Ch 14

The drive to the airport was quiet except for the soft hum of the car and the way my chest throbbed with something between grief and relief. I didn't cry. I couldn't. It was too strange to mourn a life I had wanted to escape from for so long.

Baltimore was my next stop — a city that once felt like purpose, like proof that I had made something of myself beyond my family's empire. Hopkins had been my pride, the place I poured my best years into. My refuge, my validation. I told myself I was stopping by just to settle some things before returning to New York — but deep down, I think I wanted reassurance that I still had something left. Something that was mine.

It was drizzling when I arrived at the hospital. The kind of fine, persistent rain that blurred the windows and muted the world outside. Walking through the corridors felt like stepping into an old dream — sterile, familiar, and achingly quiet.

I made my way to Dr. Levine's office, clutching a folder of documents I didn't really need. The formality was for me, a way to stay composed when everything else had unraveled.

"Dr. De Torre," he greeted me kindly when I walked in, though his tone carried a note of hesitation. "It's good to see you back."

"Thank you, Dr. Levine," I replied, managing a polite smile. "I wish it were under better circumstances."

He gestured for me to sit, folding his hands over the desk. "What can I do for you?"

I inhaled deeply, trying to keep my voice steady. "I wanted to ask if you could write me a recommendation for Mount Sinai. I'm hoping to transfer there permanently. I've been looking into their trauma and emergency care program, and I believe it aligns with my next steps."

His brows lifted slightly, but he nodded. "Mount Sinai. That's quite a move."

"I think I need it," I said quietly. "A fresh start."

There was a pause — brief, but heavy. Then, with a sigh, he leaned back in his chair. "Rafaelle... if this were about skill, work ethic, or merit, I'd write that letter right now. You're one of the finest physicians we've ever had. But..."

That word again. Always that word.

"But?" I asked softly.

He hesitated before speaking, as if the words themselves burned. "There's been... communication from your family. Specifically from your father and sister. The De Torres are—" he cleared his throat, "—among our largest investors. The hospital board received a directive not to process or endorse any external transfers under your name."

My throat went dry. "They did what?"

He looked genuinely pained. "I'm sorry, Rafaelle. My hands are tied. If I went against this, I'd lose my position. The board would intervene. I tried to speak with Dr. Patel about it, but it's beyond any of us now."

For a long moment, I couldn't speak. My chest felt tight, like the air had turned to glass. All those years — the nights, the sacrifices, the devotion — and still, I couldn't escape them. My own name had become a curse I couldn't shed.

"They're still trying to control me," I whispered, mostly to myself.

Dr. Levine's expression softened. "They can't control your skill, Rafaelle. They can't take that from you."

I forced a smile — small, tired, but sincere. "No," I said. "But they can make sure I don't use it."

He didn't argue. There was nothing more to say.

I reached into my folder and slid a crisp envelope across his desk. His eyes flicked to it, confusion crossing his face.

"What's this?"

"My letter of resignation," I said quietly.

He froze. "Rafaelle—"

"I've thought about it," I said before he could protest. "I can't keep working under their shadow. Everything I've earned here... it's tainted by their influence. And if I stay, I'll always just be the De Torre daughter at Hopkins. I need to walk away. Completely."

Dr. Levine sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. "You're certain about this?"

I nodded once. "I've never been more certain about anything."

He looked at me with the kind of sadness reserved for things that are both inevitable and unfair. "Then I wish you the best," he said softly. "For what it's worth, you deserve better than what they're doing to you."

"I know," I whispered.

I thanked him, shook his hand, and left the office before the weight in my chest could spill out through my eyes. The corridor lights seemed harsher than before, fluorescent and cold. My footsteps echoed against the linoleum floors like the sound of something ending.

Outside, the drizzle had turned to steady rain. I stood by my car for a moment, staring at the water streaking down the windshield. It was funny — I had once believed I could outrun my family's reach by building my own empire. But the truth was, you can't run from blood that's been branded into your identity.

Still, they could strip me of the name, the wealth, the privilege — but not my will. That part, at least, was still mine.

I started the car, engine humming softly beneath the sound of rain, and took one last look at the hospital that had defined so much of my life.

Then I drove toward the airport — toward New York — where Lea was.

Because even if the world I built was crumbling, she was still the one person who ever made me believe I could rebuild.