The hospital corridor stretched endlessly as Rose stormed down it, her heels echoing like gunshots on tile. Her suspension papers crumpled in one hand, her badge hanging uselessly in the other. Her name was now a shadow, dragged through whispers, an open file, and cold eyes.
She didn't even knock on the glass door of Dr. Tina's office.
"Tina," she said sharply, pushing it open.
She looked up from her desk with one brow raised, surgical calm, and practiced disinterest. "Dr. Salvadore. I believe you're no longer—"
"Don't you dare finish that sentence," Rose hissed, slamming the door shut behind her. "You framed me. You messed up my chart didn't you?."
Tina leaned back, folding her hands on her lap. "I beg your pardon?"
"She's twenty-three, Tina. Impressionable. Scared. And stupid enough to think your orders came from me."
Tina stood, her white coat swaying slightly as she walked around the desk. "I didn't give any such order."
"She said she followed instructions. That the chart had been updated. And it was—under my login. Who else has access to that system, Tina? You sit on the credentialing committee, remember? And you're the one who hates me the most."
Other nurses and doctors gathered around as they exchanged glances and insults.
Rose's voice trembled, not with fear—but with barely restrained fury.
When Tina noticed the other people outside,
"I don't like what you're implying," Tina replied icily. "You made a critical error, and now you're looking for someone to blame. Don't make this uglier than it needs to be."
Rose took a step forward, eyes blazing. "You're threatened by me. You always have been. The younger doctor. The one who doesn't play golf with the board. The one who actually listens to patients instead of playing politics. You hated that I had a name before I ever came here. You knew the second you touched my work, it would hurt."
Tina's face hardened, but her voice remained smooth. "If you continue to make unfounded accusations, I'll be forced to file a report for slander and harassment."
Rose laughed bitterly. "Already covering your tracks, huh?"
"I suggest you leave," Tina said quietly, glancing toward the blinds. "Before someone sees you here."
Rose held her gaze for another second. Then two. Tina blinked first.
"Coward," Rose whispered before turning on her heel.
Outside, the hallway buzzed with whispers. Rose didn't look back.
It wasn't until three hours later that she got the message.
A message from Tina.
"Girl I did it so what.." followed by some emojis. She deleted it immediately after it was read.
And below it, a blurry photo of Tina with Dera—sharing coffee, weeks before the incident. Tina also deleted it immediately.
The text made her stomach churn and she screamed. She was going to go crazy. She had been right.
Tina couldn't be any more shameless and brazen.
By the time Rose returned to the Salvadore estate, the sun was dipping low, painting the sky in bleeding oranges. She walked past the grand staircase, past Mrs. Salvadore's sitting room, straight to the liquor cabinet in the far end.
She didn't speak to anyone.
Didn't change out of her blouse, now stained with the memory of the hospital.
Didn't care that her hands trembled when she poured her first drink.
Or her third.
The bourbon numbed her throat, her chest, but not the ache behind her ribs. That ache grew. Swelled. Exploded.
She had been stripped of the one place that made her feel human.
Now she was just… Dante's wife. A title that tasted more like a chain than a choice.
She didn't know how long she sat there. Or when the tears began.
But when she looked up, Dante was standing by the door.
She blinked. "You following me now?"
He didn't answer right away. Just walked inside, slow, cautious.
"You're drunk, that's amusing," he said quietly.
"Thanks for the diagnosis, Doctor Salvadore," she snapped.
He took the glass from her hand. She didn't fight it.
"I heard about the hospital," he said.
"Let me guess," she muttered. "You'll give me a surprise twist of where you ordered Tina to do it ?"
"No! I have eyes and ears. And I know how sabotage works."
She looked up at him, startled. His tone wasn't cruel. It was… understanding.
That was worse.
"I don't need your pity, Dante."
"It's not pity," he said, sitting beside her. "It's anger. They humiliated you. Stripped you of something you actually care about. And they knew how much that would hurt."
She turned to him, brows raised. "And what, you care now?"
"I always did," he said. "Even when I didn't show it. Even when I resented it."
She stared at him for a long moment, searching for lies. But his eyes were steady. Troubled, yes—but honest.
"I hate this house," she whispered. "I hate that I live in it. I hate that I walk around in robes and people lower their voices. I hate your mother's perfume, the smell of power on everything, the fakeness of it all. I hate being your wife."
He nodded slowly. "I hate all of it too."
She looked down. "Pick a side," she said.
He chucked slightly.
Their fingers brushed on the couch cushion.
She didn't move.
He leaned in.
She didn't stop him.
His lips touched hers—tentative, soft. Then firmer. More desperate.
She clung to him, pulled him closer, burying her fingers in his hair. The alcohol made her limbs heavier, her thoughts blurrier—but the heat between them was sharp, undeniable.
He scooped her into his arms, carrying her upstairs without a word.
This wasn't a transaction.
This wasn't duty.
It was everything she had been avoiding.
And everything she had needed.
They didn't speak after.
Not for a while.
Rose lay curled in the sheets, her head against his shoulder, breath shallow and uneven.
Dante stroked her hair once. Then again. Slowly. Almost unsure.
"You don't have to pretend," she murmured. "We both know this changes nothing."
He didn't argue.
But his hand didn't stop.
Outside, the storm had rolled in. The windows trembled with the wind. Rain lashed the glass like nails against skin.
She closed her eyes.
Then, quietly—
"I don't regret it," he said.
Rose didn't answer.
Her heart was a mess.
Her life was burning.
But for the first time in weeks, she didn't feel alone.
And that was terrifying.
The intense stare in their eyes could light up a fire. She leaned as if telling him to kiss her again. This time the kiss was that of burning sensation. He caressed her lips with his fingers and then kissed her passionately while lowering down his hands to her titties as he squeezed and massaged them and then slightly to her butt.
She sent her hand down to his trouser and tries to unbutton it but in as much as he wanted it, she was drunk. He had to end it. And she fell asleep in his arms.
The next morning, she woke up alone.
The sheets were still warm beside her. But the man was gone.
She sat up slowly, head pounding, stomach sour.
She padded to the bathroom, turned on the
cold tap, and stared at her reflection.
The woman in the mirror looked tired. But not broken.
And she would fight back.
No matter what Tina —or anyone else—had planned.