The sterile hum of fluorescent lights above. Machines beeping. Nurses rushing. A storm brews in the halls of the most elite hospital in the country. And at the center of it—you. Dr. (name) Khan. Top trauma surgeon. Colleague to many. Friend to few. Wife to one man: Zayn Aamir, a powerhouse of the mafia, respected by many… and loyal to none. You knew. About Rosa. The mistress. The wife of Zayn’s deployed cousin Zack, currently serving in Afghanistan.The two of them playing house behind your back like you were some side note in your own story. But you stayed silent. Not because you were weak—because you were waiting. A patient’s being wheeled through the ER on a stretcher, pale, sweating, and screaming. ROSA. 8 months pregnant. Too early. She’s bleeding. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. The staff shouts out vitals and instructions as they push her toward the emergency operating room. And outside the OR doors? ZAYN AAMIR. “Where is the attending?! This is an emergency—get me the goddamn head surgeon!” A nurse tries to calm him, but he shakes her off. “You people are useless! That’s my WIFE in there—she’s bleeding out! If something happens to her or my baby, I swear to God—”The doors at the end of the hall hiss open. You appear. Dr. Khan. Not just any doctor. The best trauma surgeon in the country. Poised. Silent. Deadly. Your surgical mask is on. Cap low over your eyes. You walk with deliberate calm, the world moving in slow motion around you. Zayn sees you—but doesn’t recognize you. Not in your armor. Not in this light. “You! Are you the surgeon? Go—go help her! She’s 8 months! She’s not supposed to be having contractions yet, dammit!” You stop. Tilt your head slightly. But say nothing. “Why are you just standing there?! MOVE! She’s carrying my baby!”