Historias cortas y novelas de Doctor Plot Twists

I'm a top healer at the Neutral Territory Sanctuary. The full moon watch had been draining. I'd barely stepped out the Sanctuary's grand doors when my phone blew up. It was the trauma wing. "Cora, get back here. Now. A patient just came in, severe wolfsbane poisoning. The Head Elder wants you leading the team!" My healer's instinct took over. I turned without a second thought. But then, a string of bizarre, floating red words appeared before my eyes—a fatal warning. 【DON'T YOU DARE STEP INTO THE ADVANCED HEALING ROOM! DON'T JOIN THIS RESCUE!】 【THE LUNA IS ALREADY DEAD. IF YOU GO IN NOW, YOU'RE JUST A SCAPEGOAT FOR THE ELDER'S DAUGHTER!】 【THIS PATIENT IS THE IRONCLAW PACK'S LUNA. THE ENRAGED ALPHA WILL TEAR YOU TO SHREDS. YOUR MATE AND FAMILY WILL BE DRAGGED DOWN WITH YOU!】 My feet froze to the spot. After a few seconds of dead silence, panic and a raw will to survive squeezed my heart. I decided to bet my life on those red lines. I was going all in. My Lycan vision scanned the dark street. My eyes locked onto it—an abandoned wolf trap at the corner of the street. The metal grate was gone, leaving it exposed. I clenched my jaw, squeezed my eyes shut, and without a second of hesitation, I leaped into that bottomless black hole.

My mother's condition suddenly takes a turn for the worse. She begins coughing up blood, and the doctor says she must undergo surgery as soon as possible. I call my girlfriend, Daniella Dooley, who is working in another state. She is the leading gynecologist in the field and the only doctor with any hope of saving my mother. The moment she receives my call, she sets out without hesitation. But halfway through the journey, she tells me that an emergency surgery has cropped up and that she can't make it back. I crouch in the hospital corridor in despair, calling her again and again. All I can do is watch as my mother's heartbeat on the monitor grows weaker and weaker. On the 99th call, she finally answers. My voice is almost pleading as I say, "Daniella, my mother's condition is really critical right now. You're the only one who can perform this surgery. I'm begging you, please come back!" For a long time, she says nothing. I wait and wait, only for her to hang up without uttering a single word. Then, I see a post from her junior, Jackson Bleeth. It shows a sunny-side-up egg that she has just made for him with her precious hands. Accompanying it is a caption that feels almost provocative. "I had a little accident during surgery today. Not only did Daniella not blame me, but she even encouraged me." So the "emergency surgery" she mentioned is actually cleaning up Jackson's mess. At the moment when I am at my most desperate, she abandons me and chooses to go to another man.

I have a premature rupture of the membrane when I'm 38 weeks pregnant. I have no choice but to undergo an emergency C-section. To my surprise and dismay, the anesthesiologist is my ex-boyfriend, with whom I broke up eight months ago. God, save me! Could I please have another anesthesiologist? It's my ex-boyfriend's child I'm giving birth to, and I suddenly don't want to bring the child into the world anymore!

When the heatwave apocalypse hit, the world turned into a literal oven. It was 140 degrees outside. The water dried up, and the power grid went completely dead. We had no choice but to make a run for the underground bunkers. Luckily, my boyfriend, Hudson, awakened ice powers. He is a man of few words, but he caters to my every whim. One day, I was being my usual spoiled self, begging him to waste his precious energy to make me some ice cream, when a sudden memory flooded my brain. It was a plotline. I realized I was living in a romance novel, and I was nothing but the useless, high-maintenance side character. All beauty, zero survival skills, and a constant burden to Hudson. According to the plot, he would eventually leave me behind, and I would die a gruesome death at the hands of some wasteland raiders. Meanwhile, Hudson would meet the REAL female lead—a woman as strong and capable as him. Terrified, I decided to pull away and stop weighing him down. But I didn't expect that the moment I distanced myself, Hudson would snatch the back of my neck, kissing me with a vicious, uncharted possessiveness. "Are you bored of me? Trying to shake me off?" he growled against my lips. "I'll never let that happen."

