Mario Sebastian Miller

It was three o'clock in the afternoon when the arrival announcement for International Flight GA711 echoed across Terminal 3 of Marrowbay International Airport. Sunlight streamed through the huge floor-to-ceiling glass walls, gilding the polished marble floor with shimmering gold. The crowd waiting for arrivals stirred. Flight information scrolled on electronic screens, and the rolling of suitcase wheels filled the air with noise. A hush fell over the bustling arrival hall the moment Jasmine Sullivan walked out of the international arrivals corridor. She wore a sleek floor-length scarlet dress that accentuated her glowing complexion. The hem swayed gently with her steps. Her long hair was tied into a loose bun, with a few strands falling along her neck. She carried an imposing aura beneath her relaxed demeanor. Without sunglasses, her clear eyes were fully visible. Her irises bore a rare blue-gray hue, while the upward tilt of her eyes lent her an aloof, piercing look. What drew the most attention was the two children she held by the hands. One stood on her left and the other on her right, both around six years old. They looked nearly identical, clearly twins. On Jasmine's left, the boy was dressed in a dark blue suit set over a white shirt buttoned all the way up, holding a slim silver-gray laptop in his arms. They stopped. The boy let go of Jasmine's hand, his face set in a stern expression. Though still young, he had an unnaturally calm gaze as he typed rapidly, lines of code scrolling across the screen. On Jasmine's right, the girl wore a pink dress and a white cardigan, hugging a brown teddy bear tightly. Curious, she glanced about. Her large, round eyes held pure naivety, but every time her eyes swept over a shadowed nook, a shrewd glint flashed through them, incongruous for one so young. "Mommy, the surveillance system here is at least three versions behind that of Strandholm," the boy said without lifting his head, his fingers gliding across the trackpad. "Its firewall is useless. I broke through it in seven seconds." A faint smile tugged at Jasmine's lips. "Yale, how many times have I told you not to hack public systems casually?" "I was running a security check," said Yale Sullivan, Jasmine's son, in a serious tone. "I also fixed three bugs for them. I should charge a fee if they put the project out for formal bidding." "Yale is showing off again," said Winnie Sullivan, Jasmine's daughter, in a soft voice as she twiddled the teddy bear's ears. "Mommy, I'm hungry. You said we have candy apples here." Jasmine stopped and crouched down to meet her daughter's gaze, her voice low and distinctive. "Wait a little longer, Winnie. We'll pick up our luggage first, then get you the yummiest candy apples, okay?" Winnie's eyes lit up, and she nodded eagerly. Suddenly, shouts came from the lounge area on the right side of the arrival hall. "Dad, are you all right? Help! Someone, call for help!" People rushed over, and commotion spread through the crowd. Trained with a doctor's instinct, Jasmine noticed the emergency instantly. She let go of her daughter's hands and hurried toward the sound. "Mommy, where are you going?" Yale and Winnie called out together. "Stay right here," Jasmine glanced back and ordered. "Yale, watch over Winnie." She pushed through the crowd and saw an elegantly dressed elderly man around sixty collapse onto the leather sofa, clutching his chest. His face turned cyanotic, and he gasped for breath while scratching at his clothes involuntarily, which were clear symptoms of a myocardial infarction. His attendants were thrown into panic. A young man stammered as he dialed 911. "S-Send an ambulance quickly. We're at Terminal 3 of the airport." "Stand aside," Jasmine spoke softly, yet her voice carried undeniable authority. She stepped forward and dropped to one knee. While she supported the elderly man's neck to keep his airway unobstructed, she checked his carotid artery. His pulse was faint, barely detectable. "Does he have a history of heart disease?" Jasmine looked up and asked the young man. "Yes. He has medicine for coronary heart disease in his bag." The man fumbled frantically to search for it. Jasmine quickly unbuttoned the elderly man's suit jacket and shirt collar, her movements swift and precise. "Everyone, step back. Keep the air circulating." She scanned the crowd with a sharp gaze. Onlookers moved back instinctively. "Go to the service desk and get the AED. Airports are always equipped with one," she ordered an airport staff member. The staff