Badass in Disguise Chapter 121

The words hung in the air like a grenade with its pin pulled. I immediately regretted mentioning Dr. Blackwell. Everyone's eyes were fixed on me, but it was Ethan's gaze that made my skin prickle. There was something in those green eyes—recognition, suspicion, or perhaps both.

"You know Dr. Blackwell?" Walter Morrison stepped closer, his bow tie now completely askew. The excitement in his voice was unmistakable.

I kept my expression neutral. "I've heard of him."

The disappointment that swept across the room was almost palpable. Several doctors exchanged glances, while Mrs. Haxton made a sound that was half scoff, half sob.

"Dr. Blackwell isn't a 'him,'" Ethan said quietly, his eyes never leaving my face. "She's a woman. A young woman, in fact—not much older than you."

The attending physician rolled his eyes. "Mr. Haxton, with all due respect, we're wasting precious time on fairy tales. Dr. Blackwell is essentially a medical urban legend."

"She is." Ethan's voice was soft but carried an undercurrent of steel. "I spent three months tracking her across four countries. She existed, Doctor. And she was brilliant."

Ethan had been looking for Dr. Blackwell? For me?

"I never met her," Ethan continued, his gaze still locked with mine. "By the time I found where she'd been operating, she was gone. Supposedly died in an explosion in the Caribbean." His mouth twitched. "Interesting coincidence that you mentioned her name, Miss Morgan."

"Wait," Connor suddenly spoke up, stepping forward. "Miss Morgan was the one who helped President Thornton at Princeton. Remember when he had that heart attack on the street? She stepped in and saved his life right there on the spot."

Walter's eyes widened, turning to me with renewed interest. "Philip Thornton?" His weathered face lit up with excitement. "Philip Thornton's cardiac condition! We've been monitoring it for years. He could have died that day on the street. But a few days ago, he told me about the young woman who saved his life with extraordinary quick thinking." He looked at me with newfound reverence. "It was you."

The attending physician snorted. "Performing emergency CPR on the street is a far cry from brain surgery on a poisoned patient."

"I've made my decision," Ethan cut in. "Miss Morgan will perform the surgery."

"This is insanity!" the physician exploded. "She's not even a licensed surgeon!"

"Perhaps not in this country," Ethan replied coolly. "But I've seen enough to trust her skills." He turned to the nurses. "Prepare the operating room. Get her whatever she needs."

"I cannot allow this," the doctor protested. "It violates every protocol—"

"I'll take full responsibility," Ethan interrupted. "If anything goes wrong, I'll sign whatever paperwork is necessary. This is our decision."

The doctor looked like he might continue arguing, but something in Ethan's expression made him reconsider. With a disgusted shake of his head, he backed away.

Ethan turned to Alexander. "Take your grandmother to the waiting area. Make sure she's comfortable."

Alexander nodded, gently guiding the protesting Mrs. Haxton away from the scene.

Walter Morrison approached me, his earlier skepticism completely gone. "What do you need for the operation, Miss Morgan?"

"I need you to monitor his cardiac function throughout," I said, keeping my voice professional. "And I need to know exactly what symptoms he's been displaying. When did the seizures start? Has he shown any unusual discoloration or temperature fluctuations?"

Walter began listing symptoms, and I listened carefully, filing away each detail. The toxin sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it yet. I would need to see the patient myself.

A nurse approached with surgical scrubs. "The OR will be ready in ten minutes."

I nodded, taking the garments. As I turned to change, Ethan stepped into my path.

"Jade," he said quietly, so only I could hear. His use of my first name sent an unexpected warmth through me. "Are you certain about this?"

I met his gaze steadily. "I've never lost a patient on my operating table, Ethan. Not one."

Something flashed in his eyes—relief, perhaps, or confirmation of a suspicion. He stepped aside, allowing me to pass.

Twenty minutes later, I stood in the operating room, properly scrubbed and gowned. William Haxton lay unconscious on the table, monitors beeping steadily around him. The surgical team looked at me with varying degrees of skepticism and curiosity.

I approached the patient, noting the unusual bluish tint to his lips. I checked his pupillary response, then carefully examined his pulse points. The team watched in confusion as I spent nearly two minutes simply observing and palpating, a far cry from the usual rushed pre-surgical checks.

"This toxin..." I murmured, more to myself than anyone else. "I've seen it before."

"You recognize it?" Walter asked hopefully.

I nodded slowly.

The anesthesiologist cleared his throat nervously. "Miss Morgan, shouldn't we begin the procedure? The patient's vitals—"

"Are stable enough for me to be thorough," I finished for him, not bothering to look up. The room fell silent. The senior surgeons exchanged glances, clearly uncomfortable with my unconventional approach, but no one dared interrupt further. Their respect for Walter Morrison and fear of Ethan Haxton kept their objections at bay.

"Scalpel," I said, holding out my hand. The scrub nurse hesitated for a moment before placing the instrument in my palm.

Author's POV:

Outside in the waiting area, the Haxton family had gathered. The eldest son paced nervously while Alexander sat beside his grandmother, holding her trembling hand.

"Who exactly is this girl?" the eldest demanded of Connor.

Connor swallowed hard. "She's... a medical prodigy, sir." He was already regretting mentioning Philip Thornton's migraines. If this surgery went wrong, Ethan would have his head.

"A prodigy?" The man's voice dripped with skepticism. "My father's life is in the hands of some college student, and all you can tell me is that she's a prodigy?"

In a corner, Mrs. Haxton whispered to Alexander, "Do you think she can really save him?"

Alexander squeezed her hand. "Uncle Ethan believes in her. That's good enough for me."

The clock ticked mercilessly as one hour stretched into two, then three. The family's anxiety grew with each passing minute, the silence in the waiting room broken only by the occasional cough or whispered conversation.

Four hours later, the operating room doors finally swung open. The two senior physicians who had assisted emerged, looking both exhausted and strangely invigorated.

"The surgery was successful," announced the first, who had been the most vocal opponent earlier. "The hematoma has been completely removed, with minimal impact to the surrounding tissue. It was..." he hesitated, searching for words, "...the most precise surgical technique I've ever witnessed."

"Where did she train?" asked the second doctor, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I did the suture," replied the first. "She asked me to close after she finished the procedure. Said I needed the practice." He sounded offended and impressed in equal measure.

Ethan, who had been standing motionless by the window for hours, finally exhaled. William was wheeled out on a gurney, his head bandaged but his color already better than before. The family crowded around, relief evident on their faces.

Walter emerged last, his face flushed with excitement. "The surgery couldn't have gone better," he announced. "The blood clot has been removed, and I believe Miss Morgan also has a solution for the toxin."