Confidential

Chapter Two

Sari unlocked the door to her flat and pushed it open with her shoulder, too tired to care that it banged against the wall.The tiny space greeted her with silence, the kind that could either soothe or mock, depending on the day.

She dropped her bag somewhere near the sofa and kicked off her shoes, letting them land wherever gravity pleased.The clock above her kitchen sink blinked 6:03 a.m.

Seventeen hours.Seventeen hours of surgeries, consults, back-to-back emergencies, and a trainee who nearly fainted in the middle of a delivery.

Her flat was a five-minute walk from UCLH, but at this point, it might as well have been a continent away. She didn’t bother turning on the lights. The dawn haze slipping through her curtains was enough.

She peeled off her scrubs top, swapped it for an oversized T-shirt, and collapsed onto her bed, half-buried in cold sheets.Her body screamed. Her mind refused to stop spinning. But for once, she didn’t fight it, she just let herself sink.

Sleep came fast and heavy.

Until the ringing started.

RING. RING. RING. RING.

Sari groaned into her pillow. “No. Not now.”

The phone didn’t care. It just kept wailing, loud and insistent, slicing through her half-dreams like a drill.

She cracked an eye open and squinted at the screen on her nightstand.8:12 a.m.

Her head pounded. Her throat was dry. She’d only been asleep for barely two hours.

She reached for the phone with one hand, already ready to throw it against the wall, until she saw the name flashing on the screen.

Sylvia.

Her stepmother.

Sari’s brows furrowed. Sylvia never called. Not unless it was serious.

A low, instinctive dread tightened in her chest. Her father had suffered a mild stroke a year ago. He was stable now, walking, laughing, working again, but that fear still lived somewhere deep, waiting.

“God, please not again,” she muttered under her breath.

She almost ignored the call. Almost. But she couldn’t, not with that name flashing on the screen.

With a resigned exhale, she swiped to answer. “This better be good, Sylvia. I just got home at six. If someone isn’t bleeding out, I’m hanging up.”

“Sari?” Sylvia’s voice came through, higher-pitched and trembling. “Oh, thank God you answered.”

Sari’s exhaustion evaporated. She sat up instantly, the blanket sliding to her waist. “What’s wrong? Is it Dad?”

“No… no, he’s fine,” Sylvia said quickly, breath shaky. “He’s at the clinic. But something’s happened. It’s bad, Sari. Really bad.”

Sari swung her legs off the bed, pressing a palm to her temple. “Okay. Breathe. Start from the beginning. What’s going on?”

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Sylvia rushed, words tumbling over each other. “But I didn’t know who else to call. It’s about the clinic. Your father’s been up all night with the lawyer. We’ve been served papers.”

Sari frowned, half thinking she’d misheard through the ringing in her ears. “Served what papers?”

Sylvia’s voice cracked. “A lawsuit.”

Sari blinked, the crease in her forehead deepening. “A what?”

“We’re being sued,” Sylvia said, each word landing like ice. “For malpractice and breach of confidentiality.”

Silence filled the room, thick and humming.

Sari stared blankly at the wall, her pulse quickening. “That doesn’t make sense. The clinic’s spotless. You run a tight ship. I’m sure you follow every protocol.” She stopped mid-sentence, hearing the faint tremor in Sylvia’s breathing. “Who’s suing us?”

Sylvia hesitated. “It’s... it’s a high-profile client. Someone influential.”

Sari pinched the bridge of her nose. “Sylvia, stop stalling and just say the name.”

A long pause. Then quietly—“Matthew Elizalde.”

Sari frowned. “Who?”

She honestly didn’t recognize it. She’d been gone from Manila since she was eighteen, nine years now, and she didn’t follow society gossip or business news. She barely had time for her own sleep, much less for the people splashed across tabloids.

“Matthew Elizalde,” Sylvia repeated, voice cracking with exasperation. “He’s the CEO of Metroline. The Elizalde Group. This is really, really bad.”

“You’re saying the name like it’s supposed to mean something,” Sari muttered. “But fine, give me the story. We’re a women’s clinic. We treat mothers and kids. Why is a man suing us? Is this about his wife? Or a child?”

Sylvia took a shaky breath. “No. It’s not that. The clinic... has been managing the private check-ups of some of Mr. Elizalde’s—” she hesitated “—former girlfriends. You know how we sometimes cater to discreet clients? They come for routine tests, contraceptives, counseling, that sort of thing.”

Sari’s tone hardened. “I’m aware of the confidentiality policy, Sylvia. Get to the point.”

“One of them went public,” Sylvia said, her words tumbling faster. “She told the press she’s pregnant, claimed it’s Matthew’s child. It caused a scandal. Now he’s saying confidential details from her medical records were leaked to the media, that it all traces back to the clinic. He’s accusing us of breaching confidentiality and damaging his reputation. He’s suing for twenty million.”

Sari blew out a breath, already calculating. “Twenty million pesos? That’s a lot, but the clinic can pay for it—”

“Dollars,” Sylvia interrupted. “Twenty million US dollars.”

Sari froze. “What?”

“Apparently, he lost major contracts, international ones. He’s claiming the scandal cost him deals worth hundreds of millions.”

Sari’s mouth went dry. “You’re telling me this loaded shithead got one of his girlfriends pregnant, and somehow we’re the villains?”

Sylvia’s voice cracked, low and scared. “He’s not just any man, Sari. He’s powerful. The kind of powerful that destroys people when he’s angry. Your father’s terrified.”

Sari sat there for a moment, silent, pulse steady, eyes cold. Then she said, evenly, “Send me the full case file. The legal documents. Everything.”

“Sari—”

“I mean it,” she cut in. “If Elizalde wants a fight, he picked the wrong clinic. And the wrong doctor.”