Hermione
It remains a few hours before my shift is over. I don't have any surgery scheduled until the next two days. Mercifully.
As I step out into the hallway, my path is intercepted by Professor Patel.
He is one of the oldest doctors to have worked in the hospital, even though he attempts to appear young.
He never fails to dye his graying hairs into an obsidian black. He has that air of cheerfulness about him, which is a sharp contrast to my typical aloofness and icy personality.
Residents love to join his team rather than be under my mentorship.
"Impressive performance, as always, Professor Pierce," Doctor Patel says, clapping loudly.
My dad's name is Pierce - Jackson Pierce. My mom refuses to change her surname fully to his after marriage, hence the two surnames on my profile: Hermione Watson Pierce.
I introduce myself first as Hermione Pierce, before adding Watson as my other surname. Most of my colleagues are often baffled by this act of mine, wondering why I would hide my affiliation to the renowned Watson Foundation. If only they knew.
Sure, my family has loads of money - generational wealth; the luxury is secure and enviable. However, not all that glitters is gold. Beyond the glittering facade lies a darker reality.
"Mmn," I grunt low under my breath. "Did she request my audience?" I ask him.
"Don't be too rigid, Professor Pierce." He flattens his mouth into a semblance of a smile and draws a line across it with his finger. "Smile."
I ignore him, heading towards my mom's office.
"That insolent br..." I hear Professor Patel's strangled curse behind me, and a slow smile creeps onto my mouth.
Professor Patel is actually an interesting man. I could have gotten along with him and gleaned some knowledge from him; he's highly skilled in bypass surgery. However, he's too much of a sycophant, kissing up to anyone he regards as being in a prominent position.
That makes me wonder what his true nature is. I can't befriend a man whose true nature isn't apparent.
I knock on the door when I reach my mom's office.
"Come in!"
I turn the knob and push the door open, stepping inside. My mom is on a call, so I gently close the door behind me.
I sit on one of the couches set a few feet away from her desk, where she receives visitors. I recline into the plush chair, letting out a sigh.
My head whips toward my mom, and our eyes connect. The sigh was louder than I intended, and it catches her attention.
"Let's talk later, alright," she says, wrapping up her conversation. She sets her phone down on her desk and stands up, her desk chair rotating to the side.
Her heels click rhythmically against the polished marble flooring as she approaches me. She sits across from me, crossing her legs at the knee.
Her eyes are sharp as she assesses me. "Tea or coffee?"
I shake my head, unable to speak. My throat is dry, so I swallow and try again. "No, I'm good."
Her jaw twitches, but she holds back her comment. She rings for tea to be brought in for her.
I suspect I'm in for a lengthy and critical discussion, given that my mom is offering tea before opening her mouth.
My anxiety spikes, and tension builds in my bloodstream. I stiffen my legs and clasp my fingers over my thighs to hide my nervous reaction. I assume a leisurely pose, but my entire body is shaking with worry.
My mom's tea arrives, and the lady who brings it in sets it on the table and quickly exits the office. Mom doesn't appreciate the effort either. She raises the steaming cup of herbal tea to her mouth and sips.
The thick scent of chamomile with peppermint fills the air, and I struggle to hide my repulsion.
My mom is probably aware of my aversion to her choice of tea. It's either she prefers this torturous way of keeping me grounded, or she just doesn't care.
Right. I smack my lips, recollecting. In my mom's regard, I'm not a human being; I'm a mere robot. I have no feelings or thoughts of my own; I'm merely conditioned to act out her wishes.
I swallow the lump that forms in my throat. My stomach shifts under her intense scrutiny, and I wish earnestly for a reprieve.
"Are you feeling stressed?" Mom asks out of the blue.
My gaze snaps up to hers. "Pardon?" slips through my lips before I can help it.
A frown lines her forehead, and I immediately answer, "No." I hold my breath, searching for a fresh scent, but none can be found, not in Mom's office.
Mom inhales the steam from her tea, a smile of appreciation on her lips. I cringe inwardly, schooling my expression to maintain a mask of neutrality.
The cup clinks against its saucer when she sets it down. She produces a magazine from nowhere and flings it across the center table toward me.
I glance at the magazine, curiosity sparking. I don't reach out to pick it up, but I catch the headlines: "Alvin Dale Mendes: The Visionary Behind MD's Success."
I haven't heard of him. He's not the kind of news I'd follow, if I watched the news. I've always been too busy with research books and practicing late into the night to hone my surgical skills.
I meet my mom's gaze questioningly when she gestures for me to pick up the magazine.
"Acquaint yourself with every detail about that family," she says.
"Why?" I mutter, still trying to process the information.
"You will be getting married into that family soon," my mom states, her tone matter-of-fact.
"What?" I exclaim, squinting my eyes in shock. I glance down at the old man on the magazine. He looks to be around my dad's age, fifty-two, but appears much older.
I leap to my feet, a mix of disbelief and irritation sweeping through me. "This old man?" I seethe, flinging the magazine in my hand.
My mom's demeanor remains unchanged. "Calm yourself down. You will be getting married to his second son," she says with a finality to her tone. "He's around your age," she adds, as though that's something to rejoice about.
I feel a surge of anger and resentment. She's tying my future to some faceless man for her ambitions, and expects me to act the obedient child and say yes to this?
Hell, no. I can work myself to exhaustion, but I'm not settling for a loveless marriage.
