The Miracle Doctor Returns: Divorce To Hidden Identity

Chapter 4

Linda slipped her arm under mine, steady and firm, as if she’d carried me a thousand times before. Her presence silenced the chaos around me, but Nancy’s voice cut through like a jagged blade.

“Don’t you dare walk away with him! He’s still my husband!”

Her eyes were bloodshot, her face twisted with rage.

“Ex-husband,” Linda corrected sharply, her tone smooth as glass but edged like steel. She didn’t even look at Nancy again. She focused on me—only me.

Nancy’s fists clenched. I could feel the weight of her fury pressing against my back. But before she could launch another attack, the doctor’s frantic voice pierced the room.

“Miss Nancy! Your mother… she’s awake!”

The words hit like thunder. Nancy’s face froze, her rage dissolving into shock.

“She’s—what?”

“Yes, she regained consciousness just now! You should come immediately.”

Nancy gasped, her body jolting as if she’d been struck by lightning. Without another glance at me, she bolted down the corridor, her heels clicking desperately against the tiles.

Her fury, her venom—it all vanished in a heartbeat. For her, only her mother existed.

Linda didn’t spare her a glance. She guided me firmly, leading me out of the ward, away from the sterile smell of disinfectant and betrayal, toward something I couldn’t yet name.

*****

The hospital doors slid open with a hiss, and I froze.

Dozens of luxury cars gleamed in the evening light, lined up like soldiers awaiting their commander. Black Maybachs, Bentleys, Rolls-Royces—the kind of fleet that could paralyze an entire city. Chauffeurs stood respectfully beside them, heads bowed, posture rigid. The air itself seemed to hum with power.

All for me. I blinked, unsure if I was hallucinating from blood loss. “What… what is this?”

“This,” Linda said calmly, her hand still steadying me, “is the most low-key welcome I could arrange.”

Low-key? My lips parted, but no words came out. In another life, I’d have considered this a parade fit for a king.

Linda motioned, and immediately two men in suits rushed forward, opening the doors of a sleek black Maybach. She guided me inside with the care of someone handling something fragile yet irreplaceable.

The moment the door shut, the chaos of the outside world was silenced. The cabin smelled of leather and faint sandalwood. Soft lights bathed the interior in gold.

I leaned back, dizzy, pale. My mind was spinning faster than my body could keep up.

“Linda,” I said hoarsely, “what the hell is going on?”

She studied me for a moment, her eyes sharp but compassionate. “You lost your memory because of an attack. It wasn’t an accident. Whoever did it wanted to strip you of everything—your power, your knowledge, your name.”

“Attack?” I repeated, my head pounding as if trying to recall what my mind refused to give.

“Yes. And in the process, you lost not only your memories but also… your skills.”

“What skills?”

“Your medical skills.” Her voice was firm, reverent. “You weren’t just a doctor, Charlie. You were the doctor. The Miracle Doctor. The man kings, billionaires, and warlords turned to when they were beyond saving.”

I stared at her, stunned. The words sounded like fantasy. I, who had just been humiliated, drained, and discarded in a hospital ward, being called the Miracle Doctor?

“That’s absurd,” I whispered.

Her lips curved into a faint smile. “Absurd? Then explain why you still own assets worth tens of billions—wealth you earned from saving the lives of the powerful. Do you think they paid you in coins and handshakes? They gave you empires, Charlie. Land, stocks, influence.”

My chest tightened. “Tens of… billions?”

“Yes.”

I shook my head, gripping the seat as if the world was tilting under me. “I don’t remember any of that.”

“You will,” Linda said softly but with conviction. “In time. But until then, you can’t live as an amnesiac wandering in the shadow of a woman who despises you. You need protection, and you need purpose. That’s why I’ve arranged a new identity for you.”

The car glided smoothly through the city streets, the convoy of black cars swallowing entire lanes. Pedestrians stopped and stared, phones snapping pictures, whispers chasing us like shadows.

“And what identity is that?” I asked.

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she tilted her head toward the window. “Look outside.”

I turned. My breath caught in my throat.

