Chapter 3

Kellie pushed open the door to her office and stepped inside. She shut the door firmly, cutting off the chaotic noise of the ER.

She leaned her back against the wood and exhaled a long, shaky breath. The cold, untouchable persona she had worn out in the hallway slipped off her shoulders like a heavy coat. Her heart was still racing, pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird.

She pushed off the door and walked to her desk. Her eyes landed on the glossy cover of a business magazine sitting in her inbox. Deron Blanchard's face smiled up at her, the headline boasting about his company's latest acquisition.

A spike of pure, bitter acid shot up her throat. This was the reason. The catalyst for the worst decision of her life.

She snatched up the magazine and shoved it into the trash can under her desk, burying it under a crumpled coffee cup.

Her phone buzzed. She pulled it from her pocket.

Caleb: "Dr. Walter, patient is out of endoscopy. Mild GI bleeding, controlled with meds. Moved to Room 4B."

She typed back a quick "Received" and dropped into her chair, closing her eyes.

The silence of the office was deafening. And in that silence, Jeffry Alston's face floated behind her eyelids. Pale, sweating, and now, a massive, unforeseen complication. Her life's guiding principle was control, and this man-legally and now physically-had just become the ultimate uncontrolled variable.

She squeezed her eyes tighter, trying to block it out, but the image persisted. The absurdity of it all crashed over her. She was married. To a stranger. A stranger who was currently lying in a hospital bed because he drank himself sick.

Meanwhile, out in the hospital, the digital world was on fire.

Caleb's text had ignited a powder keg. The intern group chat was exploding.

"Married?! To who?"

"The guy who came in drunk?"

"No way! Dr. Walter doesn't even date!"

"She signed the consent form as his WIFE. I saw it!"

Caleb was basking in the attention, typing furiously, adding dramatic flourishes to the story of the confrontation in the hallway.

A few hours later, in Room 4B, Jeffry Alston stirred. The fog of sedation was lifting, leaving behind a dull, burning ache in his stomach. He blinked against the dim light of the room, his throat dry and scratchy.

The door opened, and Caleb walked in, clipboard in hand. He tried to look professional, but his eyes were shining with barely contained curiosity.

"Mr. Alston," Caleb said, his voice pitched a little too high. "Welcome back. You're at Columbia University Medical Center. You were admitted for acute gastritis. How are you feeling?"

Jeffry frowned, trying to piece together the fragmented memories of the night. "How... how did I get here?"

"An ambulance," Caleb said, checking the IV drip. "Did your friend Zara bring you in?"

Jeffry's brow furrowed. "Zara... is she here?"

Caleb leaned in slightly, unable to resist. "She was. But the person who signed your consent forms... that wasn't Zara."

Jeffry's gaze sharpened. "Who was it?"

Caleb dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "It was your attending physician. Dr. Walter. She said... she said she's your wife."

Jeffry stared at Caleb for a long moment. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Then, a slow, faint smile touched Jeffry's pale lips. It wasn't a look of shock or panic. It was a look of quiet amusement.

"Kellie Walter," he murmured, the name rolling off his tongue like he was tasting it.

Caleb blinked, completely thrown off. This was not the reaction he had expected. Where was the surprise? The denial?

Before Caleb could probe further, the door swung open.

Kellie walked in. She had traded her blood-stained scrubs for a clean set, but the exhaustion was evident in the slight shadows under her eyes.

She stopped at the foot of the bed. Her gaze locked with Jeffry's.

It was the first time they had looked at each other clearly since the day they got married. The air in the room seemed to thicken, charged with an unspoken tension.

Kellie broke the silence first. She fell back on her professional armor, her voice crisp and detached. "How are you feeling?"

Jeffry looked at her, his gaze traveling from her face down to the nametag on her scrubs. The smile lingered on his lips. "Much better, thank you. Dr. Walter." He paused, his eyes glinting. "Or should I call you... Kellie?"

The sound of her name on his lips sent a jolt through her system, a tiny spark that made her fingers twitch. She immediately looked away, focusing on the IV bag behind him.

"In a professional setting, it's best to stick to titles, Mr. Alston," she said, her voice cool.

Jeffry let out a low chuckle. It was rough from the breathing tube, but it held a warm, velvety quality that felt entirely out of place in a sterile hospital room. "That's funny. Dr. Fletcher here seems to think our relationship is a bit more than professional."

Kellie stiffened. She shot a warning glance at Caleb, who suddenly found the floor very interesting. She looked back at Jeffry, saying nothing. Her silence was an admission.

Jeffry watched her, his playful demeanor shifting into something softer, more vulnerable. He leaned his head back against the pillow, looking up at her with a pleading expression.

"I feel terrible," he said, his voice dropping. "The hospital food is going to kill me faster than this ulcer. I really want... I want some of your homemade chicken soup."