1

I’m running on fumes.

Not the poetic kind of exhaustion—no, the ugly, bone-deep kind that makes time stretch into something shapeless and endless. Like I’ve been stuck in this shift long enough to forget there’s a world outside the hospital walls. Sleep feels theoretical at this point. If I really push myself, I can vaguely recall collapsing onto that narrow break room couch for three hours. Or maybe I imagined it.

My body moves before I think too hard about it, carrying me toward the staff lounge like it’s operating on instinct alone.

Food. Maybe that’ll fix something. Or at least make me feel less like I’m about to collapse.

Inside, a few nurses and doctors from other departments are scattered around the small tables, mid-conversation, mid-bite, mid-everything.

“Liana.”

Jenny’s voice cuts through the low murmur of the lounge before I even register where it’s coming from. I turn toward it instinctively—familiar, grounding—and spot her at one of the small tables, already halfway through a plate of pasta.

I make a beeline for her, dropping into the chair across from her without ceremony. The movement feels heavier than it should, like my body’s reminding me I’ve pushed it a little too far. We’ve been on the same track since med school—same lectures, same sleepless nights, same grind. Now we’re both second-year residents, and somehow it still feels like we’re trying to prove we belong.

“I’m starving,” I mutter, not waiting for permission as I grab her fork and immediately dig in.

“Easy,” she says, shooting me a look that’s equal parts judgment and amusement. “No one’s trying to take it away from you.”

“Today’s just… one of those days.” I barely pause between bites, the words slipping out around the food. “I need it to be over already.”

“Don’t even start,” she groans, though there’s a spark of excitement lighting up her voice that doesn’t match mine. “We’ve got that party tonight—Mr. Stone’s thing.”

Right.

That.

Mr. Stone—the primary sponsor, one of the founding pillars of Bellevue. The kind of man whose name gets lowered voices and straightened backs. Jenny leans forward slightly, like the thought alone gives her energy.

“I’ve been waiting two years for this,” she adds, almost giddy. “We finally made it onto the invite list.”

I let out a quiet groan, dragging the fork through another bite like it personally offended me.

“Yeah… I don’t think I’m going.”

Her expression snaps, disbelief flashing across her face. “You can’t not go. That’s basically an insult.”

“It’s not about wanting to or not,” I say, my voice flattening with fatigue. I drop the fork for a second, rubbing a hand over my face like I can wipe the exhaustion off. “I genuinely don’t think my body’s capable of it tonight.”

“One more hour,” she says, like that alone solves everything. “You go home, crash, sleep as long as you want. You’ll be fine by tonight.”

There’s no room left in her tone for argument—she’s already decided for me.

“And besides…” Her voice drops, conspiratorial, her eyes flicking briefly around the room before she leans in closer. “I heard Mr. Stone’s new son is going to be there.”

I pause mid-motion, the fork hovering uselessly in my hand.

“His what?” I blink at her, certain I misheard.

“His new son,” she repeats, lowering her voice even further until it’s practically a whisper against the air between us. She tilts her head closer, like she’s passing state secrets. “Apparently, aside from his wife and the kids everyone knows about, there’s another one. From some other woman. He only found him a few years ago.”

A short, breathy laugh slips out of me before I can stop it.

Of course Jenny knows this. If there’s information floating anywhere within a five-mile radius—scandal, rumor, whispered speculation—she’ll catch it like it’s her full-time job. I don’t even try to guess where she got it from. Mr. Stone guards his personal life like it’s classified.

“Jesus, Jenny,” I mutter, shaking my head as I drop the fork back onto her plate. “You don’t have to believe every random thing people throw at you.” I shoot her a look, half warning, half exhausted. “And maybe don’t relay all of it to me either.”

“I’m serious,” she insists, straightening slightly, like she’s about to defend a thesis. “This isn’t random gossip. It’s solid—came from someone very close to the Stone family.” Her gaze flickers across the room again, cautious. “My source says Mr. Stone’s been bringing the new son into the business—against his wife’s wishes. Like, fully involved. Grooming him for everything.” A pause, loaded with implication. “Even though his actual kids have been running things for years.” There’s a glint in her eyes now—the kind that feeds on drama. “Apparently, it’s causing a mess inside the family. Arguments about control… money… who gets what.”

I let out a slow breath, the air leaving my lungs in a quiet exhale as I lean back in my chair.

It should be interesting. Scandal like that usually is.

But instead of getting pulled into it, my attention drifts somewhere else entirely—somewhere far more obvious.

My eyes narrow slightly, a faint, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.

“Jenny.”

“Mm?” she perks up instantly, expectant, like she’s waiting for me to match her enthusiasm.

I tilt my head just enough to catch her reaction head-on.

“Your very reliable source wouldn’t happen to be Dr. Evan Phillips… would it?”

Over the past few weeks, the unexplained disappearances. The way she suddenly finds reasons to be in certain corridors. The look on her face whenever he walks by—like she forgets how to act normal for a second too long.

I didn’t even have to try to notice.

Didn’t have to look for it.

It was just… there.

Subtle, my ass.

She is sleeping with him.

And if anyone else figured that out?

Yeah. She’d be completely fucked.

“Shhh—no. Of course not,” she blurts out, way too fast, way too loud for someone trying to play it cool.

The panic on her face is so obvious it’s almost painful.

I break.

A laugh slips out before I can stop it, low at first, then sharper, spilling over.

“Oh my God, Jenny… you’re such an idiot,” I manage between breaths, shaking my head.

Her eyes widen, somewhere between defensive and embarrassed. “How the hell do you even know?”

I lean back slightly, lifting a shoulder in a lazy shrug, still riding the edge of amusement.

“Maybe because you’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are.” I tilt my head, studying her for a second longer. “Or maybe because you’re my best friend, and I know you better than you know yourself.”

The humor fades just a notch, something more serious settling underneath.

“But seriously—get it together,” I add, quieter now, more deliberate. “And for the love of God, don’t go around repeating everything he tells you to every girl in this place.”

Her expression shifts immediately, guilt creeping in, softening her features. She looks down for a second, then back up at me.

“You have no idea how badly I wanted to tell you,” she admits, voice dropping again. “But he made it very clear—if anyone finds out… if it reaches the board…” She exhales, tension slipping through her words. “It’s going to be a problem. For both of us.”

I give a small, dismissive nod, letting it go.

She’s my friend. Technically, maybe I should feel something about it—offended she didn’t tell me, or at least curious enough to pry into the details. That’s what people usually do, right? Dig, ask, dissect every little piece of someone else’s relationship like it’s entertainment.

But honestly?

God knows how much I’ve enjoyed not knowing.

And I’d like to keep it that way.

I really don’t need to learn what Evan’s favorite food is. Or—Jesus—the color of his underwear.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, and this time, I mean it. No edge, no sarcasm—just something simple and real. “As long as you’re happy, I’m good. Whatever the reason is… even if I don’t know it.”

She smiles at that—soft, relieved—and leans in to kiss my cheek.

“You’re the best.”

Yeah. Sure.

She pushes her chair back and stands, already halfway out of the moment. “Alright, I’ve gotta run. I’ll see you tonight, babe.”

I return a faint smile, giving her a small nod as she walks off.

“Yeah,” I murmur under my breath, more to myself than anything. “Tonight.”