A simple outpatient procedure. That’s all it took to kill my mother. My father, a leading expert in medical malpractice, personally handled the review. The official conclusion: my mother had secretly eaten before the operation, leading to fatal complications. The hospital and the lead surgeon were cleared of all responsibility. When he told me the results, my father’s eyes were bloodshot, his voice trembling with self-reproach. “I’m to blame for this, too, Ava,” he’d choked out. “I should have watched her more closely before the surgery.” He added, “But the surgeon was my star pupil. Her skills are impeccable.” After the dust settled, I went to claim my mother’s body. What I received was a hollowed-out shell, most of her organs harvested. My father’s prized protégé, Lana Wells, produced an organ donation form, supposedly signed by my mother beforehand. I looked at the clumsy forgery and laughed. The next day, I started a global livestream. The title was: “Live Masterclass: Human Anatomy by a University Professor.” Except this time, the subject on the table was very much alive. It was my father’s star pupil, Lana Wells. 1 The broadcast, hosted by the youngest professor at the nation’s top medical university, went viral instantly. The viewer count skyrocketed past one hundred thousand. On the cold, gleaming steel of the dissection table, Lana Wells was strapped down like an animal for slaughter, stripped bare. Her wrists and ankles were bound, a thick cloth gagged her mouth. In stark contrast, I was dressed in full surgical attire, every professional instrument laid out, ready for a live dissection. Realization of what was about to happen dawned in her eyes. A terrified, muffled whimper escaped her throat. The livestream chat exploded as viewers understood they were watching a living person on the table. [Wait, WHAT?! Is she alive? This is straight-up murder!] [Alive? I thought I was seeing things!] [Look! She’s moving!] [This is horrific. I can’t watch.] A collective gasp went through the audience. The tension was palpable. But no one was more tense than Dr. Marcus Thorne, my father. Because the person I was about to dissect was his beloved protégé. On a screen in my lab, his face was projected, neck craned, his complexion a deep, panicked red. “Ava! What in God’s name are you doing?” he yelled. “Let Lana go, right now!” “I’ve already been through the official review! The surgery failed because your mother ate beforehand. The food aspirated into her lungs, and she suffocated. It had nothing to do with Lana!” I glanced up at his frantic face on the monitor and let out a cold, humorless laugh. “The daughter of a medical dynasty, forgetting the number one rule of pre-op? Don’t eat or drink?” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “You underestimate her.” “Or,” I added, my eyes locking onto the camera, “do you just think I’m an idiot?” I picked up a scalpel from the tray, its edge catching the light with a sterile glint. I pressed the tip gently against Lana’s abdomen. The chat erupted in fury. [This isn’t a masterclass, it’s a vendetta! Your mom died in a surgical accident, the surgeon didn’t murder her! What gives you the right?!] [The medical review was conclusive. You’re just in denial, taking it out on the surgeon. Who the hell do you think you are!] [Dr. Thorne is a renowned expert! He reviewed his own wife’s case and admitted it was the patient’s fault. What more do you want?!] [Your mom died because she was stupid. Everyone knows you don’t eat before surgery. It’s common sense!] [Exactly. And a mother like that raised a professor at a top university? Who would ever trust a doctor taught by her?!] The internet mob was almost unanimously on his side, their digital pitchforks aimed squarely at me. I ignored them. Gripping the scalpel, I made a clean, decisive incision across Lana’s stomach. The wet, tearing sound of flesh parting filled the stream’s audio feed. The viewers lost their minds. [Call the cops! She’s killing her!] [Someone get a location trace on this stream! Now!] But their hopes faded quickly. My lab was in a remote, overseas location. Triangulating my position would involve a mountain of international red tape. Enough time, I thought, to take Lana apart piece by piece. As I pulled the incision open like a zipper, I leaned down, my voice a cold whisper in her ear. “Where did you start when you harvested my mother’s organs? The heart, was it? And the corneas last?” I smiled. “That’s no fun. Let’s do it in reverse.” I raised the scalpel, aiming for Lana’s eye. That’s when Marcus Thorne finally broke. “Wait!” he screamed. “Stop! I have something to say!” 2 The blade froze, a hair's breadth from Lana’s tear-filled, terrified eye. On the screen, my father’s