Chapter 5: The Return of Mafia Instincts

"You're not Aileen Monroe."

Alina felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

"Who is this?" Her voice was calm, but her mind was already racing.

"The real Aileen would never act the way you did today," the voice continued. "And I don't know who you are, but if you keep interfering, you'll die—again."

Alina's heart pounded.

Again? she repeated in her mind.

This person knew something.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said flatly. "You must be mistaken."

Ha! Ha! Ha!

A quiet chuckle echoed through the phone.

"We'll see, Miss."

Click. The call ended.

Alina's blood ran cold. That person knew who she was.

Someone in this hospital, in Bungalow City. Alina realized her enemy wasn't just an ordinary person.

She slowly set down her phone, staring blankly at the screen. Deep inside her, the survival instincts ingrained in her as a mafia operative awakened once more.

"They know I'm not the real Aileen." Her voice was wary.

That meant she couldn't just sit back and wait for her enemy to make the first move.

Taking a deep breath, she opened Aileen Monroe's medical records on her laptop. If someone had tried to kill Aileen before she took over this body, then chances were they would try again.

And now, Alina was ready for it.

—

The next day, as she stepped into the operating room, Alina realized something: nothing in this world was truly safe, not even for a doctor. They had enemies too.

In the operating room, the doctor was the boss—the one who set the rhythm, gave orders, and ensured everything went smoothly. The difference? This time, she was saving a life, not taking one.

"Dr. Monroe, we have a patient with abdominal trauma from a stab wound. We need to remove the dangerous fragments immediately."

A nurse handed her the report, and Alina looked at the monitor displaying the patient's condition. The wound… it reminded her of something. A familiar assassination technique from the mafia world.

This wound isn't random. It's a warning.

Her blood ran cold.

"Is this patient also a target of the same organization?" she murmured, eyes widening in shock.

"Damn it," she cursed under her breath.

She had no choice but to act as though she was truly a skilled surgeon. With unwavering confidence, she picked up the scalpel and got to work.

The hands that were once accustomed to holding weapons now wielded medical instruments with the same precision. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, but instead of panicking, she felt… alive.

She could do this.

After hours of tense operation, the surgery was a success. Alina removed her gloves and stared at the patient.

Now, she just had to wait for him to wake up and find out what was really going on.

—

After leaving the operating room, she took a moment to check on the patient in the emergency ward. He was still unconscious.

"It'll take time for him to recover," she muttered. "But they won't let me wait peacefully until he wakes up."

That night, Alina returned to her office. But as soon as she opened the door, someone was already waiting inside.

A tall man in a black suit sat casually in her chair.

"Aileen Monroe," he said with a mocking tone. "Or should I say… Alina Devereaux?"

Alina remained calm, though her body tensed. She didn't recognize him, but from his demeanor, he was clearly from her old world.

"Who are you?" she asked coldly.

The man gave a slight smirk. "Names don't matter. What matters is… you were supposed to be dead."

Alina stared at him sharply. "But I'm not."

The man nodded slowly. "That's the problem. And there are people who aren't happy about it."

Alina realized something. This wasn't just about Aileen Monroe.

This was about her—Alina.

Someone from her past knew she was still alive.

And they wouldn't stop until they made sure she was truly dead.

But there was one thing they had forgotten.

Alina Devereaux never went down without a fight.

She locked eyes with the man in front of her, her fingers discreetly reaching for the pen on her desk—not as a writing tool, but as a weapon.

The man noticed her movement and smirked. "Relax, Dr. Monroe. I'm not here to kill you… not yet."

"Then what do you want?"

He leaned back in the chair, his eyes scanning her every move, as if assessing whether the person before him was really Aileen Monroe—or someone else.

"I just wanted to confirm something," he said casually. "When news spread that Aileen Monroe survived that accident, a lot of people were shocked. Especially because… your body should've been destroyed beyond recognition in that crash. And yet here you are—healthy, fresh, even sharper than before."

Alina remained silent.

"So I started wondering," the man leaned in, his voice lower, "are we really talking to Dr. Aileen Monroe… or someone else?"