Chapter 4Never Beg Twice

With a violent heave, Tyler hurled the medical case down onto the granite floor.

The latches sheared off under the impact. The heavy lid bounced open with a sickening metallic clatter, spilling the interior compartments across the terminal walkway.

Sterile envelopes tore on contact. The custom titanium-nickel mesh stents, engineered to microscopic tolerances, rolled across the dirty floor, their structural integrity destroyed under the weight of passing travelers' shoes. Three vials of stabilizing synthetic enzymes shattered against the base of an airport column, their clear liquid soaking into the carpet.

My mind went entirely blank.

In my previous life, Tyler had never touched the surgical case. He had simply stranded me in the terminal and walked away. Now, in this timeline, the critical instruments were gone. Arthur Hawkins was dead. There was no way to salvage the biliary architecture without those custom guides.

Tess stepped forward, her eyes dropping to the scattered surgical instruments, the sterile warning labels, the Mass General biohazard stamps.

A shadow of deep, sickening realization passed across her face.

"Wait..." Tess whispered, her voice faltering for the first time. "Luke... are these... were you really going to—"

"Tess, don't fall for it!" Tyler cut in smoothly, grabbing her elbow and pulling her back. "It’s a prop! The guy knew you were suspicious, so he stole some hospital junk to build an alibi! Who brings medical garbage to a private flight unless they’re running a cover story?"

I didn't answer them. I dropped to my knees, crawling frantically across the floor, trying to gather the remaining unopened packaging, checking for intact seals with my trembling, bloody hands.

Suddenly, a designer heel slammed down onto the instruments gathered between my palms.

Tess stood above me, her boot grinding the remaining sterile packages into the dirt, kicking them away across the floor.

Her face was white with a terrifying mixture of shame and fury.

"Stop it, Luke!" she screamed, her voice shrill and trembling. "Stop acting like a martyr! You’re using your medical degree as a prop to cover up your disgusting lies! You make me sick! You’re not a doctor—you’re a fraud!"

My boarding pass was torn. My ID was broken. My phone was smashed. My instruments were destroyed.

The VIP access door. Ms. Hawkins had said the escort was at the VIP corridor near Gate B4.

I ignored the blood dripping from my chin onto my shirt. I pushed myself up from the ground, clutching the handle of my empty, battered satchel, and began limping toward the corridor.

Before I had taken three steps, a fist full of hair jerked me backward with violent force.

Tyler yanked my head back, twisting his fingers into my roots until my neck popped.

"Where the hell do you think you’re going?" Tyler hissed into my ear. "You think you can humiliate Tess in the middle of Logan and just walk off? You cheated on her! You humiliated the best friend I have in the world! You’re going to get on your knees and apologize to her right now!"

He kicked the back of my left knee with the toe of his boot. My leg buckled, and I slammed hard onto both knees against the cold stone.

Tyler forced his palm onto the back of my neck, shoving my face downward.

"Apologize to her! Say it, you piece of shit!"

My forehead struck the marble floor with a dull, sickening thud. Pain exploded behind my eyes, sharp and metallic.

When Tyler yanked me back up by my collar, half the concourse had formed a wide circle around us. Businessmen in suits, families with strollers, college kids with backpacks—everyone was filming on their phones, watching the bloody spectacle.

And there stood Tess Shepard.

The woman I had loved since our undergraduate years at Tufts. The woman for whom I had spent three sleepless years balancing hospital shifts and home-cooked meals, waiting for her to come home from her corporate legal desk.

She stood there, arms folded, her chin raised, watching me bleed on the floor of Terminal B without a trace of remorse.

Tyler shoved my face down again. My chin cracked against the stone, opening another gash that began to seep warm blood down my neck.

Then Tyler turned toward Tess, his voice dropping into that smooth, gentle register he always reserved for her.

"Tess, dump him. Break it off right now. You’re a partner-track corporate attorney. There are thousands of men in Boston who would worship you. Why stay with the dirtiest one in the city?"

Tess stared down at me for a long, silent moment.

Then, her lips curved into a cold, brittle smile.

"You’re right, Ty," Tess said quietly, her voice carrying over the murmuring crowd. "Luke, we’re done. Don't come back to the apartment."

I spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor near her shoes, lifting my swollen eyes to look at both of them.

"Tess Shepard. Tyler Shaw," I whispered, the words clear and venomous. "You destroyed critical medical hardware. You obstructed a physician during a critical surgical window. You have crossed a line you cannot buy your way out of."

Tyler laughed and threw another punch into the side of my jaw, snapping my head back.

"Keep barking, dog," Tyler sneered. "Let’s see if your little call girl wants to touch your face after this."

Above us, the airport chime chimed through the terminal PA system:

“Final boarding call for Delta Flight 888 to Seattle-Tacoma. All ticketed passengers must be on board. Gate doors are closing.”

Tyler let go of my collar, stepping over my outstretched legs, and reached for Tess’s hand.

"That’s our flight, Tess," Tyler smiled, squeezing her fingers. "Let’s go. And hey... starting today, how about I become your boyfriend for real?"

Tess looked at him, the tension draining from her face, replaced by a radiant, relieved smile.

"I’d love that, Ty," she whispered.

They turned toward the jet bridge queue.

Before they had taken five steps, a sharp, commanding voice cut through the terminal air like a whip.

"Massachusetts State Police and Massport Security. Nobody move."

A tall woman in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit stepped out from the private access hallway, flanked by four armed Massport security officers and two State Police troopers in high-boots and tactical vests.

The troopers moved with practiced efficiency, forming a perimeter that instantly cut off the entrance to the jet bridge, trapping Tess, Tyler, Peyton, and Danielle against the glass partition.

The woman in the suit stepped directly into Tyler’s path, her eyes cold as flint.

"Tyler Shaw. Tess Shepard. You are being detained under suspicion of felony assault, interstate interference with emergency medical operations, and attempted murder."

She turned her head toward me, her sharp gaze sweeping over my bruised face, my bloodied chin, and my swollen hand.

"Dr. Mitchell," she said, her voice dropping into brisk, professional deference. "The Gulfstream is fueled and idling on the tarmac. Your surgical theater is waiting."