When I first started at Serenity Hills, the head nurse told me coma patients paid well—but the job was messy and brutal. They could only get IV nutrition. Screw that up, and you're basically killing them. Today was day thirty of looking after the girl. Young. Gorgeous. Like always, I hit the nurse's station to grab her IV bags— But then I saw it. Thirty glucose bottles gone. IV nutrition? Still sealed. Chills shot down my spine.

I'm Xavier Russell, a legendary surgeon currently ranked number one in the world. Three years ago, I performed 37 surgeries in a war zone with minimal equipment and saved 37 lives, earning me the moniker "God's Hand". On my first day interning at Wessen Hospital, the hospital director, Dylan Lewis, welcomes me at the entrance. He shakes my hand excitedly, then asks why I wanted to become an intern. "I wanted a break from wielding the scalpel," I reply. However, I accidentally bump into the hospital's star surgeon, Sylvia Chase. "A new intern? I have an important neurosurgery to perform. I'll have you know that the patient is a renowned diplomat," she says with a light scoff. She then declares, "You have three seconds to pick up those medical charts." My eyes remain glued to the medical report in her hand, which clearly contains a misdiagnosis. If she performs the surgery, the aforementioned diplomat is guaranteed to die.

On the eve of a surgery, I voluntarily resign from my position as lead surgeon. My colleagues sneer behind my back and mock me openly. "And this guy's supposed to have a PhD from abroad? Looks more like he bought a degree from some no-name university." "Can't even handle a challenge without running—what kind of doctor is that?" In my last life, I gave up competing in a general practitioner skills competition to take on this very surgery. But because the other lead surgeon violated protocol during the operation, it ended in a serious medical accident. My sister, the head of the department, pinned all the blame on me. Even my girlfriend stood firmly on their side, accusing me of incompetence. Overnight, I went from being a respected medical PhD to the disgrace of the hospital. I couldn't prove the mistake wasn't mine. I was fired and faced criminal charges. My parents, once so proud of me, pointed at me in rage. "We don't have a son who plays god with people's lives!" Crushed by shame and despair, I spiraled into deep depression and jumped from the hospital roof. But now, I open my eyes again. I'm back—back to the night before the surgery.

After passing my veterinary licensing exam, I posted the news online to celebrate. My elderly neighbor, Gloria Vance, immediately fired off a string of messages. [Miles, my grandson's sick. Could you treat him?] [I'm really worried about the boy. He's had a fever for days now.] I slowly typed out a single: [?] Another message came through. [We're neighbors, after all. Just show a little compassion and save the child.] Trying to be kind, I wrote back, [Mrs. Vance, if your grandson's sick, you need to get him to a hospital right away. I can't treat him.] To my surprise, she fired back a voice message. "Aren't you studying medicine? What's the harm in taking a look at my grandson? How can a person be so stingy? "If you won't help, I'll report you to your university and have them expel a student with character as rotten as yours!" I was floored. I study veterinary medicine. How am I supposed to treat a human child?

A highway pursuit of a fugitive ended in a crash. I was rushed to the hospital alongside a death-row convict. "The patient's left chest cavity has been pierced by rebar. He needs emergency surgery immediately. Get his family on the line!" I did not want my mother, who was thousands of miles away, to worry. I forced myself to stay conscious and prepared to sign the consent form on my own. Yet the deputy chief of the military hospital snatched the form out of my hands. He ordered the staff to wheel me out of the operating room by force, all so they could treat the barely scratched convict instead. "Save him first. He has a clotting disorder. If the bleeding isn't stopped now, it'll be fatal!" The staff stared at him in disbelief. "But this patient is a police academy cadet. His condition's clearly more critical." The man spared me a single indifferent glance. "Trust my judgment. He won't die. Save the fugitive first." I bit back the pain and reached for the hem of his coat with trembling hands, but he shook me off without a second thought. He spoke again without looking at me. "I'm his father. I'll sign the liability waiver."

