The so-called murderer showed no guilt — she was leaning against him, smiling. And he, my husband, brushed her nose with his fingertip as if nothing had happened.
They flirted openly, basking in each other’s presence, as though the life they’d just ended meant nothing.
I wondered, with a cruel sense of curiosity — would Lucian still be smiling if he learned the truth?
Because the one lying on that operating table wasn’t my sister at all.
Would he still be so tender when it was his own sister’s life that was lost under Ivy’s scalpel?
Just then, a nurse approached and held out the death certificate.
“Please sign here.”
“Since it was Dr. Crowther who killed her,” I said coldly, “let him sign it himself.”
“What does his sister’s death have to do with me? I’m only her sister-in-law — soon to be ex-sister-in-law.”
“Ms. Alden, you need to think carefully,” the nurse warned, frowning. “If you cause a scene, it will harm Dr. Crowther’s reputation.”
I sneered, wrote down the name from the victim’s ID, and filed an official complaint.
The nurse’s face darkened, her tone laced with anger.
“Fine. If you refuse to sign, I’ll have Dr. Crowther come down and deal with you personally!”
I almost laughed.