The Mysterious Doctor

Not yet

At the garden of the De Luca estate, Vincent sat, the signet ring heavy in his palm.

Alessandro had spoken for hours. About the empire. About the hospitals, the research facilities, the investments scattered across the globe. About the legacy that had been waiting for Vincent his entire life.

But one thing had stuck with him above all else.

"No one can know," Alessandro had said, his voice firm. "Not yet. The De Luca name carries weight and enemies. If word gets out that you're the heir before you're ready, they'll come for you. So you'll disappear from their lives. Let them believe you're still nothing. Let them underestimate you. When the time is right, you'll announce yourself. But not until then."

Vincent had nodded. He understood. He'd spent his entire life being invisible. Now he would use that invisibility as a weapon.

He looked at the ring one last time, then slipped it into his pocket.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "For everything."

Alessandro smiled. "Go, Vincent. Build yourself. Become the man your mother always knew you could be. And when you're ready, you'll know what to do."

Vincent stood. He walked through the gardens, past the fountains, past the palace that was now his. He didn't look back.

Three days later, Amelia stood in the foyer of the Blackwood estate, a sheaf of papers in her hands.

She was dressed beautifully. Her hair was perfectly styled. Her engagement ring sparkled on her finger. She looked like a woman who had won.

"Vincent signed the papers," she announced, her voice carrying through the hall. "The divorce is finalized."

Marcus appeared from the study, his arms open. "Finally. I told you he'd come around."

"He did more than that." Amelia frowned. "When I saw him this morning, he was different. He looked like... like he was disappearing. Like he was already gone."

Marcus laughed. "Don't be dramatic. That loser would never leave. He's probably hiding in that shabby apartment, crying into his pillow."

Amelia shook her head. "No, Marcus. I know him. He had this look in his eyes. Like he was saying goodbye to something."

"Goodbye to his dignity?" Marcus smirked. "That left years ago."

Before Amelia could respond, the front door burst open.

Harrison Blackwood stormed in, his face purple with rage. He was clutching a letter in his trembling hands.

"Vincent!" he shouted. "Where is Vincent?"

Marcus blinked. "Father? What's wrong?"

"The hospital!" Harrison's voice cracked. "He resigned. Completely. No notice. No explanation. Just—" he thrust the letter into Marcus's hands, "—a resignation letter. Effective immediately."

Marcus read it. His smirk faded. "He can't do that. He was supposed to finish the projects. He was supposed to move to records. He can't just—"

"He did." Harrison collapsed into a chair. "He's gone. He's completely gone."

Brenda appeared at the top of the stairs, her expression sharp. "He's just being a drama queen. He'll come back. Or else how would he survive?"

She descended the stairs, her heels clicking on the floor.

"Without your money, he can't survive," she continued. "He's a pauper. Wretched. He has nothing. No job. No wife. No future. He'll be back within the week, begging for forgiveness."

Marcus nodded slowly. "You're right. He's too weak to survive on his own. He'll come crawling back."

Amelia looked at the resignation letter. At Marcus. At Harrison. At Brenda.

"I don't know," she said quietly. "Something about this feels different."

"Different?" Brenda scoffed. "The only thing different about Vincent is that he finally grew a spine and it will break as soon as hunger sets in. Trust me. He'll come back."

Amelia wanted to argue. She'd seen Vincent's eyes that morning. The coldness. The finality. The absence of hope.

But she said nothing.

""" """"

Across the city, Vincent sat in a sleek black car, watching the Blackwood estate shrink in the rearview mirror.

He'd gone to his apartment that morning. Packed a single bag. Left the divorce papers on the kitchen table with a signature he no longer cared about. Walked out the door without looking back.

The De Luca men had been waiting for him. They'd whisked him away before anyone could see.

Now, Vincent watched the estate disappear. Watched the home he'd grown up in fade into the distance.

Without your money, he can't survive. He's a pauper. Wretched. He'll come crawling back.

Vincent's jaw tightened. He turned away from the window.

"No," he said quietly. "I won't."

His phone buzzed. A message from Alessandro.

"The penthouse is ready. Your driver will take you there. Take some time. Rest. Think. When you're ready, we'll begin."

Vincent closed his eyes.

He didn't know who he was becoming. But he knew one thing.

Vincent Blackwood was dead. And Vincent De Luca was about to be born.