Chapter 4:- Star City

                    Richard’s POV

Lucy’s voice echoed across the small restaurant table, clear, deliberate, and impossible to ignore.

“I’m pregnant, Richard," she said, her tone soft.

The glass slipped from my hand just as the water went down the wrong way, and I choked mid-sip.

For a second, I only stared at her. Then a short laugh escaped before I could stop it, sharp, incredulous, cutting through the quiet hum of the restaurant.

“I’m sorry,” I said, dabbing at my chin with a napkin. “You said what now?”

Her expression didn’t change. Only her jaw tightened, and her eyes burned with the kind of restrained anger I used to find fascinating. “You heard me, Richard. I’m pregnant.”

This time I laughed harder. People turned their heads; I didn’t care. 

The sound tasted bitter on my tongue. “That’s cute, Lucy. Really. Is this why you asked to see me? To tell me another one of your fairy tales?”

Her lips trembled, just a little. “I came here because you deserve to know.”

“I deserve peace,” I said flatly, leaning back. “Something you’ve never given anyone that comes into your life.”

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. I studied her, the perfect dress, the polished nails, the diamond earrings she used to swear she didn’t care about. 

I remembered the first time I’d seen her, a scared orphan, clinging to hope like a lifeline. 

I’d loved her once, enough to fight for her, enough to introduce her to one of the most powerful families on earth— the Simpsons, the same family that had eventually adopted her and given her everything I couldn’t.

And now she sat across from me, wearing that power like perfume, claiming she was pregnant.

“Tell me,” I said quietly, “who’s the father?”

Her mouth opened, but before a word came out, my phone vibrated sharply against the table. 

I frowned. Dr. Kyle Woods. One of the few people who didn’t call unless the world was on fire.

“Excuse me,” I muttered, standing.

Lucy hissed, “Are you serious right now?”

But I was already answering. “Kyle, this better be—”

“Richard, get your ass to Star City now!” Kyle’s voice was tight with urgency. “It’s critical, a car accident. Two victims, one’s barely hanging on. You’re the only one who can handle this case.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Star City? I haven’t been there in years, Kyle. Can’t one of your surgeons—”

“Not this time,” he cut in. “If you don’t get here soon, she’s going to die.”

The line went dead.

I stood frozen for a heartbeat, the name Star City stirring ghosts I’d buried long ago. 

Seven years away hadn’t been long enough. Not after what happened with him.

But I couldn’t ignore that tone in Kyle’s voice.

I sighed and dialed my assistant.

He picked on second ring. "Hello sir," he answered.

I didn't wait. “Get the chopper to my current coordinates. We’re heading to Star City immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

When I slipped the phone into my pocket, Lucy was glaring at me. “Where the hell do you think you’re going? I’m not finished talking to you!”

I gave her a tired smile. “You never are.”

“Richard!” Her voice rose, drawing attention. “What’s more urgent than my pregnancy?”

I paused at the door, half-turning toward her. “Life and death,” I said simply, and walked away.

Her voice followed me out, shrill and furious, but I didn’t stop.

 She’d done worse than yell before, and somehow, I’d survived that too.

Outside, the night air hit my face just as the helicopter blades began to spin.

 I climbed aboard, fastening my belt as the city lights fell away beneath us.

 My thoughts were miles ahead, already in that sterile hospital room, already preparing for the worst.

My phone kept ringing as Lucy's calls came in. I declined the calls several times but she wouldn't stop calling. So I opted for an airplane mode instead.

I arrived at Star city thirty minutes later.

The chopper touched down on the rooftop of St. Anne’s Hospital, Kyle’s pride and hellhole combined. 

He was waiting for me at the landing pad, his scrubs wrinkled, eyes strained.

“You took your time, but I'm glad you came, friend,” he said, exhaling in relief. “We’ve stabilized one of them, but the other—” He shook his head. “She’s fading very quickly.”

I followed him through the corridors, the familiar scent of antiseptic and adrenaline flooding my senses. 

He handed me two patient files as we walked.

“Names?” I asked, flipping one open.

“Anita Tade,” Kyle said. “She’s got a mild concussion and a fractured rib. She’ll make it. But she won't be able to walk for a while, her spine is strained."

I turned to the second file. “And the other?”

“Sarah Morrison.”

The name made my steps falter.

Morrison?

I hadn’t heard that name in years, not since—

Kyle cleared his throat. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said too quickly. But my chest tightened as I stared down at the patient chart. The handwriting blurred for a second.

“She’s the critical one,” Kyle continued quietly. “Internal bleeding, spinal trauma. You’re the only one who can pull her through.”

I nodded, setting the file aside. “Prep the OR. I’ll handle it.”

But before I could move, Kyle added, “Richard… there’s something else you should know.”

I turned, my patience thin. “What?”

He hesitated, then said, “Sarah Morrison — she’s Austin’s wife, your step brother."

The air seemed to vanish.

For a long second, all I could do was stare at him. The sterile corridor around us went silent, the sound of my own heartbeat loud in my ears.

Austin.

Of course it had to be him.

Kyle’s voice faded into the background as I clenched the file in my hand. 

My jaw tightened, my pulse steadying in that dangerous calm that always came before a storm.

After seven years of running from that name, fate had dragged me right back to it, only this time, Austin’s wife was lying on my table.

And her life was in my hands.