Chapter 12

At dusk, Ezra strode back into the Ramsey residence, his footsteps crushing the dying embers of sunlight beneath him. A medical report, reeking of disinfectant, was slammed hard against Maya's face. The sharp edge of the paper left a red mark across her pale cheek. She flinched violently, shrinking into the leather sofa like a startled fawn. "Serotonin levels—normal. Dopamine receptor activity—stable. Every indicator stated that you're perfectly healthy." Ezra's voice was laced with ice. "Maya, you don't have depression. Why did you lie to us?" The room turned deathly silent. Gabriel immediately snatched the report, crumpling it into a ball before throwing it into the trash. "Who the hell do you think you are, digging into Maya's personal records? You can't diagnose mental illness with a damn blood test—" "Then how do you explain this?" Ezra threw down another document, this one stamped with a forged medical seal, as his eyes burned with fury. "There is no psychiatrist named Adri