"No," I breathe, facing my mom head-on. "I'm not getting married to anyone. That will be my choice to make. No," I say more firmly.
My mom doesn't react. Instead, she slowly folds her arms across her chest. Then, she begins to laugh – a dry, menacing cackle that has me withdrawing a step back.
When Ezra Watson Pierce laughs, it doesn't end well. It means someone's going to cry. And we both know who that person is in here: me.
Hermione I lower my hands to my sides. They had embarrassingly hung limp after Aiden released his grip. The spell he cast on me vanishes with his departure, and I exhale in exasperation. My body registers the noticeable chill in the night air, and I shiver, rubbing my sleeves. I feel a flutter in my chest as I inhale, the sensations I had with Aiden earlier rushing back in full force. The roughness of his voice, the warmth of his breath, and the intensity of his gaze all combined to unravel my defenses. I couldn't resist. The scent of beer on his breath could have off-putting; however, when mingled with the scent of his cologne, it created a heady mix that made my senses spin. I inhale sharply and sweep my tongue over my lips, tasting the aftertaste of his kiss. I close my eyes, trying to shake him off my thoughts, but my body keeps reacting to his touch. It's as if my body responds to him on a primal level, drawn to the warmth and intimacy of his presence. I try to resist, but
AidenI had to leave. I couldn't trust myself not to react impulsively in a way I'd later regret. My body trembled with rage as I stormed out of the hospital towards my car. Jealousy left a bitter taste in my mouth, and the adrenaline rush from speeding didn't erase it. The day passed in a blur as I worked mechanically. Now, I'm sitting at a night bar, trying to drown my simmering anger in alcohol. The loud music reverberates through the club, but it's not enough to distract me from the heart pain Hermione had inflicted earlier that morning. Am I that bad of a man? Women would line up for me, but the one woman who matters to me makes me work hard for her affections. She doesn't seem willing to let me in. They call me the heartbreaker, but I'm not as callous as Hermione treats me in our relationship. I don't treat my dates with the same disregard Hermione showed me this morning.My heart seethes as I recall finding her in another man's arms. My anger surges, and I slam my fist on
Hermione "You're having a misunderstanding, Mr. Mendes," Xavier says, trying to clarify the situation. I don't care what Aiden thinks about my relationship with Xavier. This might even work in my favor to discourage his interest in me entirely. If he thinks I'm disloyal, his fragile attraction to me will dissipate, and he'll stop pursuing me. I won't have to resist him until my head clears. Everyone will stay in their rightful place, and all will be well. "Hermione and I go way back," Xavier explains. "We're just friends.""Just friends?" Aiden growls, finally tearing his gaze away from mine. Electricity ran through me when I saw him at the door earlier. I was stunned by his presence, speechless and numb. If Xavier hadn't approached him, I would have remained rooted under his intense glare. I find my voice at Aiden's question, answering before Xavier can. "What are you doing here, Aiden?" I approach the two men, standing beside them."I caught you in another man's arms, and that'
Aiden I had a hunch that Hermione would avoid me again after I left her house that evening. I tried to call and text her to make amends, but to no avail. I would have confronted her in person, but my schedule was tight over the past week, and I couldn't leave Nell to handle the workload alone, despite his assurance that he could manage it. Nell is my biggest supporter when it comes to my marriage plans. He's been effusive about my engagement to Hermione, gushing over how well we looked together when he watched the video of our public appearance online.This morning, I decided I'd had enough of playing games with Hermione. I instructed Nell to reschedule my appointments and clear my schedule for a visit to Hermione's hospital today. As I envision the morning's events, a smile spreads across my face. Lost in my thoughts, I don't notice Dad until I walk past him. I sense his presence and snap back to reality. I turn to face him, apologizing for ignoring him, just as he clears his thr
Hermione I stare at my reflection in the mirror and grimace. My hair's a mess, and I try to tame it with my fingers, but it's no use. I grab my comb and work it through my tangles until my hair's smooth. My scalp burns, but I'm glad for the distraction from thoughts of Aiden. My skin still tingles from his touch."I hate him," I mutter, scowling at myself. I remember how I looked after he left – a total mess. How could he find me charming like that? I snort, thinking guys like him would chase any woman who'd give them the time of day.I try to focus on work, but Aiden's calls and texts keep haunting me. I ignore them, determined to shake him off. Still, my heart skips a beat when I see his name on my phone. He's switched to texts since I've been ignoring his calls."I know this is your contact. I confirmed it," he says. I almost laugh at that. A small smile creeps onto my lips, but I quickly wipe it away. "You promised you forgave me," he writes. Yeah, I did. But that doesn't mea
Hermione My mouth hangs open in disbelief at Aiden's outburst. A rollercoaster of emotion explodes within me, but I hold back from pushing against him. Every part of me aches with pain and need. I flinch when I notice that my hands are on his muscled thighs, the unmistakable bulge of his desire pushing against my backside. I try to get up, but pain shoots through my knee, straight to my buttocks, and I wince. I clench my teeth against the pain. It feels like my tendons are being ripped. I'm furious with Aiden. How dare he come back here and make me feel like a fool again? The pain intensifies, and I whimper. I try to lift my leg, but every move feels like pins and needles pricking that part of my skin. Left with no choice, I allow Aiden to lift me from the ground toward the cushion. "Call an ambulance," I instruct him, not trusting him not to cause further damage as he tries to inspect my injury. He ignores me. Without warning, he grips my hurting leg, and I scream. Blinding