The Surgeon Leslie Wolfe Novels & Stories

Cassian turned, ready to leave them alone in the room by themselves, when Wolfe came out and stood beside Helen; they both quietly scrolled through something on the phone constantly, at intervals looking up at him with worried expressions. "What is it again?" Cassian was tired of the entire situation. "It's nothing; why don't you go rest upstairs?" Helene said, to the shock of Wolfe. He looked at her to be sure that they were supposed to be hiding this from him. Before, everything he had been going through was because of his family, but now his crime was being spread all around, and people were being shocked that he was not the great surgeon that they all thought he was. "Yes, yes! Why don't

She rushed to the wall, grabbed a decorative blue-and-white porcelain vase, and walked toward me. "Clara! I'm a surgeon! My hands—" Before I could finish, she had already raised the vase high above her head. A surgeon's hands are a second life. They demand absolute precision and sensitivity—there can be no error, not even the slightest. I couldn't stop myself from pleading, my voice breaking. "I really didn't do anything, Clara. We've been married for years. Don't you trust me at all?" Her raised hand paused midair for a second.

A doctor could not fix the pain I was currently feeling. “Well, Mrs Wolfe, Mr Wolfe instructed that you be treated first and—” My brows furrowed at her statement. “What do you mean to be treated first?” I asked, cutting her off. “August hasn’t gotten treatment yet?!” I asked, my voice slightly rising. What? Why would he— He was the one who was hurt! Not me. He literally had a gunshot wound.

"I've heard your name before. What happened to that patient of yours? I don't see her around. Or have you already moved on to another woman?" He smiled faintly, slinging his arm possessively over my shoulders. "By the way, I'm Miles Prescott, Mia's husband." There was a trace of cold mockery in his smile, and the way he looked at Scott—like Scott was nothing more than an amusing sideshow—made Scott's face turn an even deeper shade of white. His Adam's apple bobbed with visible strain. Of course, he recognized Miles. Miles was the youngest renowned medical professor in the field. He was also the mysterious investor behind the Doctors Without Borders program.

I still remember that day—it was our third wedding anniversary. That evening, Adeline's latest test results came back. Her congenital heart condition had worsened. She couldn't wait any longer. As a doctor, I knew exactly what that diagnosis meant. What she didn't know was that I'd been hiding my own terminal cancer diagnosis. Even as a world-renowned surgeon, I couldn't change the outcome. But I loved Adeline—down to the very marrow of my bones. I couldn't bear to see her suffer.

Margot nodded. She sat. Fenris turned from the window. His gray eyes met hers. Something flickered there. Surprise. Concern. Something else. "Ms. Wolfe has been with us for three years," Margot said. "She is one of our rising stars." "Is she?" Dante's eyes swept over Raven. "You look familiar. Have we met?" "No," Raven said. "I do not think so." "The gala." Fenris's voice was quiet, controlled. "She was at the gala."

“You always been paranoid, Surgeon.” Surgeon exhaled like he’d been waiting for the sarcasm. “That’s not a password, Houseshoe.” The voice got closer. “It is if you ain’t dead.” Surgeon pulled the curtain closed and crossed the room in three silent steps. He opened the door just enough to see out, then yanked it wider and hauled Houseshoe inside by the collar. Houseshoe, Kyle Wilson, stumbled, caught himself, and shoved Surgeon’s hand away like pride mattered more than bruises.

"What happened?" ​He whispered, "The past... has finally caught up with us." ​Oscar Medical Center ​Camille walked confidently through the hospital lobby carrying a lunchbox. Several nurses smiled politely at her, greeting her with a warm, "Miss Camille." ​She returned the smile. "Is Doctor Oscar free?" ​"He just finished surgery." ​"I'll wait," she said, walking toward Liam's office. ​As she reached the door, she caught the sound of Noah's voice from inside.

"Please." Lewis stood outside the curtain. She could see his shadow through the fabric — the way he was holding himself. Still. Like he was trying to take up less space than usual. Like he understood, for once, that this wasn't about him. The doctor came in. Young. Kind eyes. Dr. Patel on his badge. "Mrs. Sterling. Let's see what's happening." He reached for the ultrasound equipment. Cold gel. The wand pressing. Lewis pushed the curtain open. "Can I—"

DELIA Just then, the surgeon stepped into the hallway. Not just him— three other doctors followed behind, still in scrubs, still wearing the exhaustion of hours spent fighting for Leandro’s life. We all froze. Matteo shot to his feet so fast the chair slid back and hit the wall. I couldn’t breathe. The surgeon removed his gloves, his expression serious… but not broken. My heart leaped. “He survived,” the surgeon said. My knees almost buckled.