The Maybach rolled to a slow stop in front of a skyscraper that pierced the clouds. Its glass walls reflected the dying sun, turning it into a tower of fire. On the top, bold letters glowed against the sky:

SKYDOME PHARMACEUTICALS.

I stared, heart hammering. “That’s… Skydome?”

Linda’s smile deepened, her eyes gleaming with quiet pride. “The largest pharmaceutical company in the city. And not just in this city—Skydome’s reach stretches across continents. Its name alone moves markets.”

The car door opened. I stepped out slowly, my legs unsteady but my mind sharper with every second. The convoy lined up behind me, guards in black forming a protective wall around the entrance.

It felt surreal.

Linda came to stand beside me, her heels clicking against the marble steps as she faced me fully. “Charlie, this is where you belong. This company, this empire—it was built with your hands, your mind, your cures. And from today…”

Her voice dropped, reverent, final.

“…you are the CEO of Skydome Pharmaceuticals.”

The world seemed to pause. The neon lights of the city flickered on, illuminating the tower that now bore my destiny.

I, the man discarded like a husk hours ago, was being handed the throne of an empire I couldn’t even remember building.

I wanted to laugh, cry, scream, all at once. But all I managed was a whisper.

“CEO…?” Linda nodded once. “Yes. And this is only the beginning.”

Chapter 5

The moment I stepped through the glass doors of Skydome Pharmaceuticals, my breath caught. The lobby stretched wide and gleaming, its marble floors reflecting the chandeliers above like rippling stars. Gold-plated trim lined the walls, and the faint scent of sandalwood floated in the air. A giant LED screen displayed the company’s latest medical breakthroughs, but I barely noticed it.

What froze me in place was the people. Rows of employees in tailored suits and lab coats stood at attention, bowing slightly as I passed. Their voices rose in unison, steady and deferential.

“Welcome, Chairman.”

Chairman.

The word stabbed through me. My head throbbed, the echo of an identity I didn’t remember claiming. I looked around, searching for a smirk, a hint of mockery. But no—it was real. Their eyes held nothing but respect, even awe.

Linda walked a step ahead of me, heels clicking against the polished stone like the beat of a metronome. Her presence was steady, a silent anchor amid my storm. “They’ve been waiting for you,” she murmured without turning. “Remember, even if you don’t recall them, they recognize you.”

I clenched my fists. I didn’t recognize myself.

We stepped into a private elevator lined with black glass that reflected my face—pale, conflicted, uncertain. The ride shot upward, smooth and soundless, until the doors opened onto the top floor.

The office awaiting me was less an office and more a kingdom. Walls of glass offered a sweeping view of the city below—skyscrapers dwarfed by our vantage point, the sun glinting off rooftops like scattered coins. A mahogany desk, wide enough to host a banquet, sat before me, its surface bare save for a leather folder. The carpet underfoot was thick, muffling my steps.

I swallowed hard. “This… this isn’t mine.”

Linda moved gracefully to the desk, her hands resting lightly on the folder. She flipped it open, pages of crisp paper neatly arranged within. “Factories,” she began, her voice calm, clinical, “in seven provinces. Research patents under your name—over fifty breakthroughs in modern pharmacology. Real estate—villas, penthouses, estates abroad. Overseas accounts. These”—she tapped the folder—“are only a fraction of what you own.”

I stared at the words but couldn’t absorb them. My mind screamed for an explanation, a loophole, something to prove this was a cruel performance staged for my confusion.

I shook my head. “No. This has to be a trap. Someone’s setting me up.”

Her expression didn’t waver. Instead, she walked to a panel in the wall, pressing her palm against a scanner. A safe embedded in the wall clicked open. From inside, she withdrew a stack of documents, a velvet box, and several framed photographs. She laid them out before me like evidence at a trial.

“These seals,” she said, pointing to a carved jade stamp, “bear your mark. They unlock contracts only you can authorize. These statements—signed with your hand. And these—” she pushed the photos toward me—“show you standing with the board of directors during last year’s global summit. Unless someone finds your twin, this is your life.”