member froze for a second, then turned and ran off at full speed. Jasmine began cardiopulmonary resuscitation. She laid the man flat on the ground, placed her stacked hands on the lower part of his sternum, leaned forward, and started compressions following standard procedures. She kept a steady rhythm and firm pressure. Her red dress spread across the floor like a blooming crimson rose. Though fine beads of sweat formed on her forehead, and loose strands of hair stuck to her cheeks, her eyes remained utterly focused. "Grandpa, don't leave me." A girl in her early twenties cried and tried to rush forward. "Hold her back," Jasmine said without looking up. "Don't let her disturb the rescue." Yale had led Winnie to the front of the crowd. He handed the laptop to Winnie and watched the whole scene calmly. Winnie hugged her teddy bear tight, staring at her mother without blinking. After thirty compressions, Jasmine leaned down to give rescue breaths. She pinched the man's nose, tilted his chin up, and delivered two mouth-to-mouth breaths before resuming compressions. Every movement was smooth and professional. The noise around gradually died down. Some people took out their phones. "Are you filming? That doesn't seem right," someone whispered. "This is saving a life. That's truly admirable." "She's so skilled. Is she a doctor?" Camera flashes went off, pointing toward the woman in red crouching down. Jasmine paid no heed, or simply did not care. Right then, the fading life beneath her hands was her only concern. A few minutes later, the staff member returned breathlessly with the AED. Jasmine took the device, tore open the package, and attached the electrode pads to the man's bare chest with practiced ease. The machine spoke. "Analyzing heart rhythm. Shock advised." "Everyone, stand clear," she shouted sharply. The crowd moved further back in a rush. Jasmine pressed the shock button. The elderly man's body jolted. The AED ran another analysis. "Continue cardiopulmonary resuscitation." She restarted compressions instantly. Sweat trickled down her jaw and dropped onto the floor. Seconds ticked by. As many thought all hope was lost, the man gasped for air, and his eyelids fluttered. "Heartbeat detected," the AED announced. Jasmine checked his carotid artery at once. His pulse returned, weak but steady. His chest rose and fell on its own, and his cyanotic complexion lightened a little. "He starts breathing." "Wow, that's amazing." Cheers and applause broke out among the onlookers. A few still kept filming. Jasmine ignored the commotion. She checked the man's pupil response and positioned him properly while waiting for the ambulance. Her expression stayed calm throughout. Only her ragged breathing showed how much the emergency rescue had taken out of her. "Mommy is awesome," Winnie murmured, loosening her grip on the teddy bear. Yale frowned at the phones still recording. His fingers moved inside his pocket, where he kept a mini touch device. The wail of an ambulance drew near. Airport medics rushed over with a stretcher. Jasmine stood up and gave a quick briefing. "Suspected acute anterior myocardial infarction. Cardiac arrest lasted around four minutes. Spontaneous circulation was restored after one AED shock alongside CPR. Blood pressure is likely low. Urgent PCI is required." She spoke rapidly with precise terminology. The medics hesitated briefly. "Are you a doctor?" "I'm a cardiothoracic surgeon," Jasmine replied briefly, then stepped aside to let the team take over. The patient's family gathered around to express their gratitude. Jasmine waved them off and walked toward her children. Her scarlet skirt swept across the floor, leaving a poised figure behind. The moment she turned around, Jonah Blackwell came to a halt at the exit of the VIP passage, roughly 150 feet from the scene. Dressed in a tailored iron-gray suit, he cut a tall, broad-shouldered figure. He had only returned from overseas negotiations, accompanied by three assistants and two bodyguards. He had planned to leave via the VIP passage, but the commotion caught his eye, or rather, the silhouette of the woman in red. Glare from the glass walls blurred her features. Only that streak of red burned bright in his sight. He caught the curve of her neck, loose strands of hair, and her focused profile as she crouched to perform first aid. His heart skipped a beat. A hazy memory from five years ago surfaced unbidden. The dim room, the woman's sobs, blood-stained sheets, and a streak of red kept flickering in his mind. Then, a sharp headache