Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Excerpts

"Do you, Sir Darius, accept Miss Celine as your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do," he replied.

"Do you, Miss Celine, accept Sir Darius as your lawfully wedded husband?" the priest asked, his steady glance through his oval spectacles scrutinized her.

A thousand eyes fell on her, heavy and judging. The entire weight of the room shifted.

"I... I... I don't know," She whispered, trying hard not to blink.

Darius stepped closer, tilting her jaw up then his lips met mine. It was a kiss that left her breathless, completely devoid of any real warmth.

"Do this, and you are free after five months, just like the contract says," he whispered against her ear.

*******

It all started on rainy Tuesday in April.

"She is going into cardiac arrest!" the anesthesiologist warned, his voice rising. "Dr. Celine, her oxygen levels are plummeting. We need to patch the tear quickly and get her off the bypass, or we risk severe, irreversible brain damage."

"I see it," Celine snapped, her voice cutting through the air. I did not even look up. My focus was entirely locked on the arterial wall. "The stitch isn't perfectly flush. If I don't realign this valve perfectly, the blood flow will cause long-term complications."

"Doctor, we do not have time for a textbook realignment!" Christian stepped forward, his hands trembling slightly as he held the retractor. "The brain is starving. We need to apply the chest compressor, patch it roughly, and close her up now!"

"Be quiet, Christian! I do not do sloppy work," She hissed, pushing his hand away. "I am the lead surgeon here."

By the time I finally stepped back, satisfied with the stitching, the monitor gave a long, flat and horrifying whine.

"The pulse is gone!" She yelled, panic finally spreading through my face. "Defibrillator! Charge to 200!"

They shocked the patient once. The woman's body arched off the table. Nothing.

"Charge to 300! Again!"

Twice. Three times. Finally, a weak, erratic, agonizingly slow rhythm returned to the screen. But the damage was done. The patient's pupils were fixed and dilated.

An hour later, the patient was wheeled into a private intensive care ward, completely unresponsive.

Attached to a ventilator with ten sticky pads monitoring her failing heart, she was in a state of deep unconsciousness. A vegetative coma.

Celine stood in the scrubbing room, staring blankly at her trembling hands. The thought that she had just murdered someone who could have been saved, haunted her.

"Dr. Celine..." Christian walked in, his voice soft, trying to offer a shred of comfort. "We did what we could. The tear was just too massive."

"Don't touch me," Celine spat, fiercely shrugging away from his hand. Tears of rage and regret streamed down her face.

"No... I could have saved her! If you had just handed me the clamps faster! If this team hadn't been slowing me down with their whining, she would be awake!"

"Are you serious right now?" Christian’s sympathy evaporated, replaced by boiling anger.

He had tolerated her bickering and blame for months, but this was the end. "You didn't lose her because anyone Celine. You lost her because of your damn perfectionism! You never listen to anyone because you think you're a god!"

"Get out!" Celine screamed, her voice cracking. "You're fired! I'll have your medical license for—"

"You won't be firing anyone, Dr. Celine."

Celine froze.

Chief Thornton stood at the doorway of the scrub room, his expression cold. Behind him stood two heavy-set hospital security guards.

"Chief," Celine stammered, quickly wiping her face, trying to regain her composure. "Christian was being completely insubordinate—"

"The anesthesiologist already handed over the surgical audio logs," Chief Thornton interrupted, his voice echoing coldly. "You ignored three direct warnings about low oxygen. You locked your team out of the procedure to satisfy your own ego, and now a mother of three is in a coma she will likely never wake up from."

"I was trying to achieve a perfect surgical outcome!" she defended desperately.

"There is no perfection in a brain-dead patient," the Chief said flatly. He stepped forward and held out his palm. "Hand over your hospital ID badge, Celine. The board has already voted."

"You are terminated, effective immediately. Security will escort you to your locker, and then off the premises."

Celine felt the air completely leave her lungs. The room spun violently.

Just an hour ago, she was the golden girl of the surgical wing, whispered about in reverent tones.

Now, the security guards stepped up beside her, their hands resting near their belts as if she were a common criminal.

With trembling fingers, she unclipped her badge and dropped it into the Chief’s open hand. She had moved from the absolute height of grace to the very bottom in a matter of minutes.

As she walked out of the hospital doors into the pouring rain, stripped of her career, her reputation, and her dignity, Celine realized she had hit absolute rock bottom.

And that was exactly when a sleek, jet-black Rolls-Royce pulled up to the curb. The tinted window rolled down slowly to reveal the cold, calculating eyes of Sir Darius.