The mayor was in a car accident and rushed to the hospital for emergency treatment. My boyfriend, Joe Reid, wanted our junior colleague, Melissa Cross, to become the mayor's savior, so he convinced the entire department to delay the surgery while waiting for her. She was late because she had been making her special herbal drink. The mayor's life was hanging by a thread. If we did not act fast, we'd all be in serious trouble! I pleaded with them to start the surgery immediately, but all I received was accusations. "You're just jealous because Joe promised Melissa a permanent position. You're trying to ruin her chance to impress the mayor, aren't you?" I dropped to my knees and begged my colleagues. Only then, reluctantly, did they agree to proceed to the operating room. I served as lead surgeon with Joe and my colleagues assisting. After twelve hours, we finally saved Mayor Richard Carter's life. Afterward, our entire department received a massive bonus from the mayor. Both Joe and I were promoted. Yet on the night of my promotion, Melissa drugged me and had me locked in the hospital morgue's refrigeration unit, where I froze to death. Meanwhile, Joe led the entire department in lying to the police. "Kimberly Hayes had corrupt medical ethics. She stole credit for saving the mayor's life from Melissa to get promoted, then killed herself out of guilt." I died with my name destroyed. Melissa used this opportunity to secure her permanent position and even became department director with Richard's help. My father believed there was more to my death and fought for justice everywhere, but Joe had him committed to a psychiatric hospital where he was beaten to death by other patients. Only after death did I learn the truth. This was all a conspiracy between Melissa and Joe. Melissa was too afraid to be lead surgeon. They delayed everything just to replace me! When I opened my eyes again, I had been reborn to the day Joe led the entire department in waiting for Melissa before the surgery. In this life, I would not stop these ungrateful colleagues from destroying themselves.

At four months pregnant, I went to pick up my prenatal test results with my husband, Aiden Carter, who was an OB-GYN. The smile at the corner of his lips froze the moment he saw the report. Without a word, he grabbed my hand and tried to schedule an abortion. I stood there in shock. The attending physician, Dr. Marianne Cole, had just told me the baby was perfectly healthy! I tore myself free and demanded, "Why do you want me to get an abortion?!" He didn’t answer and had already scheduled the procedure. When I tried to run, he yanked my arm tighter. "There's no way we are having this child!" Clutching my belly, I hurried to call my parents, who were both OB-GYNs themselves. Dad, who had always doted on me, raised his fist, aiming straight for my stomach. Mom’s face twisted in horror, shaking her head wildly. "No, this won’t work. It can’t be like this." "Find a few men. Lock Clara Hart in with them." I didn’t understand why they were so desperate to destroy my child. All I wanted was to escape. Instead, they locked me inside a pitch-black room. When I felt the blood trickling down my legs, I knew my baby was gone. Mom came smiling to fetch me. I fought, demanding to know why they had done this to me. Without responding, she turned around and sent me straight to Ravenwood Asylum. I was tortured to death there. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day I went to collect my prenatal report. Aiden looked at me, his face glowing with joy. "Baby, this is our first child. I can’t wait for the day he’s born."

I exercised too hard during the day and, by midnight, a sharp pain tore through my stomach. When I checked my pants, there was blood. I called my friend immediately and had him rush me to the hospital. The moment I finished explaining my symptoms, the doctor did not even pause to think before saying, "This is a potential miscarriage. We need to start treatment right away." My eyes went wide. I opened my mouth to protest, but she steamrolled right over me. Her gaze dripped with contempt. "I see dozens of patients every day. I know exactly what you women are like. Probably had abortion after abortion in school with zero self-respect. Now that you're getting older, you want to trap some nice guy into cleaning up your mess." I had never met such an unprofessional doctor in my life. Anger flared in my chest, and I threatened to report her on the spot. She barely blinked. "Touched a nerve, huh? I'm just trying to help you out here. Doctors have it so hard these days. Tell someone the truth and complaints are all you get." The whispers started around me. People staring, judging, pointing. I had truly had enough. Had it occurred to literally anyone that I might just be a guy with long hair?