struck. "Mr. Blackwell?" Blair Prescott, his assistant, noticed that something was wrong with him. "Are you all right?" Jonah pressed his temples. When he looked up again, the crowd was dispersing. The woman in red walked toward the baggage claim with the two children, her figure fading among the crowds. He stared in that direction, brows furrowed. "Look into that woman who gave first aid just now," Jonah said in a low voice. Blair looked surprised. "Mr. Blackwell, but..." "Do it," Jonah ordered firmly, his gaze fixed on where she had vanished. "Find out who she is." An inexplicable, almost absurd intuition gnawed at his reason. He had seen her before, in a time and place he had tried to bury. ***** Meanwhile, at the baggage claim, Jasmine retrieved two large suitcases. Yale held his laptop again and typed quickly. "Mommy, thirteen accounts uploaded footage, five with location tags," Yale reported calmly. "I have handled everything. I blurred your face, deleted the original files, and planted interference code to prevent recovery." Jasmine ruffled his hair. "Well done." Winnie looked up, "But Mommy, you did the right thing saving him. Why delete the videos?" Jasmine crouched down to meet her daughter's clear eyes, her tone softening. "I don't want too many people to recognize me for now. You will understand when the time comes, Winnie." She glanced beyond the towering glass walls. Marrowbay's skyline glinted in the afternoon sun. She had left this city six years ago, thinking she would never return. Now it welcomed her back with bustling energy. The suitcase wheels rolled forward. She held one child by each hand and headed for the exit. Her red skirt swayed like a silent banner. Back at the airport, social media pages that should have displayed the rescue footage now only showed error codes. The dramatic scene faded into a vague memory for most travelers. Only Jonah, who had paused at the VIP passage, kept that flash of red etched in his mind. Their paths would cross dramatically before long. At nine o'clock in the morning, on the 68th floor of the Blackwell Group headquarters, inside the CEO's office, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the bustling central business district of Marrowbay. The river glinted with golden ripples under the early sunlight, while the glass facades of skyscrapers cast cold streaks of light. This was a hub of power, where every breath carried the aura of calculated luxury. Jonah stood by the window, his figure straight. He had slept poorly the night before. It wasn't insomnia. He rarely had trouble sleeping. Even if he did, his grueling work would wear him out and knock him out cold. But last night was different. The profile of the woman in red was like a glowing nail etched into his vision, haunting him repeatedly in the dark. Shards of memories dating back five years rose up unbidden. It had been ages since this happened. A restrained knock came at the door. "Come in," said Jonah. Blair pushed the door open with a tablet in hand, looking uneasy. Having served Jonah for seven years, he had rarely seen his consistently composed boss order an investigation into a video played on the airport's large screen, especially when the person in the footage was seemingly a random stranger at the airport. Blair set the tablet on the large desk and lit up the screen. "Mr. Blackwell, I've found something regarding the matter you asked me to look into. "At seven forty-three this morning, a video appeared on Marrowbay's local community feed, titled Gifted Female Doctor Saves Elderly Man from Heart Attack at Marrowbay Airport. "Thirty minutes after posting, it ranked seventh on local trending lists. Forty-five minutes later, the hashtag named [Hero Doctor at the Airport] entered the national trending board. It is now forty-eighth and still climbing." Jonah turned around. He did not look at the tablet at once, but fixed his gaze on Blair. "How did it gain popularity?" "The video is striking." Blair pulled up the data. "It was shot up close. Though the female doctor's face is not fully clear, her scarlet dress, professional first aid skills, and the moment the elderly man regained his heartbeat make for powerful footage. "Several local influencers shared it first, followed by medical popular science accounts praising her professional operations. Discussions are now leaning toward her being a beautiful, kind-hearted top doctor." Jonah stepped forward and picked up the tablet. The video began to play automatically. Amid the terminal's buzz and the crowd's startled