How Does Metabolical Critique Modern Medicine?

Betrayed by the husband and the cousin she once trusted, Dr. Harper Reeves finds herself strapped to an operating table—moments away from being dissected alive. Only then does the truth finally surface: Her marriage was a lie. Her suffering was engineered. And Phoebe—her doctor, her blood, her own cousin—was the one who planned it all. As the scalpel rises to carve her open, Harper does the unthinkable. She fights back. One death. One chance. One whispered wish as her life bleeds away: If I could live again… I wouldn’t endure. I wouldn’t bow. I would destroy anyone who dared to use me. And I would burn their world to the ground.

I found a cure for a rare brain tumor a year ago, but in my own home, I am still just the embarrassment who wears rags instead of silk. While my mother and stepsister obsess over guest lists and social standing, I spend my nights in a quiet lab, trying to save lives. I thought my future was set: more research, more bullying from my family, and eventually, a forced marriage. But Lyon came along. His mother is dying of the same tumor I had found a cure for, and he wouldn't leave my lab until I go with him. He is an Alpha shifter, a man with money and power that makes my family look like amateurs, and he didn't care about my protests before he carried me away. “Name your price, Doctor Christie Graves. I can give you anything you want as long as you save my mother.” But it's not ANYTHING I want. I want every inch of him. I want to know what making love would feel like. And with a man like Lyon. I should be ashamed of that. My job is supposed to be my only pleasure. Yet, when he tells me that there's a bond between us and that he can't let me go, I'm ready to go on my knees and ask him to make love to me.

I can hear the voices of every organ in the human body. In my three years of practicing medicine, I've never misdiagnosed a single patient. For instance, a young man with wobbly legs comes in for a consultation, suspecting he has a terminal illness. His kidneys, however, start cursing up a storm. "You're juggling eight girlfriends at the same time. Even a workhorse on a farm doesn't get worked this hard!" I try my best not to laugh, prescribe him some supplements, and casually suggest he learn a little time management. Then, a well-dressed white-collar professional walks in and tells me she's experiencing heart palpitations and dizziness and insists that she must have congenital heart disease. Her heart immediately protests loudly in my ear. "You drink three iced Americanos a day! I'm about to burst out of your ribcage and start doing calisthenics!" I smile and prescribe her some chamomile tea. Less than half a month later, she returns with a healthy, rosy complexion to present me with a banner of appreciation. From that moment on, I earn the nickname "the Human X-Ray". … One afternoon, a woman walks in with a listless-looking boy. Maeve Brown looks sick with worry. "Dr. Young, please take a look at him! Lennon has been suffering from headaches, and he has already taken several days off school due to them." However, his brain is practically throwing a party in my ear. "Hell yeah, I successfully skipped class! I'm going to grind ranked matches all night long!" I smile as I diagnose him with malingering, and Lennon White goes home with a flushed face. Ten days later, Maeve and Hubert White burst into my office. This time, Lennon's complexion is pallid. Bracing himself against the doorframe, his body sways uncontrollably. Initially, I assume he's putting on another performance. However, the moment I hear the voices emanating from within his body, my mind goes blank. I immediately push him out of the room and dial 911. "I'd rather treat a dog with this condition than treat you!"

To repay my parents for raising me for 20 years, I donate one of my kidneys to Samuel Caldwell, their biological son, curing him of his uremia. After Samuel recovers, he returns to the stage, dazzling audiences with his piano performances. Meanwhile, I survive on hormone treatments. My body is swollen beyond recognition, and I look utterly disgusting. I lock myself up in the house, staring blankly out the window day after day. Through it all, my fiancee, Shelby Holloway, never leaves my side. She comes up with new low-calorie meals every day and patiently helps me rebuild my strength. "Nick, make sure you get plenty of rest and don't overexert yourself, okay? I have a meeting to attend, so wait for me at home." Before she leaves, she gently straightens my collar. I truly believe life is slowly getting better. Then, in the backstage area of a theater, I catch Samuel holding Shelby tightly in his arms. "Shelby, Nick's in such poor health. I shouldn't be taking you away from him." Shelby buries herself against his chest, her voice full of pain. "What are you talking about? If it weren't for saving you, I never would have married that impostor. Every time I look at him, I feel sick. He looks like a pig! He'd have done everyone a great favor if he'd died on the operating table that day!" Shelby casts aside the bond we've shared since childhood and even wishes for my death, all for Samuel's sake. Just as well, I have no desire to continue living anymore either.

I thought dating again was my biggest mistake. Then I fell for the one man I should have stayed miles away from. My OB-GYN. He’s twice my age. My boyfriend’s father. And the only man who’s ever made me feel seen. Now I’m pretending to need checkups just to hear his voice, Just to feel his hands where they shouldn’t be But when my perfect boyfriend’s charm turns violent, The man I shouldn’t love becomes my only safe place. One wants to owe me. The other wants to save me. But the closer I get to both, The closer I come to losing myself. When desire becomes our only language, how long before it destroys us both?

As I walk out of the emergency room, a woman rushes over to me. "You're a doctor, right? My son scraped his knee. Hurry up and come treat him!" I am about to explain, but she glares at me and questions indignantly, "Isn't a doctor supposed to save people? You have time to slack off, but you have no time to treat my son's wound. Is that it?" She grabs my collar and drags me toward the ward. I try to explain, "Ma'am, I’m not—" But she doesn't listen at all and slaps me across the face. "Not what? Are you blind? Can't you see my son is bleeding? Instead of helping my son, you treat those poor nobodies! If you keep delaying my son's treatment, I won't let you off! "Get on your knees and apologize to him right now! Otherwise, I'll file a complaint and have your license revoked!" I endure the sharp pain and struggle to lift my head. In my five years of practicing medicine, this is the first time I have ever been complained about by a living person. "It's not that I won't treat him. I am a forensic pathologist..."