I picked up one of the photographs with trembling fingers. The man in the image wore my face but not my expression. His gaze was sharper, colder, a man who carried the weight of empires in his eyes. Could that really be me?

Linda’s voice softened, though the weight in her words pressed hard. “Charlie, you lost your memory because you were attacked. Your enemies wanted you erased—body and soul. If they learn that you don’t remember who you are, they will finish the job.”

Her words slithered into my chest, coiling around my uncertainty. I wanted to argue, to throw it all back at her. But deep down, a strange instinct stirred—a faint echo telling me she wasn’t lying.

“And if I refuse?” I asked quietly.

Her eyes met mine, unwavering. “Then you won’t survive.”

The silence between us was sharp, cut only by the faint hum of the city beyond the glass.

I leaned against the desk, trying to steady my breathing. I was being asked to step into the shoes of a man I didn’t know—a man who apparently had power, wealth, enemies, and an empire under his name. Could I even play that role? Or would the real me crumble under its weight?

The phone on the desk buzzed suddenly, jolting me. I picked it up, the screen flashing with a name that made my stomach tighten.

Nancy.

I hesitated, then answered.

Her voice exploded through the speaker, raw and furious. “Charlie, where the hell are you? My mother’s condition is worsening again, and you just left? Do you think you can play the hero once and vanish?”

I closed my eyes, her accusations piercing through my fragile calm.

“And that rich Carl?” she continued, her tone laced with venom. “He’s gone missing. Do you know how suspicious that looks? You disappear, and suddenly he vanishes too. Do you want everyone to think you had something to do with it?”

My grip tightened around the phone until my knuckles whitened. The old me—the man she thought was weak, disposable—might have stammered, apologized, tried to soothe her wrath. But something inside me shifted.

I opened my eyes and gazed out at the city sprawled beneath me, the empire I supposedly ruled. My lips curled into a sneer I didn’t recognize but felt strangely natural.

“Tell your mother,” I said slowly, each word deliberate, “that the next time she opens her eyes, she should remember who saved her. As for Carl… if he’s missing, maybe he finally realized he was standing in the wrong man’s shadow.”

Before she could reply, I ended the call, setting the phone down with a quiet finality.

Linda studied me carefully, but for once, she didn’t speak.

For the first time since waking up in that hospital, I felt a spark of something real—not fear, not confusion, but power. It was terrifying. It was intoxicating.

Whoever I had been, whoever I was becoming, one truth crystallized in my mind: memory or not, this world already treated me as a king. And kings didn’t kneel to anyone.

Chapter 6

The next morning, Linda wasted no time dragging me into what she called “a crash course.” Her words, not mine.

She’d transformed a boardroom into a private academy. A whiteboard on one side, stacks of textbooks and case studies on the other, and a projector humming quietly. Three tutors waited inside—one in finance, one in medicine, and one in etiquette, of all things.

“Chairman or not,” Linda said as I slumped into the leather chair, “you can’t afford to act like a stranger in your own world. You must speak, move, and think as if you never lost your memory.”

I muttered, “Easier said than done.”

The finance tutor started first. Equations sprawled across the screen: compound interest, international bonds, foreign exchange flows. My temples throbbed just looking at them. But then something strange happened. As he explained the formulas, my mind moved faster than my doubts. Numbers linked themselves in clean, sharp lines, and within minutes I was calculating results before he finished writing the equations.

The man gawked. “Chairman, you… you still have it.”

Still have it? I wasn’t sure what “it” was, but apparently it lived in me whether I remembered it or not.

The medicine tutor took over next, presenting me with complex case studies: rare blood disorders, viral mutations, neurological trauma. The words washed over me, foreign yet familiar, like echoes from a forgotten dream. My hands itched as if they longed for surgical tools. When he described a case of resistant pneumonia, my mouth moved before I could stop it.

“Change the antibiotic sequence. Add clindamycin before erythromycin. Otherwise, the bacterial load will rebound.”