cries, Jasmine, clad in red, appeared on camera. She crouched down instantly. Her chest compressions were flawless in rhythm, depth, and recoil. Every detail revealed years of practiced muscle memory. As she gave rescue breaths, she tilted her head aside. Loose hair fell forward, her jawline taut and angular. Next came the part where she used the AED. She peeled off the electrode pads, followed the instructions, and delivered the shock. Her expression barely changed throughout the whole process. Only sweat dripping down her forehead and her heaving chest showed how demanding the rescue was. The video ended as the man breathed on his own and medics arrived. In the final seconds, she stood up. Her red skirt swirled neatly as she turned away from the camera. She walked steadily, holding two children by the hand, until they vanished into the crowd. Jonah pressed his thumb on the screen, dragged the playback slider back, and paused. The frame froze on her side face as she leaned down for rescue breaths. Soft light from the glass walls fell on her cheek. Her long lashes lowered, and her nose stood straight. As Jonah looked at Jasmine at this angle, a dull thud echoed in his chest once again. Blair lowered his voice, sounding hesitant. "Mr. Blackwell, the tech team did a preliminary analysis. Her face is blurred skillfully, looking like a natural distortion from camera shake and lighting. "Still, we cross-referenced it with the hospital surveillance footage you had me seal away five years ago." He paused, watching Jonah's expression closely. Jonah's eyes turned deep and icy as he ordered, "Go ahead." Blair drew a deep breath. "This woman in the video bears over 70% resemblance to the woman in the Marrowbay Medical Center's old footage from five years ago. "Her side profile, jawline, even how she steadied the patient's shoulder with her left hand while giving first aid? All matches closely. We can't make out her eye color. Yet their intense, stern looks are exactly the same." A heavy silence fell over the office. Cold air hummed from the central air vents. The air carried a blend of cedar fragrance and paper ink. The city bustled outside, yet the thick double-pane glass shut out all noise completely. Memories drifted back to five years ago. At Marrowbay Medical Center, an unexplained fire broke out in the VIP maternity ward on the third floor of the inpatient building in the early hours. Fire reports pointed to aging circuits as the likely cause. Two medical staff members lost their lives, and a pregnant patient staying there went missing. Her body was never found, and she was listed as presumed dead. The Blackwell Group was the hospital's largest investor. After the fire, Jonah took personal charge and suppressed most media coverage. However, the internal investigation was never concluded. No one knew he had sealed the surveillance footage from the corridor outside the maternity ward, taken the night before the blaze. In the footage, a heavily pregnant woman in a hospital gown walked slowly past the camera, leaning against the wall. She glanced back toward the monitor. Even in the blurry black-and-white frame, her eyes shone strikingly bright. Despair, resentment, and a burning hatred lingered in her gaze. Later, all records of the missing woman were deliberately erased. Even the name she used for admission was fake. Jonah pulled strings to dig for clues, but only uncovered fragmented hints. She was suspected of being linked to a bankrupt family and a past medical scandal. Rumors also suggested an indirect connection to his overbearing mother. His mother, Vanessa Blackwell, refused to discuss the matter, only saying coldly, "Mind your own business." Over the years, the vague figure would occasionally cross Jonah's mind when he was exhausted or on the verge of losing control. He had dismissed it as hallucinations and memory distortion brought on by stress. But yesterday at the airport, that figure in red pried open the long-sealed door of the past. "Do we have any identity details about the woman in the video?" Jonah spoke in a flat tone. Blair shook his head. "Not yet. The video went viral, but there are no clear frontal shots. It was posted by a regular tourist who claimed to have shot the clip by chance. The IP was traced to a nearby city. "We contacted airport staff. They said chaos broke out at the scene, and no information was taken from the rescuer. "The elderly patient is Silas Whitaker, founder of Grandreach Holdings. He remains in the ICU. His family is deeply grateful but has no idea who