Chapter 3 :

Chapter 3

Three days after I married Stefan Catwright, I returned to work alone.

The chatter in the main hallway died down the moment I walked through the glass doors of the Katherine Steward Cancer Research Institute. A colleague who walked toward the copy room stopped, holding a folder in her arms, her eyes drifting past my shoulder as if she expected Stefan to appear right behind me.

“You’re back?” she asked, looking baffled.

I kept walking toward my desk. I already knew what everyone whispered about all morning. They expected stories about a private island, pictures from an extravagant honeymoon, and a newly married Luna far too busy with her husband to think about a laboratory.

Instead, I stood in front of them in my regular clothes with no husband beside me and not a single wedding story to tell.

“I have a meeting this morning,” I replied, setting my bag on my desk.

“A meeting?” She followed me over, her mouth slightly open. “We all assumed you’d be off-grid somewhere with your husband.”

A couple of researchers at the nearby desks smiled, waiting for me to laugh and explain why I was here. I wasn’t going to give them anything. There was no honeymoon, and I certainly was not about to tell my colleagues that Stefan rejected me on our wedding night and told me he regretted marrying me.

“The team is waiting for my findings,” I said, opening my laptop.

The smiles faded, and everyone went back to their computers.

I sat down and pulled up the presentation I worked on before the ceremony. But as I looked at the screen, my mind kept drifting back to the morning after the wedding.

I packed my bags less than twelve hours after I put on the ring. I folded my wedding dress into the suitcase, packed the few clothes I brought to the estate six months ago, and left behind every gift his family gave me. Stefan stood in the bedroom doorway and watched me fasten the latches, unbothered by what was happening.

That was why I came back to the lab early. Here, at least, the work made sense.

At twenty-five, I earned my MD/PhD and graduated at the top of my class two years ago, which let me move straight into an Oncology Research Fellowship here at Greymore University instead of taking the usual residency route first.

My entire fellowship focused on Silver-Latent Carcinoma, known across the pack as Silverscar. It was a hereditary cancer that could stay hidden in a pack child’s bloodline for years without a single symptom, usually flaring up during their very first shift. Once it turned aggressive, the pack called it Silver Rot, and by then, it was almost always fatal. We tried to catch the disease early enough to treat the children before it ever awakened.

Halfway through the review of the slides, my phone buzzed on the desk.

My hand moved to grab it before I could stop myself. Ever since I dragged my bags out of the Catwright estate, every buzz made my stomach tighten, foolishly expecting Stefan’s name on the screen. He watched me walk out the front door without saying a word, yet a pathetic part of me still thought losing his wife might push him to reach out.

The screen lit up with an email notification from the university administrative office reminding me about an overdue form.

I set the phone down and looked back at the screen. The medical data in front of me mattered far more than waiting on a man who made it clear he didn’t want me. If our latest figures held up, we could take the research into human cellular trials and actually save lives.

The phone buzzed a second time.

I picked it up right away, only to see a text from one of the lab assistants confirming that the conference room was open. Stefan hadn’t reached out at all. The prickle of disappointment in my chest irritated me so much that I switched the phone to silent and shoved it into my bag.

I gathered my files and headed into the meeting room.

A few of the senior doctors raised their eyebrows when I took my seat at the head of the table, but once I turned on the projector, the wedding gossip disappeared. I walked them through the data, pointed out the confirmed genetic markers, and separated them from the sample that didn’t align with our earlier models.

“This section cannot move forward yet,” one of the senior researchers pointed out, looking over the printout.

“I agree,” I told him. “We need to repeat that trial, but the confirmed data should proceed to the next phase.”

“If the numbers hold, how early could we start intervention?”

“Long before it turns into Silver Rot,” I answered. “It gives us time to treat pack children while their bodies are still strong.”

We spent the next forty minutes debating the protocols, but I preferred the intense questioning to the awkward pity I received all morning. By the time we wrapped up, the board approved the next round of trials and assigned the disputed sample for retesting.

I stepped toward the projector to shut down the screen.

“The main difference appears right here,” I said, lifting the remote toward the board. “When we compare it with the previous test—”

The remote slipped out of my fingers and hit the carpet.

I bent down to pick it up, but the floor tilted beneath me. The numbers on the screen blurred into gray streaks, and a heavy wave of dizziness swept over my head.

Someone called my name from across the table. I reached out to steady myself on the edge of the mahogany desk, but my hand swept through empty air. My knees folded underneath me, voices shouted around the room, and the last thing I heard was someone calling for an ambulance before everything went black.

When I opened my eyes, the smell of antiseptic hit my nose first before I realized I was in a hospital bed.

“What happened?” I rasped, my throat dry and scratchy.

The doctor stepped closer . “You passed out in the middle of your meeting. Your colleagues brought you.”

I tried to push myself up on my elbows, but a heavy wave of exhaustion pulled me back onto the pillows. “Why did I collapse?”

“We ran a complete blood panel when you arrived.”

“Did you find something wrong with my bloodwork?”

The doctor paused and set the clipboard on the side table. “You’re physically exhausted, ma’am , but that isn’t the main cause. You are pregnant.”

“Pregnant?” I asked, staring at her.

“We ran the test twice to be certain.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “There has to be a mistake.”

“There isn’t any mistake.”

“Show me the chart.”

She handed me the paper. I looked at my legal name, the date, and the bold positive marker beside the hCG levels. I read every line, then turned the page and read it all over again, my medical training fighting against the reality right in front of me.

My hands began to tremble on the paper before I remembered what happened two months ago.

Stefan and I both drank too much wine in the sitting room, lost our heads, and ended up on the couch together. It was the only night we ever shared that way. That night remained clear to me because my scent which was faint for so long became so noticeable everyone recognized me.

But what about the pack rumors?, everyone in knew Stefan was supposedly infertile and incapable of fathering an heir. I never questioned it or cared before now. But there was never another man in my life. No matter what medical condition he had, this baby could only belong to him.

“Is there someone you’d like us to call?” the doctor asked, checking my IV drip.

“No.”

“Your husband is listed as your primary emergency contact,” she said. “He should know you’re in the hospital.”

“Do not call Stefan.”