The collision

TWO

Emily

​“Don’t go too far, my darling. You’re still recovering from that terrible flight,” Grandma’s voice echoed in my head as I walked down the quiet, tree-lined street the next afternoon.

​The autumn breeze was crisp, rustling the golden leaves above, but it did nothing to cool the frustration humming beneath my skin. It had been forty-eight hours since I caught Tristan red-handed and cut him out of my life like a malignant tumor. Forty-eight hours of trying to breathe, trying to process the sheer audacity of a man I had spent two years believing in.

​Work emails were already piling up in my inbox—urgent flags from department heads, budget approvals, and staff scheduling queries—but back here in my hometown, one specific name kept surfacing in every local conversation: Seth Hernandez.

​I scoffed under my breath, kicking a stray pebble down the pavement.

​Seth was the undisputed golden boy of the medical world. A brilliant neurosurgeon at just thirty-two, heir to the multi-billion-dollar Healing Grace Health Systems empire, and infuriatingly revered by everyone who cross his path. Including my own grandmother, who hadn't stopped singing his praises since I arrived.

​My phone buzzed sharply in my hand. It was a critical update on an emergency board matter from my hospital secretary, Xena. I slowed my pace, looking down to tap the screen—

​Crash.

​The impact vibrated right through my teeth. It felt like I had walked headfirst into a solid wall of iron and warm cashmere.

​I stumbled backward, the phone almost slipping from my grip as my head snapped up, a sharp reprimand ready on the tip of my tongue.

​The words died in my throat.

​Seth Hernandez stood there, tall, broad-shouldered, and entirely unbothered by the collision. He was looking down at me with dark, analytical eyes that seemed to read right through my defensive posture.

​“Emily DelaRosa,” he said, his deep, resonant voice confirming my identity with the calm precision of a clinical diagnosis. A slow, infuriating smirk touched the corner of his lips. “What a pleasant surprise.”

​“Right,” I replied flatly, smoothing down the lapels of my tailored blazer to buy myself a second of composure. “Of all the streets in this town.”

​“Are you here for the medical outreach?” he asked casually, crossing his arms and leaning against the weathered wooden fence beside us.

​“You wish,” I muttered, matching his posture by folding my arms across my chest.

​Seth lifted one hand, his thumb brushing slowly against his lower lip—a subtle, hypnotic habit that made my chest tighten with uninvited irritation.

​“That’s a shame,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to my eyes. “Here I was, thinking the great President of Gifted Hands Hospital might actually grace us with a collaboration.”

​“That would be the absolute last thing I do on this planet, Dr. Hernandez.”

​“Isn’t that a bit harsh, Dr. DelaRosa?” he asked softly, a dangerous spark of amusement gleaming in his eyes.

​“I call it efficiency. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have actual work to attend to—” I turned to walk away.

​“Emily.”

​I froze. I turned around with deliberate slowness, pinning him with my coldest stare. “You don’t have permission to use my first name.”

​Instead of stepping back, Seth took a slow, deliberate step closer. He towered over me, his shadow blocking out the afternoon sun as he held my gaze without breaking eye contact.

​“I’ll call you whatever I choose,” he said, his tone dropping an octave, carrying an quiet authority that made my heart do a traitorous flutter. “You should attend the outreach today. It would be… enlightening to have you there.”

​Without waiting for my response, he stepped around me and walked down the path, leaving the faint, intoxicating scent of cedarwood, rain, and cold leather lingering in his wake.

​An hour later, I found myself standing at the edge of the community outreach center.

​I told myself I was only there because Grandma had practically dragged me out the door, stubbornly refusing to let any local clinic handle her annual routine checkup.

​The central courtyard was bustling with activity. Tents were set up in neat rows, volunteers were handing out intake forms, and at the absolute center of the chaos stood Seth. He moved like a commander on a battlefield—directing paramedics, reviewing patient charts, and managing the anxious crowd with effortless, magnetic authority.

​It was infuriatingly, utterly impressive.

​“Emily, over here,” Grandma called out, taking my elbow and leading me straight toward Seth’s primary examination tent.

​“Grandma, there are at least five other fully qualified doctors here,” I warned under my breath, trying to pull us toward a quiet booth near the back.

​“I prefer someone who feels like family,” she replied smoothly, keeping a surprisingly firm grip on my arm. “Have you completely forgotten the bond your father shared with his?”

​Before I could open my mouth to argue, my heel caught the raised, uneven edge of a loose stone tile.

​Gravity claimed me instantly. My balance failed.

​In front of fifty waiting patients, three nurses, and half a dozen medical staff, I went down. My knee struck the hard floor, and my hands slammed against the paved ground to break the fall.

​A collective, dramatic gasp echoed across the courtyard, followed by an immediate, suffocating silence.

​Stinging pain shot up my left palm where the gravel bit into the skin, but the sheer heat burning across my face was ten times worse.

​Across the yard, Seth stopped mid-sentence. His head snapped directly in my direction, his sharp eyes widening for a fraction of a second as the clipboard in his hand went still.

​I didn't wait for sympathy. I didn't wait for a hand up.

​I pushed myself up instantly, ignoring the sting in my hands. I brushed the dust off my fitted trousers with quick, aggressive strokes, lifted my chin high, and met Seth’s stunned stare head-on.

​“I’m fine,” I announced, my voice cutting through the quiet crowd like a sharp blade.

​Without looking at anyone else, I turned on my heel and marched straight toward the secluded backyard garden, keeping my spine rigid and my head held high until I was completely out of sight.