Chapter 1

"Mary? Wait. You think I'll have anything serious to do with a wolfless omega?"

I froze just outside Derek's office door, my hand hovering over the handle. My heart stopped beating for a second. That was Derek's voice. My Derek. My mate.

"But she's your mate and you gave her flowers for Valentine in front of everyone," another voice replied. Tricia. Of course it was Tricia.

"She put me up to it," Derek laughed, and the sound cut through me like a scalpel. "She said she wanted to feel loved. She even borrowed money to buy the flowers herself. And besides, I never accepted the mate bond."

The world tilted. My vision blurred with tears. Without thinking, I shoved the door open so hard it banged against the wall.

"Liarrrrr!" I screamed, my voice breaking. Tears poured down my cheeks, hot and angry.

Derek jumped back from where he'd been leaning close to Tricia. "Mary." His eyes widened. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" I could barely breathe. "What are YOU doing? You told me you loved me. You said the flowers were because I was special."

Derek adjusted his white coat, his face hardening. "Mary, you're being delusional. How can I, Derek Morrison, have anything serious with a wolfless omega who can't even handle a simple scalpel? You're naive if you thought this was real."

Tricia giggled beside him, her perfectly manicured hand covering her mouth. "Oh sweetie, did you really think he'd choose you? A girl without a wolf at twenty two? How pathetic."

I stumbled backward, my chest tight. I couldn't breathe. I turned and ran, their laughter chasing me down the corridor. My vision blurred with tears as I pushed through the hospital hallways, not caring who saw me crying.

I found an empty corner near the staff room and collapsed against the wall, sliding down until I was sitting on the cold floor. My whole body shook with sobs. Three months. Three months of thinking I'd found love, found my place. All a lie.

"Code blue! Emergency in ward seven! We need all available staff now!"

The announcement over the intercom made me look up. Nurses and doctors rushed past me toward the emergency ward. I wiped my eyes and stood on shaky legs, following them without thinking.

The emergency room was chaos. A middle aged man lay on the gurney, his face gray, monitors beeping frantically around him. Three nurses crowded around him while Dr. Stevens, the resident on duty, barked orders.

"Where's Dr. Owen?" Dr. Stevens demanded. "This patient needs surgery now. He's been waiting for the Alpha surgeon."

"I called him," a nurse replied, her phone still pressed to her ear. "He said he'd be here in an hour. There was an accident on the highway."

"We don't have an hour to wait. The patient can't survive that long. Is there no other surgeon available?"

"I'm sorry but Dr. Owen is the best surgeon for this case. The patient specifically requested him. It's an aortic dissection with complications."

The monitor suddenly shrieked. The patient's body went rigid, then began convulsing violently. The nurses rushed forward.

"He's crashing!" Dr. Stevens shouted. "His blood pressure is dropping. We need to do something now. Call someone. Anyone!"

"I'll do it."

The words came out of my mouth before I could think. Everyone turned to stare at me. My own voice sounded strange to my ears, deeper somehow. More certain.

"An intern?" Dr. Stevens looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "Mary, this isn't a simulation. This is a real emergency."

But I was already moving. My feet carried me forward like I was being pulled by invisible strings. I grabbed surgical gloves from the supply cart and snapped them on. Everything felt distant, like I was watching myself from outside my body.

"Out of the way," I said, and the authority in my voice made the nurses step back.

"Mary, this is a critical condition," Dr. Stevens grabbed my arm. "You're just an intern. You don't even know the situation of the patient and you've never performed surgery alone."

"Type A aortic dissection with pericardial tamponade," I heard myself say. The words came automatically. "He needs an emergency Bentall procedure with composite graft replacement. If we don't operate in the next ten minutes, the dissection will extend and he'll die from cardiac rupture."

Everyone froze. Dr. Stevens' mouth fell open.

"How did you know that?" he whispered.

I didn't answer. I couldn't. Because I had no idea how I knew. I turned to the nurses. "I need a cardiothoracic surgery kit, stat. Prepare for open heart surgery. Get me a ventilator, blood for transfusion, and prep the cardiopulmonary bypass machine."

They just stood there, staring.

"Now!" The word cracked through the room like a whip.

They jumped into action. Within minutes, everything was ready. I felt my hands moving with confidence I didn't possess, making the incision with steady precision. Every step of the procedure flowed through my mind like I'd done it a thousand times.

Sternotomy. Pericardiotomy. Exposure of the ascending aorta. My hands knew exactly what to do even though my conscious mind was screaming in confusion. I could see the tear in the aorta, the blood pooling in the pericardium.

"Suction," I commanded. "Clamp the aorta. Initiating bypass."

Time became meaningless. There was only the surgery, the rhythm of the procedure, the patient's life hanging in the balance. My hands moved like they belonged to someone else. Someone who knew exactly what they were doing.

"Anastomosis complete. Checking for leaks." I examined my work with eyes that seemed to see more than they should. "Clear. Coming off bypass."

The monitors stabilized. The patient's heart beat strong and steady behind his newly repaired aorta.

"Closing now."

As I tied the final suture, something snapped. I gasped, suddenly back in my own body. I stared down at my hands, covered in blood, holding surgical instruments. My knees went weak.

What just happened?

"The patient is stable," Dr. Stevens announced, his voice filled with awe. "Vitals are normalizing. Heart function is strong. The surgery was successful."

The emergency room doors burst open. Dr. Owen Prescott strode in, already dressed in surgical scrubs, his face set in determined lines. Everyone turned to look at him, then back at me.

My heart hammered. Panic flooded through me.

"I'm sorry," I stammered, backing away. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know what came over me. I shouldn't have done that. I just..."

I couldn't finish. I ripped off my surgical gloves and mask and ran from the room, my vision blurring with fresh tears. Behind me, I could hear the confused voices, Dr. Owen's deep rumble asking what happened.

I didn't stop running until I reached the women's locker room. I collapsed on a bench, shaking. What was wrong with me? How did I do that? I was just an intern. I'd never even assisted in a surgery that complex, let alone performed one myself.

"Mary Hart."

I jumped. Tricia stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, a smirk on her perfect face.

"Dr. Owen has called for a board meeting in two hours for all interns and working nurses." She looked down at me like I was dirt on her shoe. "Try not to be late. Though I'm sure you'll find a way to embarrass yourself again."

She turned on her heel and left, her laughter echoing in the hallway.

I buried my face in my hands and cried.