the doctor is." Jonah set down the tablet and walked back to the window. His fingers tapped lightly against the cool glass, again and again. "Keep investigating," he repeated his order from the previous day, with more specific instructions this time. "You have two tasks. "First, use all available resources to identify her. Focus on recent entry records, especially flights arriving from Strandholm. Traveling with two children makes her easy to track." He paused, his gaze sharp. "Second, pull all files on the fire at Marrowbay Medical Center. I need to review everything again. We may have missed clues about the missing pregnant woman back then." Blair tensed. "Mr. Blackwell, about that hospital case, Vanessa will not—" "Carry out the order," Jonah cut him off firmly. "Report any obstruction directly to me." "Yes, sir." Blair gathered the tablet and left quickly. The door clicked shut, separating the office from the outside world. Jonah stood alone before the vast glass wall, looking down at the streams of traffic and tiny figures below. The city kept running, bound by its rules. Wealth and power flowed through the concrete metropolis like blood. Standing at the apex of power, he always took charge and weighed every variable. But the woman was a shooting star that suddenly cut across his chessboard. Her fiery radiance could not be overlooked, and her path remained utterly unpredictable. Jonah picked up his phone and opened the video he had watched countless times. He paused on the final frame, her retreating figure. The red skirt looked like an unhealed wound. "Who on earth are you?" he murmured. His voice faded into the empty office without an echo. ***** Meanwhile, in the top-floor penthouse of Riverfront House, Marrowbay, sunlight streamed through the 270-degree curved floor-to-ceiling windows, brightening the spacious living room. The space featured minimalist modern decor dominated by black, white, and gray, softened by furnishings in muted tones. A white grand piano stood in one corner, while the opposite wall was lined with bookshelves filled with medical classics, tech journals, and children's books. The penthouse offered a stunning view of the winding river and the rolling city skyline in the distance. Jasmine changed into soft, off-white loungewear. Her long hair fell loosely over her shoulders. She hung her clothes in the walk-in closet. Her movements were calm and unhurried, carrying the quiet steadiness of someone who had weathered great turmoil. In the living room, Yale sat cross-legged on the carpet with his laptop on his knees. The screen was split into over a dozen windows, where streams of data rolled nonstop. Winnie lay on the nearby sofa, swinging her legs and still clutching her teddy bear. She was absorbed in an illustrated medical book for children, which featured colored diagrams of the heart marked with Newlandish and Laedwish terms. Yale spoke suddenly, his fingers gliding across the trackpad rapidly. "Mommy, one video from yesterday's incident slipped through." Jasmine paused mid-action. "Huh?" "The shooter saved the footage to a local SD card and uploaded it offline. They only posted it after connecting to the internet at their hotel this morning," Yale explained matter-of-factly. "My monitoring crawlers detected it forty-seven minutes after release. "By then, three local influencers had shared it, creating initial spread points." "What's the situation now?" Jasmine said. "The hashtag [Hero Doctor at the Airport] is now 46th on the national trending list." Yale pulled up a real-time data panel. "Total views have exceeded eight million, and discussions keep growing. "Ninety-two percent of comments are positive, praising your professionalism, composure, beauty, and kindness. Seventeen percent of users are guessing your identity and workplace." Winnie looked up with wide eyes. "Mommy, so many people are complimenting you." Jasmine walked over and stroked her daughter's hair, her gaze fixed on her son's screen. A red "Hot" tag sat beside the trending hashtag. The video topped the entry with comments pouring in nonstop. [She looked so cool crouching down to save that elderly man. What an incredible woman.] [Her techniques are impeccable. She must be a seasoned clinician, probably a top expert in cardiology.] [Has anyone found out which hospital she works at? She has such an extraordinary aura.] [She's in a red dress and heels. Wow, she stays so graceful while saving someone's life.] [Are those twins her kids? They're super cute.] [Please share her information. I'd love to