This was the private room—deliberately out of sight from the surveillance cameras—so Victoria could speak freely without fear of repercussions.

Just then, Dr. Whitmore finished with his patient and approached them.

He caught the tail end of Victoria's words and responded with icy detachment, "So, you grabbed the wrong medication, and suddenly that's my fault?"

Amy interjected sharply, "If you had doubts about the prescription, why didn’t you just ask? Did any of us glue your mouth shut?"

A frosty glint flickered in Amy's eyes.

Victoria lowered her head, tears glistening. "It was my mistake. I’m sorry."

"Ms. Langley," Amy's voice was razor-sharp, her gaze unyielding, "have you considered the consequences of your negligence—not just for the patient, but for this entire clinic? That was a life in your hands. If something had happened because of the wrong medication, Dr. Whitmore would have been the one held accountable!"

By the end, Amy's voice had risen, her eyes blazing with genuine fury.

She could tolerate Victoria playing the victim, spinning her sob stories in front of Alexander to manipulate sympathy. But she refused to let Victoria’s petty jealousy endanger someone’s life just to get ahead.

Victoria instinctively looked to Alexander, whose dark, piercing stare made her pulse spike with panic.

"I—I swear I didn’t mean to—" she stammered before abruptly dropping to her knees, pressing her forehead to the floor with a dull thud.

"Ms. Sinclair, I know an apology isn’t enough. A mistake is a mistake. I’ll accept any punishment you deem necessary—anything to earn your forgiveness."

She bowed so forcefully that within moments, blood welled on her forehead.

Alexander’s eyes widened. He strode forward and seized her arm. "Victoria, stop this. Get up."

Her tears fell in torrents. "Alex, you went through so much for me, and after everything, I still managed to anger Ms. Sinclair."

"I’m sorry. This is my fault. I’ll take full responsibility—even if she wants to press charges and send me to prison. I just don’t want her blaming you for any of it..."

Alexander understood the implication. His expression darkened, voice low and steady. "She can’t just throw you in jail on a whim. And she certainly can’t withhold medicine out of spite."

At that moment, not only Amy but even Dr. Whitmore was stunned by Victoria’s theatrics.

Good grief, he thought. She could out-drama my daughter-in-law—and she’s an Oscar-winning actress.

Alexander turned to Amy, catching the steel in her gaze. "If you saw her make a mistake, you could’ve corrected her. Was it necessary to be so harsh?"

Amy smirked coldly. "Why? Because I loathe her. That’s why."

Alexander’s stare was glacial. "Amy, I brought Victoria here to help—not for you to torment her."

Amy ignored him entirely, handing the porcelain vial to Dr. Whitmore. "Doctor, you should keep this safe."

He took it, shooting Victoria a disdainful glance. "You must have sold your conscience years ago," he muttered.

With patients waiting, he had no time for Victoria’s melodrama and strode out.

Amy turned to leave as well.

If Victoria was willing to grovel, bleed, and debase herself, then fine—she’d paid her price. There was no point dragging this out.

Besides, the divorce was imminent.

But before she could step away, a strong hand clamped around her wrist.

"Amy," Alexander’s voice was dangerously quiet, "if you truly don’t want this divorce, stop these childish games. Admit your mistakes like an adult."