When my son suffered a heart attack in the middle of the night, I rushed him to the hospital where my wife worked. Instead of taking charge herself, she handed the operation to an intern. "New doctors need opportunities to learn. I'll be right there supervising. Nothing will happen." But before the surgery even began, a phone call pulled her away, leaving a trembling Marvin Vance alone in the operating room. My son never made it off the operating table. I collapsed in the hallway, sobbing in grief. Yet I overheard my wife gently comforting Marvin. "For your first surgery, you held on this long. You've done an amazing job, my little cinnamon roll." Awkwardly copying trendy slang younger people used online, she reassured him with endless patience. Then she turned to me with a cold expression and demanded that I sign a letter forgiving Marvin. "He has his whole future ahead of him. You can't destroy his life." I tore the document to pieces and threatened to call the police and expose what had happened. In response, she arranged for a medical donation and had my son's body dissected that very night. Driven insane by grief, I threw myself from a building while clutching my son's ashes. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day of my son's surgery. This time, I immediately contacted my parents and transferred him to another hospital. But that night, they still dissected a child.

When my wife, Celeste Harrington, sent her seventh young lover to me for a penile augmentation, her friends made bets on how quickly I would lose my mind. But even after the light over the OR door went off, nobody heard me fall apart. "Celeste, that's the seventh guy now. What if your husband is actually angry enough to stop speaking to you?" one of her friends asked. Celeste shrugged. "He can't have children with me, and I've got a family empire to pass on. Sooner or later, I'm going to have a baby with another man. Why not keep a few men around now so he gets used to it? I get to enjoy myself, too." I stepped out of the OR, my expression unreadable, and delivered the usual announcement. "Congratulations. The operation was successful." Celeste approached with a smile. "Nice work." Then she handed me a divorce agreement. "Sign it, will you? It's just for show. This guy refuses to have a baby with me unless I divorce you. Once the baby's born, we'll raise it together. Nobody will dare call you less of a man when you're raising a child." I'd played along with this humiliating routine six times before. This time, I signed without hesitation. Then I turned around and said yes to someone else's proposal. Celeste had apparently forgotten one important detail: I wasn't infertile. The problem was the genetic risk of having a child with her. All I needed was a different partner. Why had she ever assumed I'd be generous enough to raise her lover's baby?

When my ex-wife, Blaire Sutton, rushes her childhood friend, Malcolm Pierce, who has suffered from a papercut, into the emergency room, I'm in the middle of saving a patient, whose heart has stopped beating. Upon noticing that I'm not rushing to treat Malcolm's cut at once, Blaire lashes out at me furiously. After that, she lodges a complaint about me intending to get revenge on her due to our relationship problems, which means I have very poor ethics as a doctor. I don't even bother explaining myself to anyone. Instead, I just take off my white coat and accept the suspension and investigation notice that the hospital has issued to me. Soon, Blaire uploads a photo of Malcolm's finger, which is taped with a plaster. The caption absolutely reeks of her smugness. "Only narrow-minded men tend to get revenge for the pettiest things at work. His white coat should've gotten ripped off him a long time ago. That way, he'll definitely learn his lesson." Five days later, Malcolm suddenly suffers from a ruptured aortic dissection, leaving him in critical condition. The thing is, I'm the only one capable of performing this surgery in the entire state. Blaire keeps sobbing to the point that she's suffering from an emotional breakdown over the phone. She begs me to save Malcolm's life. I merely cut her off coolly, "Sorry, but I'm serving my suspension notice and reflecting on my mistakes at the moment. I don't even have the right to prescribe Malcolm any medication. You should find someone else to save his life."