book an appointment with her. Hey, I'm kidding.] "Can you take care of this?" Jasmine asked. Yale nodded, his expression remaining neutral, yet his eyes fully focused. "Yes, but it will take time and require more in-depth measures." Yale explained clearly, "The content has spread across four layers. First, it's the original poster and early sharers. Second, it's marketing accounts and news outlets that followed up. "Third, it's the organic traffic pushed by platform algorithms. Fourth, it's users who have downloaded and saved the videos locally. "I can delete the original files and post records for the first two layers directly. For the third, I need to disrupt platform algorithms to lower the topic's weight and recommendation frequency. The fourth is the trickiest, as it involves personal devices." "What's your plan?" Jasmine looked at her son. Yale typed and pulled up a complex program interface. "I've finished writing a targeted cleanup protocol. "First, trace the MD5 codes of all released videos, then erase the original files from server backends across all platforms and replace them with error codes or irrelevant content. "Second, flood the related hashtag with massive junk content to dilute valid posts and make algorithms label the topic as low-quality. "Third, launch targeted network interference on devices confirmed to have downloaded the clips. A hidden program will activate the next time they connect to Wi-Fi or cellular data, overwriting and deleting local cache files." He looked up at his mother. "I need your authorization for the third step, Mommy. It means crossing a slight line." Jasmine fell silent for a few seconds. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the faint hoot of ships on the river in the distance. "Do you not want others to know we are back?" Winnie whispered, hugging her teddy bear tighter. Jasmine crouched down and pulled her daughter into her arms, then stroked her son's soft hair. "It is not that I want to hide our return." Her voice was gentle yet heavy with resolve. "The timing is not right yet. I need to sort out certain matters first, and observe how some people react from the shadows." She turned to Yale. "Carry this out, but stay careful. Don't leave a single clue, and keep losses to a minimum." "Understood." Yale nodded and pressed the Enter key. The program launched at once. Data streamed across the screen at a much faster pace. Nodes lit up green for completed removal and red for ongoing processing. The curve tracking the topic's popularity visibly declined. Jasmine stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The midday sun shone bright. The city, familiar yet strange, stretched out below her. Six years had passed. Streets had changed, new landmarks had risen, and old memories lay hidden beneath a polished facade. But she remembered everything. She remembered the old tree in the backyard of the Sullivan residence, the scent of ink in her father's study, and the lullaby her mother used to sing. She recalled the sudden news of a plane crash, creditors shouting outside the gate, and the panic of fleeing far away under her new name. And she would never forget the cold maternity ward, the searing pain, and the flickering flames that filled her sight at the end. Nor could she forget Jonah's cold, deep eyes, which she had caught a glimpse of through smoke and chaos. Jasmine let out a slow breath. Her blurred reflection showed on the glass. Revenge demanded patience and precision. It was like surgery, cutting through layers of pretense to strike straight at the root of the problem. Now she had taken the first step. She was back, armed with expertise, her two most trusted companions, and old scores waiting to be settled from six years ago. Her phone vibrated. She picked it up and saw an encrypted message from a contact codenamed Jokul: [Arrived in Marrowbay. All documents ready. When shall we meet?] Jasmine replied: [Eight tomorrow evening. At the usual place.] She set the phone down and glanced back at the living room. Yale remained fully focused on his screen. Winnie had curled up on the sofa and fallen asleep, her teddy bear slipping aside. Warm sunlight draped over the children, gilding their hair. They were what she swore to protect, and the reason she had to grow strong. Outside, the city buzzed on as usual. On the trending list, the hashtag [Hero Doctor at the Airport] kept slipping down quietly, as if an invisible hand was erasing its traces. Still, ripples had already spread. 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