My flesh felt as though it had been permanently stapled to a live flame—a pulsing, relentless torment that radiated deep into my bones. Yet beneath the excruciating physical agony, my mind was remarkably sharp.

From the other side of the thin fabric barrier, I heard Daniel’s voice. It was that soft, polished, honey-drenched baritone he reserved exclusively for wealth managers, naive investors, and complete strangers.

“She’s always been incredibly clumsy, Doctor,” Daniel murmured, his tone dripping with manufactured grief. “It was a tragic accident. She panicked, lost her footing, and spilled a massive pot of boiling soup all over herself.”

A heavy, deliberate pause hung in the clinical air. “A simple spill of soup?” the physician questioned, her voice edged with subtle skepticism.

“Mr. Mercer, these are catastrophic, deep-tissue splash burns covering her entire back, shoulder, and upper chest.

The trajectory of the thermal injury doesn’t line up with a simple forward fumble.”

“My wife suffers from severe anxiety attacks,” Daniel replied smoothly, never missing a beat.

“She probably twisted violently in a panic while she was falling. She isn’t… well, she hasn’t been in her right mind lately.”