Chapter 1

A jolt, not a dream. My eyes snapped open. Cold sweat. The dream again. Dark water, a hand reaching, then gone. And Ethan’s face, looking away. I sat up, heart pounding. Just a dream, Evie. It was always Ethan. Six years since I’d seen him, six years since I’d ruined his life, or so he thought. So *I* thought. I shook my head, trying to clear the lingering dread. Useless. The an_esthesia from my father's minor procedure yesterday still made me groggy. He was recovering well at home. I needed to focus on that. My shift at Mercy General started in two hours. I got out of bed, the floor cold under my feet. Another day. Another surgery. Another chance to save someone. That’s what mattered. Not stupid dreams about a past I’d buried.

My pager beeped. Dr. Peterson, Chief of Surgery. “Evie, my office. Now.” His voice was tight. Unusual. I hurried, a new unease replacing the dream fog. Peterson’s office was all polished wood and diplomas. He didn’t look up when I entered. “Close the door.” I did. The click of the latch sounded too loud. “We have a new neurosurgeon starting today,” he said, finally meeting my eyes. “Top of his field. Johns Hopkins. A real catch for Mercy.” My stomach twisted. I knew that tone. “His name?” I asked, though a cold certainty was already creeping in. Peterson leaned back. “Dr. Ethan Cole.” The name hit me. Ethan. Here. My breath caught. The dream. The warning. “He’ll be heading the new neurotrauma unit. You’ll be working with him. Closely.” No. This couldn’t be happening. I just stared, words gone.

The hospital gala was that night. Mandatory attendance. I saw him across the ballroom. Ethan. Six years. He looked older, harder. Still handsome. Too handsome. He was with a woman. Tall, blonde, elegant. Laughing. My feet felt rooted to the floor. Dr. Peterson found me. “Evie, come. Let me introduce you.” He led me towards them. Towards Ethan. Ethan’s eyes met mine. Recognition flickered, then cold indifference. “Ethan, Sophia,” Peterson said, “this is Dr. Evelyn Hayes, one of our best trauma surgeons.” Sophia Vance. The heiress. Owner of The Gilded Spoon. Her smile was perfect, a little too bright. “Evelyn,” she said, her voice smooth. “Ethan has told me so much about his time at Harvard Med with you. His college ex, wasn’t it?” My mind went blank. College ex. Just like that. Ethan said nothing. Just a cool nod. The air crackled. Peterson looked uncomfortable. “Well,” he said, too cheerfully. “Welcome to Mercy, Ethan.” I needed to escape.

The next morning, a small, worn cardboard box was on my desk. My name, in Ethan’s familiar sharp handwriting. Inside, our old, shared copy of Gray’s Anatomy. The one we’d spent nights highlighting, notes scribbled in the margins. A pressed flower, a four-leaf clover, fell out. Relics of a time I tried to forget. And the cheap silver locket I’d given him, the one he swore he’d never take off. He was returning it all. A final severing. My hands trembled. Pain, sharp and fresh, lanced through me. He wanted nothing left between us.

I tried to message him on the hospital’s internal system. Just to say… I don’t know what. “Message to Dr. E. Cole cannot be delivered. User has blocked you.” Blocked. My hands and feet went cold. Suddenly, I was back there, six years ago. Harvard. Ethan, his face pale with fury. “You did what?” “I withdrew your application for the fellowship,” I’d whispered, heart hammering. “I… I didn’t want you to go. To leave Boston. To leave me.” His mentor, Dr. Ramsey, had told me I was holding Ethan back. That my love was a cage for his genius. I’d believed him. I’d panicked. “You sabotaged me, Evie.” His voice was ice. “My career. For what? So I’d stay?” He’d walked out. And never looked back. Until now. And now, he was erasing me.

We were assigned to a complex trauma case together. A car pile-up, multiple critical injuries. Operating room one. Bright lights, beeping monitors. Ethan was already there, scrubbing in. He didn’t acknowledge me. We worked side-by-side. Scalpel, clamps, sutures. His hands were steady, precise. Mine too. Professionals. That’s all we were now. The silence between us was a heavy thing, thicker than the sterile air. Awkward. Frustrating. Every shared glance over the patient felt like a spark on dry tinder.

During a lull, while waiting for new blood units, Sophia Vance swept into the surgical lounge. She carried a lavish basket from The Gilded Spoon. Gourmet coffee, pastries. “For the hardworking team,” she announced, her smile radiant. She went straight to Ethan, kissed his cheek. “And especially for my brilliant fiancé.” Fiancé. The word echoed. Ethan smiled at her. A small, almost imperceptible softening of his features, but it was there. I felt a flush creep up my neck. Humiliation. Inadequacy. I was the ghost at their feast. I turned away, pretending to study the patient’s chart.

Later, in the cafeteria, a group of nurses were gossiping. Liv, my friend, was with them. “Dr. Cole is so handsome,” one gushed. “And his fiancée is gorgeous. Did he know Dr. Hayes before?” “I heard they were at Harvard Med together,” another said. Liv caught my eye, a worried look. Then, Ethan walked past their table. One of the bolder nurses called out, “Dr. Cole, is it true you and Dr. Hayes were… an item back in med school?” He paused. His gaze flicked to me, then away. “Dr. Hayes was a classmate,” he said, his voice cool, dismissive. “Nothing more.” My heart felt like it was smashed. Nothing more. The full-sugar milk tea Liv had bought me suddenly tasted bitter.

I had to talk to him. I found him in his office, late that night. “Ethan.” He looked up from his computer, his expression unreadable. “We need to talk about the fellowship. About Dr. Ramsey.” “There’s nothing to talk about, Evelyn.” His voice was flat. “But he told you, didn’t he? After I… after I withdrew it. Ramsey confessed to you that he pressured me.” Ethan stood up, walked to the window. “It’s ancient history.” “It’s not ancient history to me! You’ve hated me for six years for something I did because your mentor manipulated me!” My voice cracked. He didn’t turn. “My feelings, or lack thereof, are irrelevant to our professional association.” “Irrelevant?” I choked out a laugh. “You return my things, you block me, you deny we ever meant anything to each other, and it’s irrelevant?” He finally faced me. His eyes were like chips of ice. “Yes, Evelyn. It is.” He walked out, leaving me standing there, shattered.