face was ashen, his breathing ragged. He swallowed hard, beads of sweat trickling down his temple. “Your mother… she ate before the surgery on purpose,” he stammered. “Because… because she didn’t want to live anymore.” “She had depression!” “She didn’t have the courage to end her own life, so she forced someone else’s hand!” His voice, now laced with a tearful, dramatic tremor, began a masterful performance for the hundred thousand viewers. “Ava, my dear, I never dared to tell you,” he sobbed, his words catching in his throat. “Your mother suffered from depression for years. Every day was agony for her…” “But I never, ever thought she would choose to end it all on the eve of her surgery.” His tears were perfectly timed, landing like emotional bombshells in the chat. [I’m actually crying. What a noble man. Dr. Thorne has been through so much for his wife and daughter.] [He’s one of the good ones. A hospital director, a top expert, and so devoted to his family. It’s a tragedy he was cursed with such a foolish wife and a deranged daughter.] [Am I the only one who doesn’t get it? If you want to die, just do it. Why drag the surgeon down with you?] [Seriously. That poor doctor had the worst luck in the world getting assigned to her case.] The flood of online sympathy for him threatened to drown me. But I just smiled. Holding Lana’s head steady, I made a swift, precise cut and removed her cornea. Blood sprayed across my face, a grotesque, crimson mask. The chat exploded again. [She’s a monster! Pure evil! She should be drawn and quartered!] [What is wrong with you?! Your mother is dead, why are you torturing someone else?!] [Oh my God, someone please save that poor doctor!] I casually tossed the cornea onto the floor and ground it into a pulp under my heel, just to be sure. On the screen, Marcus Thorne’s face had gone from ashen to the color of death. He shot up from his chair, slamming his fist on the desk. “AVA! YOU’RE INSANE!” “WHAT MORE DO I HAVE TO SAY TO MAKE YOU BELIEVE ME?!” “Let her go! LET HER GO!” Seeing their beloved Dr. Thorne so heartbroken sent his online cheerleaders into a frenzy. [If someone doesn't stop this psycho, a brilliant talent that Dr. Thorne spent years mentoring will be lost forever.] [Such a waste. She was the star pupil of an expert! Destined to be one of the best in her field, and now she’s going to die at the hands of this maniac!] [Dr. Thorne must be in agony.] [Forget Dr. Thorne, I’m in agony watching this.] [You crazy bitch, let her go!] Their screams were useless. My scalpel wasn’t listening. Its tip drifted slowly toward Lana’s other eye. A low, sinister laugh rumbled in my chest. “Still not telling the truth, are we?” As my words faded, the pressure of the blade increased, about to pierce her other eye. “Ava!” Suddenly, a familiar voice, thick with anguish, cut through the chaos. I looked up. It was Mrs. Gable. The old housekeeper who had served my mother for decades. She was more of a grandmother to me than anyone. “Mrs. Gable?” I froze, the scalpel in my hand finally faltering. She rushed toward the camera on their end, her face stained with tears. In her hands, she held a pile of prescription bottles—antidepressants. She dumped them all out in front of the lens. “Ava, listen to me!” she cried. “Your father… he isn’t lying! Your mother was depressed. For a very long time.” 3 My hand, usually rock-steady with a blade, trembled uncontrollably. Beneath the tip of my scalpel, Lana sucked in a sharp, terrified breath as fat tears rolled from her remaining eye. I straightened up, my own eyes welling with tears. But I blinked them back, forcing the moisture away, my gaze hardening as I stared back at the camera. “Mrs. Gable,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “How much did he pay you? How much did it take for you to betray the woman you watched grow up?” “She was like your own daughter!” I slammed my hand on the instrument tray. “What happened to you?” Mrs. Gable’s face went pale. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Marcus seized the opportunity. “Ava, you have to accept reality!” he pleaded. “Mrs. Gable has shown you the proof! Why are you still so delusional?” I stared at the collection of pill bottles on the screen. They were pristine, unopened, some still in their pharmacy bags. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “The daughter of the Crawford medical dynasty, whose first lesson in life was to cherish it above all else,” I began, my voice rising with each word. “The woman who told me every single day, ‘As long as you’re alive, there’s hope. Never, ever give up on your life.’” “You expect me to believe a woman like that wanted to die?” As my fury peaked, my hand shot out. With surgical precision, I carved out Lana’s other cornea. Even with the gag, she let out a piercing, guttural scream. The dark, twisted heart in her chest hammered against her ribs as if trying to break free. The gruesome act sent the livestream into another meltdown. [She’s lost it! Completely insane! A medical genius is now blind because of this monster! This is unforgivable!] [How have they not found this psycho yet?! Somebody save Dr. Wells!] [SHE TOLD YOU YOUR MOM KILLED HERSELF! ARE YOU DEAF?!] [Do you have a persecution complex? Your mom committed suicide, and you just have to find someone to blame? If you can’t handle her death, go join her! Stop destroying other people’s lives!] As always, I ignored the digital noise, my eyes once again fixed on the screen, cold and menacing. “Dr. Thorne, if you don’t start telling the truth, her kidney is next.” “Can you really bear to watch your star pupil be dismantled, piece by piece?” I tilted my head, a predatory smile playing on my lips. Marcus Thorne clenched his jaw so hard the muscles in his face quivered. I kept smiling. “I’m starting the countdown.” “Ten. Nine. Eight…” His face grew even paler. “What is wrong with you! I’m telling you the truth!” “Five. Four. Three…” Panic flashed in his eyes. “I’ll say it again, let Lana go!” “Two. One…” I raised the scalpel, my gaze dropping to Lana’s exposed abdomen. “Ava!” A weathered, urgent voice echoed through the speakers. A voice that stopped my hand mid-air. “Professor Albright?” I whispered. “What are you doing here?” 4 Appearing on the screen was the face of a man I revered. He was the one who had taught me how to hold a scalpel, who had walked me through the intricate map of the human body, who had spent countless nights with me in the lab, pushing the boundaries of medicine. Seeing him awakened a soft, vulnerable part of me I thought was long dead. I slowly lowered the scalpel, my vision blurring with tears. “Ava!” he cried, his voice laced with pain. “Don’t do this! Please, don’t be impulsive!” “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?! If you kill her, you’re not just ending her life—you’re destroying your own!” He was leaning so close to the camera it was as if he was trying to reach through the screen and stop me himself. My hand, still holding the bloody scalpel, felt impossibly heavy. My shoulders slumped. “Professor,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I don’t have a career anymore.” “This dissection… this will be the last procedure I ever perform.” I looked up, my eyes meeting his through the lens, filled with an unstoppable, grim resolve. Seeing my expression, he slammed his fist on the table in frustration. “You foolish girl!” “Let me tell you the truth,” he said, his voice heavy with resignation. “I was part of the review team for your mother’s case. She really did die because she ate before the surgery!” “You’ve always trusted me more than anyone, Ava. When have I ever lied to you?” The viewers pounced on his words. [See! Even your own mentor is saying it!] [That’s the final nail in the coffin. You have nothing left to say, do you? Facts are facts, and you can’t change them no matter how much you kick and scream!] [Your mother was an ignorant psycho, and so are you!] [Eating before surgery. It’s an open-and-shut case! It’s her own damn fault she’s dead!] [Give it up already and let Dr. Wells go!] The tears in my eyes vanished, replaced by a chilling cold. I looked at the screen. “Professor,” I said softly. “Can I still trust you?” “Tell me, why are you lying for him? What does he have on you?” The chat went wild again. [Oh for God’s sake! Are you serious?!] [So Mrs. Gable was bribed, and your mentor is being blackmailed? You’ve watched way too many soap operas! You’re completely delusional!] [Have you been drinking the formaldehyde?!] I tightened my grip on the scalpel and leaned close to Lana’s ear. “Time to say goodbye to a kidney,” I whispered. “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt a bit. My mother got through it. So can you.” I straightened up with a smile and moved the blade toward her abdomen. Just as the tip was about to break the tissue, Professor Albright panicked. “Ava!” he yelled. “You don’t believe me? Fine! But you have to believe your mother, don’t you?!” “You’ll believe her own words, won’t you?!” My pupils contracted. My hand stopped. Professor Albright quickly pulled out his phone and played a video. On the screen, my mother, dressed in a hospital gown, was about to be taken into surgery. Her face was pale, but her eyes, looking into the camera, were as gentle as I remembered. “Ava,” she began, her voice soft. “My sweet baby girl.” “There’s something I’ve never told you…”
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