The tutor froze, his pen hovering midair. “Chairman… that’s exactly the unpublished trial you ran three years ago. How could you…”

I blinked. My chest tightened. I hadn’t meant to say it. It was instinct, pure reflex. Somewhere inside me, the doctor I once was still breathing.

Then came etiquette. This one I found absurd. A stiff-backed woman with porcelain posture drilled me on how to walk into a banquet hall, how to address diplomats, and how to signal confidence with silence. I rolled my eyes more than once, but Linda’s glare kept me from mouthing off. By the end, I realized her point: survival wasn’t only about knowledge or power—it was about perception.

By the time evening fell, my head pounded with fragments of memory I didn’t own. But Linda wasn’t finished.

She summoned me to the executive council the next day. Twelve senior executives sat around a long glass table, their eyes sharp, their whispers sharper. They bowed politely when I entered, but I caught the smirks they traded behind their hands.

One of them, a man with graying temples and a smug smile, leaned forward. “Chairman, forgive our bluntness. You were gone for months. Rumors spread. Some of us question whether you are still… capable of leading Skydome.”

Another executive added, “We’ve weathered hostile takeovers and political scrutiny in your absence. Continuity demands strength. Can we be certain you still embody it?”

Their words dripped with hidden knives.

I sat silently, hands folded on the table. My heart hammered, but outwardly I kept still. Linda, on the other hand, was a blade unsheathed.

“Careful with your tongues,” she said coldly. “You forget whose shadow this company exists under. Without him, none of you would sit in those chairs.”

Her voice silenced half the room. But the smug one chuckled. “With respect, Manager Linda, words alone don’t run an empire. Proof does.”

I almost let Linda keep fighting for me, but then—like a flare in the dark—something surfaced. A detail. A thread of memory too sharp to be coincidence.

I looked directly at the smug executive. “Proof, you say? Then explain this—why did you authorize an offshore account in Zurich last winter under the subsidiary’s name, knowing full well the board rejected that maneuver two years ago?”

His face was drained of color.

Murmurs rippled across the table.

“That account was… confidential,” he stammered. “No outsider could have known—”

“Exactly,” I cut in. My voice was steady, colder than I expected. “And only the real Chairman would know who signed off on it, and why.”

The room fell into stunned silence. The executives who had doubted me shifted uneasily, their earlier arrogance evaporating. Some even lowered their gazes.

Linda’s lips curved into the faintest smile. She didn’t need to defend me anymore.

After the meeting, she guided me through a restricted wing of the building. Security scanned us three times before allowing us entry. The air inside was different—chilled, sterile, humming faintly with electricity. Rows of sealed glass chambers lined the walls, each containing vials of liquids, powders, or tablets glowing faintly under specialized lights.

“These,” Linda said softly, her tone reverent, “are your life’s work. Medicines so rare, so advanced, that governments bid billions for even a sample. Experimental treatments—cures for conditions others still call incurable.”

I stepped closer to one chamber. A vial the size of my thumb held a golden solution that seemed to pulse with light. My skin prickled just staring at it.

“You developed this?” I asked quietly.

She nodded. “It stabilizes degenerative cells. Still unapproved, but the military tried to buy the patent outright.”

A strange pride swelled in me—pride that wasn’t mine, but belonged to the man I used to be.

But Linda’s expression darkened. “These treasures are why you were targeted. Rival families already circle Skydome like vultures. Carl’s backers are among them. They want what you built, and they won’t stop until you’re gone—or they own it.”

The air felt heavier. For every treasure here, there was a dagger aimed at my chest.

I pressed my palm against the glass, staring at the glowing vial. The man who had created these wonders was still buried inside me. And whether I remembered him or not, his enemies were real.

Linda’s voice echoed like a warning bell: “Your comeback won’t be quiet. It will draw fire from every direction. You must be ready.”

I exhaled slowly, the weight of

her words pressing down like armor. I wasn’t sure if I could reclaim the life of the man I once was. But if these enemies thought I would be easy prey, they were about to discover otherwise.

Because memory or not, I was still Charlie. And Charlie didn’t bow.