Catherine POV,
"Dinner?" she asked, flashing that beautiful, captivating smile of hers. Her dimples made it even harder to look away. "Are you in a rush?" This time her smile grew wider, filled with something deeper—playful, teasing, almost dangerous.
Is she trying to hypnotize me with that smile? I'm pretty sure she knows exactly what she's doing.
"A one-night stand is a one-night stand, miss—" I stopped mid-sentence. Wait. Who the hell is she? "Whoever you are. People who just had sex don't go out to dinner." I tried my hardest not to get lost in her grin.
"Then breakfast?" she shot back without missing a beat. "Why the sudden rush? You were just sleeping in my arms—"
"I specifically told you I don't do cuddles," I cut her off, sharper this time.
"And yet," she leaned closer with a smirk, "you were just like a baby earlier, snuggling into my neck."
Damn it. My face burned.
This may have been the best one-night stand of my life, but also the most frustrating. She's arrogant, childish, and yet somehow… disarming.
"How much do you want?" I muttered, reaching for my purse.
She blinked, then burst out laughing.
"My service isn't for sale," she said between chuckles. "It's free of charge. Especially for you."
I rolled my eyes. God, she's cheesy. Cheesy, arrogant, and absolutely annoying. Basically, the total opposite of me.
"Pay me with a date, and you can go," she added. This time her smile was different. Softer. No tricks, no games. Just a genuine, innocent smile.
"I don't go out with the same person twice," I shot back. "I hate it. I hate interaction. And I just don't like you."
People don't usually like me either. I'm too blunt, too straightforward. That's why in the hospital they call me the heartless serpent. I'm not easy to please. I don't interact with people I don't like, and I sure as hell don't entertain people I hate.
That's my boundary. Ever since Mom died, I stopped being the sweet girl she raised. I became cold. Distant. Careful about who I let in. And I can't stand people who try too hard to impress me.
"I didn't know you were this cold," she said softly. Then with a wicked grin, "You weren't cold earlier, though. You were fantastic." She even threw in some hand gestures that made me groan.
But in my head, I was smiling.
This woman.
=
"Father, it's not that I don't want to get married. It's just… I'm too young for it! I still have so many things I want to do before marriage," I said, pouting like a little kid.
When will I ever escape this nightmare? My father—the only parent who raised me—just won't stop insisting that I settle down before he passes away.
"What if I never get to see my grandchildren?" he suddenly said, his eyes welling up with tears.
I rolled my eyes. Here we go again.
My dad—the proud owner of Lavender Medical Hospital, LMH—might look like this powerful, untouchable man in public, but at home? He's a total crybaby, especially when it comes to me, his only daughter.
"Dad, I'll get married when I want to, okay? And please, stop talking about dying. You're as strong as my Louboutin heels," I teased, rolling my eyes again. But before I could say anything else, he stood up dramatically and stormed out of my room.
This man.
Ever since Mom died, he's tried to give me everything. Everything I wanted. Everything I needed. He made sure I never had to struggle. I've been spoiled, protected, and loved in ways I can't even complain about. But sometimes… it feels suffocating.
My gaze drifted toward the nightstand. I reached out and picked up the picture frame.
"Mommy…" I whispered.
Her smile in the photo was warm, comforting, the kind that could heal wounds without a single word.
"I miss you, Mother," I said softly, brushing my fingers against the glass.
A sudden knock on the door made me jump. I quickly wiped away the tear that betrayed me.
"Come in," I muttered, trying to steady my voice.
The door opened, and Rosa, our head maid, stepped inside carrying a tray full of food. The smell of freshly baked cookies filled the room before she even set it down.
"Your dad told me to bring you this. He's worried you'll starve yourself while… pouting," she said, smiling playfully.
I groaned dramatically and buried my face in a pillow. "Unbelievable. Even you're siding with him now?"
Rosa laughed softly as she placed the tray on my desk. "What can I say? You and your father are too much alike—stubborn to the bone."
I peeked out from under the pillow, sighing. "He's pushing me too hard, Rosa. Marriage? I'm twenty-four, not forty."
She shook her head with a knowing look. "Maybe he's not really pushing you. Maybe he's just… scared to feel alone. You're all he has left."
Her words made my chest tighten. I turned back toward the picture of Mom, her frozen smile staring back at me. For a moment, the room felt heavy, almost too quiet.
I swallowed hard, grabbed a cookie, and shoved it into my mouth just to distract myself. "Well… he's still not winning. Not yet."
The sweetness melted on my tongue, but it didn't erase the knot in my chest.
Just then, my phone buzzed loudly on the nightstand. It was my best friend, Alorra.
"We need you in the OR. Now."
