Chapter Seven

Hermione 

I set down my pen after finishing writing Chairman Gonzalez's surgical report, and I hand it to Dr. May, who is standing by to have it delivered. She takes it from me and promptly leaves my office after a brief bow, her eyes cast downward in respect.

I sit comfortably in my chair, taking a moment of respite before going on my rounds and calling it a day. I roll back the sleeve of my lab coat, check the time on my wristwatch, and let out a soft sigh. I twist my mouth in discomfort at the impending date I have with Aiden Mendes, feeling a sense of dread wash over me.

The date will be awkward, undoubtedly. I would rather work overnight in the hospital, surrounded by the familiar scent of antiseptic and the hum of medical equipment, than endure the distress of sitting at a table with Aiden Mendes, making small talk and pretending to be interested. 

I doubt that we will find a common ground to connect, given our vastly different backgrounds and personalities. We are two opposing personalities, like oil and water, impossible to mix.

I bet he is the golden son of his family, given how he's been given free rein to act uncoordinatedly, without consequence, in spite of his family's reputation. I heave a sigh, a feeling of frustration pooling through me like a slow-moving tide.

In a bid to focus my mind on anything other than Aiden Mendes, I rise from my chair and head to the VIP room, where Chairman Gonzalez is recuperating from his surgery. 

I take a moment to review his chart, checking on his progress and making notes for the nurses. I could get on with my rounds now and close early from my shifts, but my mind keeps wandering back to the impending date.

My mom made sure I have no surgery scheduled for today, so that it doesn't clash with my date with Aiden Mendes. I almost scoff at her meticulousness, her attention to detail, but I know better than to underestimate her. 

I wonder what she stands to gain from this marriage contract, what hidden benefits or advantages she's negotiated on my behalf. It has to be something substantial, as Mom never settles for less.

Her efforts to ensure I comply with her demand confirm my suspicion that there's a lot at stake for her in this deal with Chairman Mendes. I hate being caught up in their manipulations, their games of power and influence.

Nurse Celia rises from her counter when she sees me approaching the VIP wards. "Dr. Pierce," she greets me with a respectful nod.

I acknowledge her with a brief nod. "Let me go through Senator Williams' chart."

"A minute, please." She produces the chart a few minutes later and hands it over the raised wall between us to me.

Senator Williams is a coma patient from an accident, whom I operated on about three months ago. I've been studying his reports now and then, trying to discover the underlying cause of his unconsciousness. My emergency surgery on him at the time he was rushed in here managed to keep him alive, but he's been breathing through life support since then.

I go through his medical history at intervals, whenever my thoughts drift back to him, trying to decipher what I'm missing out on. He's one of the few patients that I've operated on that don't recuperate within stipulated recovery periods.

Nurse Celia briefs me about the progress of the rest of my patients. I thank her for her hard work and begin my rounds.

As I walk, my mind drifts back to my childhood. I've always been a puppet since childhood, dancing on the strings of my mother's ambition. Now, as an adult, I want to cut off her control, to break free from the shackles of her expectations.

But Mother only tightens her leash, ensuring there's no room for escape. I recall the threats she made when I was a child, the way she used to manipulate me into doing her bidding. I was a clingy child, desperate for her approval, and she knew just how to use that to her advantage.

As I grew older, I began to realize the extent of her manipulation, and I started to rebel against her control. But she always managed to stay one step ahead, using her threats and her influence to keep me in line.

Another sigh escapes me as I continue my rounds, my mind consumed by thoughts of my mother and her manipulation. My work's done for today. I need to get ready to carry out Mother's task in time.

Two residents approach me from the end of the hallway that cuts to the ER. They look distressed and worried. They exchange heated whispers with each other.

I ignore them, walking by them to head to my office, but then one of the residents calls out to me. "Dr. Pierce," he says, rushing to meet me, careful not to intercept my path.

 The other one tags along, looking uncertain.

I regard them in silence, waiting for them to speak.

 "Uhm, we have several emergency patients in the ER," the first resident says, his voice trembling slightly. "However, we are short-handed." 

"Who are the doctors on duty?" I ask him, my eyes narrowing.

"Dr. Clifford and Dr. Reese," he replies, "but they are in an emergency operation at the moment." 

I furrow my brows, already knowing the point he's getting at. 

"We are swamped with in-patients," the other resident adds, "and there are several patients in critical conditions."

"Several?" I ask, moving towards the ER, my curiosity piqued. 

"There was an accident nearby," the first resident explains, "our hospital is the nearest location, so the paramedics had to rush most of the patients here." 

"How many are there?" I shoot back in response, increasing my pace.

"45 in total," the resident replies, looking pale. 

Christ! "All in here?" I ask, impatient. 

He shakes his head. "Those with less critical condition have been stabilized and taken to other hospitals," he answers. 

"How many are here?" I ask again, my voice firm.

He hesitates before answering, "I can't say exactly. It's crowded in there, though." 

Crowded is an understatement for the appearance of the ER. Nurses and doctors move with haste to attend to the demands of accident victims groaning in pain.

There are several horrid sights of wounds, nothing I'm not used to in this line of work. However, my stomach still clenches in reaction to the bloody sights. 

"Is Dr. May there?" I demand, my eyes scanning the chaotic scene before me.

"Yes, she's helping with stabilizing the patients," the resident replies, his voice barely audible over the din of the ER.

I make a quick assessment of each victim in the room, going for the one that needs the most urgent care. "What year are you in?" I ask the residents over the hubbub.

"Third year," the second resident answers this time.

"Don't just stand around; get to work on the other patients," I hiss at them, my voice laced with urgency, and they scurry away.

While I move, my senses swarmed with tension in the room's atmosphere, and the desperate cries of the victims, another victim is rushed in by the paramedics. The stretcher screeches to a halt right before me.

The paramedics who bring him in look at me, observing that I'm a doctor, and immediately launch into details of his report. "Male, mid-30s, multiple injuries, including a severe abdominal wound," one of them says, his voice rapid-fire.

My eyes are fixed on the heavy metal stuck in the belly of the man on the stretcher.

 What in the world happened out there?

 I feel a surge of adrenaline as I take charge of the situation, barking orders at the nurses and residents.

"Get me a surgical team in here, stat! We need to get this metal out of him, now!" I yell, my voice carrying above the chaos of the ER.

The team springs into action, scrambling to prepare the patient for surgery. I take a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand. It's going to be a long night.