Chapter 2

Poppy~

The ambulance doors burst open as we rush through the emergency entrance of CreationMoon General Hospital. Harsh fluorescent lights flood my swollen, tear-reddened eyes. My once-elegant black dress hangs in tatters, soaked with his blood, the white stilettos long forgotten somewhere on the beach. 

I keep both hands pressed firmly against the worst of the wounds on his neck and shoulder, my palms still stinging from the silver, but the pain feels distant. Everything feels distant beneath the crushing weight of my own heartbreak.

“Operation Room 3, now!” My voice cracks from hours of sobbing. The paramedics wheel the stretcher swiftly down the corridor. I stay glued to the almost dying man’s side, feeling the frighteningly weak flutter of his pulse beneath my fingers. So fragile. So close to slipping away.

In the changing room, I tear off the ruined dress with trembling hands. The fabric pools at my feet like the remnants of my destroyed life. I pull on my scrubs, the material offering the smallest feel of normalcy. My reflection stares back at me; golden-amber eyes puffy and shattered, dark hair falling messily around my face, cheeks streaked with dried tears. I look broken. I ‘am’ broken. But his life is on the line, and right now, that is all that matters.

I scrub in, the hot water burning the silver wounds on my hands. Then I am in the OR, gloved and focused. My hands steady as I work, extracting every fragment of silver, flushing the poison from his bloodstream, carefully repairing the damage to his neck and shoulder. The head injury concerns me most. The swelling, the risk of long-term complications. I pour everything I have into saving him, pushing my own agony into a small, locked corner of my mind.

Hours later, we wheel him into a private ICU room. I stand beside his bed, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest under the soft lighting. The monitors beep. He is stable. Alive. Relief washes through me, though it does nothing to ease the constant ache in my chest.

The door swings open. A wave of bodyguards in dark suits fills the room, followed by an older couple. The woman, elegant with silver-streaked hair and eyes already glistening with tears, rushes to his bedside and takes his hand. The older man stands tall and commanding beside her.

“What happened to my son?” the woman asks with a trembling voice.

I swallow hard, my throat still tight. “I found him on the beach, severely injured with silver weapons in his neck and shoulder, plus a serious head wound. I did everything I could. He is stable now.”

They both look at me with deep gratitude. “You saved the Alpha’s life,” the man says. “Thank you, Doctor.”

Alpha?

The word lands heavily. This is Jethro Northcutt — the reclusive, feared Alpha of the CreationMoon Pack. The one whispered about in hushed tones. He looks so young and heartbreakingly handsome lying there, nothing like the cruel figure in the rumors.

I nod, exhaustion and fresh waves of my own pain pressing down on me. “It is my job. I should—”

Before I can finish, Jethro’s eyelids flutter open. He blinks slowly, confusion clouding his piercing light eyes as he looks around the room.

His mother leans closer, squeezing his hand gently. “Jethro, my dear. We are here. You are safe now.”

He stares at her for a while, then at his father. His brow furrows deeply. “Who… who are you?” His voice is weak, raspy from the trauma.

The silence that follows is deafening. His mother’s face crumples in shock. Mr. Northcutt’s strong frame visibly falters.

“Jethro?” his father says, disbelief lacing his voice. “It’s us. Your parents.”

Jethro’s gaze remains blank, distant. “I… I don’t know you.”

Pain and confusion flash across his parents’ faces. Mrs. Northcutt turns to me desperately, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Doctor, what is wrong with him? Why doesn’t he recognize us?”

I step closer, my own heart aching at their distress. The weight of tonight’s events presses heavier on my shoulders. “The injury to the back of his head was very severe. He slammed against the rocks. Trauma like that can cause temporary memory loss. It is common in such cases. He will need time, but there is a good chance his memories will return.”

The explanation feels professional on my tongue, but inside, empathy twists in my chest. I know too well what it feels like when your world fractures in an instant. I’ve been there. I'm still there.

Jethro’s head turns slowly toward me. His light eyes lock onto mine with sudden, startling intensity. Recognition, or something like it, floods his expression.

“Nella…” he breathes, the name filled with longing. “Nella.”

My breath catches. I freeze.

He reaches out, his fingers wrapping around my hand with surprising strength for someone who nearly died tonight. His touch is warm and desperate. “Nella… I’m so sorry. Please, don’t leave me. Not again.”

Emotion rips over me; confusion, sorrow, and a strange pull I don’t understand. This powerful Alpha is looking at me like I am his salvation, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. The vulnerability in his voice tugs at the fresh wounds in my own heart. Just hours ago, Barid looked at me with cold indifference while publicly shattering our bond. Now this stranger sticks to me as if I am the only thing keeping him anchored.

“I’m not Nella,” I whisper gently, trying to pull my hand back. My voice trembles. “You’re in the hospital. You were badly hurt. I’m Doctor Poppy Stoneman—”

His grip tightens, panic surging across his handsome face. “You are rejecting me?” His breathing quickens. The monitors begin to alarm. “Nella… please. I can’t lose you. Stay with me. I’m begging you.”

His chest heaves as pure terror fills his eyes. His free hand clutches at the sheets as his body starts to tremble. A full panic attack.

“Jethro, breathe,” I say urgently, my doctor instincts taking over even as fresh tears burn in my own eyes. Nurses rush in. I help administer a mild sedative while speaking calmly to him. “You’re safe. Just focus on my voice. In and out. That’s it.”

It takes long, tense minutes of work before his breathing steadies. His body finally relaxes into the bed, exhaustion claiming him once more. He falls into a deep sleep, his fingers still loosely curled around mine as if terrified I might vanish.

When he is stable again, his parents follow me to my office. The bodyguards wait outside. I sink into my chair, every part of me trembling from the emotional and physical toll of this endless night. My chest throbs with the lingering pain of Barid’s rejection.

Mrs. Northcutt sits across from me, wiping her tears. Mr. Northcutt stands beside her, looking older and more fragile than I have ever seen an Alpha appear.

“The name he called you… Nella,” Mrs. Northcutt says. “She is his true fated mate. She rejected him publicly not long ago. She is already planning to marry someone else.”

The words hit me like another wave of pain. Another rejected mate. The universe feels cruel tonight.

“We cannot lose him,” Mr. Northcutt says with desperation. He lowers himself to one knee in front of my desk, a powerful man brought to his knees. “He is our only son. If Jethro dies or remains broken, the pack will fall. Enemy packs are waiting for any sign of weakness. We are begging you, Doctor Poppy.”

Mrs. Northcutt reaches for my hand, her touch gentle. “He sees you as her. Please… pretend to be Nella. Just until his memories return and he is strong again. We will tell him the truth ourselves when the time is right. We promise.”

I stare at them, my mind reeling with exhaustion and conflict. Deception goes against everything I believe in. Yet the memory of Jethro’s terrified eyes, the way he begged me not to leave, echoes in my chest. Saving lives has always been my calling, even when my own soul feels torn apart.

A single tear slips down my cheek.

“Okay,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “I will do it. But only until he regains his memories.”

Relief floods their faces. Mrs. Northcutt pulls me into a grateful embrace.

As they leave, I sit alone in the quiet office, staring at nothing. The pain from Barid’s public rejection still hurt steadily inside me. Now I have agreed to pretend to be another woman’s role in a broken mate bond.

What have I gotten myself into?