And just like that, the weight in my chest was replaced with urgency.
The automatic doors of Lavender Medical Hospital flew open as I rushed inside, still half-eating that cookie I had taken with me. The air was thick with panic. Nurses ran in every direction, stretchers rolled past, and the sound of crying families echoed in the lobby.
"Code Red! All available doctors to the ER!" The announcement blasted through the intercom, making my chest tighten.
I spotted Alorra already in scrubs, her face pale but steady. "A house erosion," she said quickly, handing me a mask and gloves. "Half the hillside collapsed. Dozens of people were buried alive. They're bringing in survivors, but… some didn't make it."
My heart dropped. I've seen death before. I've seen accidents, blood, chaos—but hearing dozens made my throat dry.
We ran together into the emergency room. The scene was overwhelming. Patients screamed in pain, nurses shouted vitals, and machines beeped endlessly. A child clutched his bleeding arm, crying for his mother. An elderly man lay unconscious, his chest barely rising. The smell of dirt, blood, and sweat clung to the air.
"Doctor! We need you here!" a nurse called.
I rushed to the gurney where a young woman, maybe in her twenties, lay limp. Her breathing was shallow, her face covered in mud and streaks of blood.
"Pulse?" I asked, sliding on gloves.
"Faint, doctor!"
"Get me an IV line, now!"
My hands moved on instinct—compressions, oxygen mask, shouting for supplies. Around me, chaos reigned. Alorra was across the room, intubating another patient, her forehead dripping with sweat as she barked orders like a soldier in battle.
"Doctor, she's crashing!" the nurse yelled.
"Epinephrine, one milligram IV push!" I ordered, leaning down to start compressions again.
And then—her head tilted, the dirt smudged on her cheek shifted, and my breath hitched.
No.
No, no, no.
Beneath the mess of blood and mud, I recognized her. That smile. That arrogant smirk that haunted me just hours ago.
The woman from my one-night stand.
My stomach dropped. My chest squeezed so tightly I could barely breathe. Of all people, why her?
"Doctor?!" the nurse pressed, snapping me out of it.
I clenched my jaw. "Keep the line open—bag her!" My voice shook, but my hands didn't stop moving.
I couldn't afford to stop. Not now. Not when she was dangling between life and death.
I forced myself to focus. Push. Breathe. Shock. Repeat.
"Come on… not you," I whispered under my breath, fighting the heat stinging my eyes. "What the fuck are you doing?" I whispered.
"Doctor, she's not responding!" the nurse shouted, panic rising in her voice.
"Charge to 200 joules!" I snapped, grabbing the paddles. My hands trembled for just a second before I forced them steady. "Clear!"
Her body jolted. The monitor wailed. A flat line.
"Again! Clear!"
The screen flickered—then a faint rhythm appeared. Weak. Fragile. But it was there.
I exhaled shakily. "We've got a pulse. Let's move, now!"
"Where, doctor?" a resident asked, already rolling the gurney forward.
"OR. She needs exploratory surgery. Possible internal bleeding."
We ran down the hallway, the sound of wheels clattering against the tiles. Nurses pushed IV bags, and one held the ambu bag to keep her breathing steady. I jogged beside the stretcher, eyes fixed on her pale face. Her lips were slightly parted.
What the fuck is this woman even doing there in the first place?
Just months ago, this woman was teasing me about breakfast, flashing that smile like she had the whole world figured out. Now she looked like a lifeless doll.
Inside the operating room, the air was thick with tension. The scrub nurses prepared instruments. I quickly scrubbed in, trying to shove away the voice in my head.
You can't get attached. You never get attached.
But my chest betrayed me, tightening with every second.
"Scalpel."
The first incision was made, and blood welled up instantly. My jaw locked. "Suction. Retractors. Let's find the bleed."
"BP dropping!" someone called out.
"Clamp that vessel—now!" I directed, moving quickly. My gloves were slick with blood, my heart hammering harder than it ever should during surgery.
She was fading. I felt it.
"Epinephrine, another dose. Keep fluids running. She's not going to code on me!" My voice broke for a moment, and I prayed no one else noticed.
Minutes stretched into hours. Every movement of my hands felt heavier, more desperate. I wasn't just saving a patient tonight. I was fighting something much bigger—fate, death, whatever cruel joke the universe was playing on me.
Finally, the bleeding slowed. The monitors stabilized, her heart rhythm stronger now. Relief washed over me, though I didn't allow myself to stop moving until the last stitch was placed.
I looked down at her—bandaged, pale, unconscious—but alive.
"She made it," I whispered, barely audible under my mask.
For the first time in years, I felt my walls crack.
Because this wasn't just anyone.
This was her.
To Be Continued...