To marry Lorenzo Vincenzo, I gave up my photography career. A dream I had held for ten years. But on our fourth anniversary, I asked my sister Greer to draft the divorce papers. She kept asking, over and over. "Why would you leave Lorenzo? He's the top surgeon at St. Vincent's. Rich, gorgeous. Half the city is dying for a shot at him." I swallowed the bitterness clawing up my throat. "Because of a gift." Greer followed my gaze to the music box on the table. The card was in Elara's handwriting. Lorenzo's junior from med school. [Thank you for flying out to do my aunt's surgery, senior. I know it was a long trip. You worked so hard. The little dancers on this music box remind me of us at graduation prom. Hope you like it, Lorenzo.] That day, my father was in a car accident. I rushed him to St. Vincent's. Only Lorenzo could do the surgery. I searched every floor of that hospital, every corridor. Nowhere. I told myself he must be on a business trip. But no. He had left his post for Elara. The same man who once swore he would never abandon the OR for personal matters. Finally, my father died on the table. Greer pulled me into her arms. "The Vincenzo family owns this city. Their reach is everywhere. Where could you possibly go that he would not find you?" I glanced at the flight confirmation on my phone. "Three days. I am flying to Paris, to a photography studio there. And I will make sure he never, ever finds me."

Ever since a couple moved in next door, I've become addicted to the thrill of peeping on them. Megan Steele's an aloof doctor during the day, and when night falls, she transforms into a vixen. She wears lace and wields a leather whip. Their moans and groans seep through the wall, and I let their ebb and flow gradually calm the heat burning inside me. The next morning, she slips a note into my hand. "Peeping is no fun. It's much more exciting to experience it yourself." That night, she knocks on my door and invites me to spend the night with her. I foolishly think love has fallen into my lap, only to realize that it's a honey trap engineered to put me behind bars.

Three years married to Victor, the Don, and as far as New York was concerned, we were untouchable. Until my own car was in the shop, so I took his daily driver from the garage. On the way, I activated the car's smart system and said, "Navigate home." But the screen pinpointed a place I had never seen before — a villa in the suburbs. Then, a sugary-sweet voice floated from the speakers: "Okay! Setting course for Victor and Mia's secret castle." My stomach dropped. Who was Mia? And what secret castle? Without a second thought, I dialed his number. "The home address is set to some strange place." He just laughed it off. "Oh, that. One of my guys' car broke down the other day. I let him use mine to drop someone off." "Okay, no problem," I said, smiling into the phone. I ended the call and pulled up the navigation history. That villa address was listed seventeen times, every single one on a day Victor was supposedly "out of town on business." I fired up the engine and drove.

My mother is hospitalized due to a terminal illness. She's in urgent need of a kidney transplant to save her life. I'm the only one who can perform the surgery, but I give the kidney to a stranger. My father and husband get on their knees before me on the day of the surgery. They beg me to save my mother. However, I shrug and say, "I can't do anything about this. A life is a life, regardless of who the person is. This is what she gets for coming late—death is waiting for her."

On my birthday, my mother-in-law had barely been wheeled out of surgery when she was rushed straight into the ER again. Then, a newly posted video from an intern went viral. In it, the intern held a scalpel and sliced open my mother-in-law's abdomen, while the surgeon who was supposed to be leading the operation, my husband, was nowhere in sight. 'People say an intern has no business being in the operating room? That's all right. My man, the department head, indulges me.' My husband's coworkers reacted warmly, saying the two of them made quite a pair. I forwarded the video to the hospital director without hesitation. … Before long, my husband called. His breathing came hard and uneven, his voice breaking between words. "I forgot your birthday. Big deal. Did you really have to run to the director and accuse me of breaking hospital rules? I'm done with you and your ridiculous tantrums. Even if my mom takes your side this time, I'm still divorcing you." He hung up before I could say a word. What he didn't know was that his mother would never take my side again. Because the patient who hemorrhaged and died after being operated on by that intern was his mother.