Part 1Code Blue: The Surgeon's Scalpel

"Who gave you permission to use Operating Room 7?"

I had just pulled down my mask, my hands barely out of the sterile field, when the question hit me like a slap to the face.

I looked up. Liam Carter stood in the center of the hallway, his lab coat crisp, his ID badge glaring under the fluorescent lights.

"As of right now, you are suspended."

The surrounding area instantly fell silent.

The lights at the nurses' station were on, and several doctors stopped dead in their tracks, all eyes turning toward us.

I let out a short laugh. "Excuse me?"

Liam took a step forward, his voice louder.

"I said, you are suspended. Operating Room 7 is no longer open to you."

"On whose authority?"

Right in front of everyone, he reached out and ripped the printed schedule off the wall at the nurses' station. The paper tore with a sharp rip.

"The Chief of Medicine."

I nodded slowly and didn't say another word.

In that moment, I knew this wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision.

I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to the Mayor.

"I'm sorry, my surgical privileges have been revoked. I'm afraid I won't be able to perform your wife's liver transplant."

* * *

The OR doors slid shut behind me, and the moment the "In Use" light flicked off, the tension in my shoulders finally released.

For ten straight hours, I had stood at that operating table, performing a highly complex organ transplant. I had personally verified every single suture. When the patient was wheeled out, the lines on the monitor were clean and stable.

I pulled down my surgical mask, the sharp scent of antiseptic still clinging to my breath.

Just as I rounded the corner of the hallway, a figure stepped directly into my path, blocking me.

"Dr. Hayes."

The tone was abrasive, the volume intentionally dialed up.

I looked up and saw Liam Carter.

He wore a pristine white lab coat, his ID badge so new it reflected the overhead lights. He was a surgical intern, personally mentored by Julian—no, excuse me, by Arthur Sterling.

He stood ramrod straight, looking as if he’d been waiting there for a while. At the nurses' station and in the waiting area, several doctors paused what they were doing, drawn by his loud voice.

"Who gave you permission to use Operating Room 7?" Liam raised his chin, making sure everyone could hear him. "As of right now, you are suspended."

The air instantly tightened.

I froze for a split second.

It wasn't that I hadn't dealt with arrogant people before, but I hadn't expected it at a moment like this.

I gave a small smile, tossed my gloves into the biohazard bin, and kept my voice light. "Oh? And on whose authority?"

He sneered, as if he'd been waiting for me to ask that very question.

Right in front of me, he reached out and yanked the printed schedule off the wall. The sound of tearing paper echoed unnaturally loud in the quiet corridor.

"The Chief of Medicine."

After delivering the line, he tossed the torn schedule aside, the edge of the paper grazing a nurse's hand.

Nobody made a sound.

I watched a few young residents lower their heads, pretending to be deeply engrossed in charting. The charge nurse's lips parted, but she ultimately said nothing.

I nodded.

"Understood."

My tone was so calm it surprised even me.

Liam was visibly taken aback. It clearly wasn't the reaction he'd been hoping for. He took another step forward, lowering his voice but still ensuring those nearby could hear every word.

"Chloe Hayes, know your place. You should know perfectly well who runs Surgery now."

I didn't dignify that with a response.

The light above OR 7 was still illuminated. Through the observation window, I could see the scrub techs breaking down the sterile field. That surgery was my first since returning to the States.

It was also my first time truly standing in a core position at this hospital since coming back from my fellowship abroad.

I sidestepped him and headed toward the locker room.

A scoff sounded behind me.

"Stop acting tough."

In the locker room, I washed my hands for a long time.

The sound of running water drowned out the noise from the hallway. The woman staring back at me in the mirror had dark circles under her eyes and a red indentation across her forehead from the surgical mask.

Chloe Hayes, forty-two years old, attending surgeon. I had completed numerous complex transplant surgeries during my time abroad. According to protocol, I was supposed to be the hospital's key asset for their next phase of development.

And now, I had just been publicly suspended by an intern.

My phone buzzed in my scrub pocket.

I pulled it out. The caller ID read: Arthur Sterling.

He was the Chief of Medicine at this hospital. He was also my husband.

The message was brief.

"Don't cause a scene. Let me handle it."

I stared at that line of text for a few seconds before the screen went dark.

He hadn't shown up.

No explanation, no denial.

That scene in the hallway—if he hadn't green-lit it, it never would have happened.

Suddenly, it became crystal clear: this wasn't a misunderstanding.

When I got back to my office, the door was slightly ajar. On my desk, my nameplate had already been removed, leaving only a faint, sticky residue behind.

Administration moved fast.

I stood there for a moment before I started packing my personal belongings into my bag. I didn't rush, meticulously organizing even my files, paper by paper.

Someone knocked.

It was a veteran attending from the surgical department, his voice hushed.

"Chloe... maybe you should just head home and take a few days off?"

I nodded. "Alright."

He hesitated, looking like he wanted to say more, but eventually just let out a heavy sigh.

By the time I walked out of the administrative building, the sky had already grown dark.

I stood on the steps and lit a cigarette for myself. As the smoke curled upward, my mind drifted back three years to when Mayor Davis came to inspect the hospital.

Mayor Richard Davis was a man of few words. He stood in the patient room, looking people dead in the eye when he spoke.

At the time, he asked me a direct question: "If the risks become uncontrollable, will you stop the procedure?"

I answered, "Yes."

He simply said, "Good."

Later, the Mayor's wife, Eleanor Davis, was diagnosed as needing an organ transplant. After multiple rounds of evaluation, it was finally decided that I would be the lead surgeon.

It was a surgery with absolutely zero margin for error.

My phone lit up again.

Without a second thought, I opened my contacts and sent a message.

It wasn't long, but every word was clear.

"I'm sorry, my surgical privileges have been revoked. I'm afraid I won't be able to perform your wife's liver transplant."

Message Sent.

The cigarette burned down to the filter. I crushed it out in the receptacle on top of the trash can.

In the distance, the lights in the inpatient tower flicked on one by one.

At the end of the corridor, Liam Carter stood amidst a group of people, talking animatedly. He looked thrilled, as if he were already accustomed to being the center of attention.

No one noticed me.

At this moment, everyone assumed I was just a suspended doctor.

But I knew that things were only just beginning to shift.