparkling water, but his eyes never left Andrew’s hand resting against my waist.