This was my life. Our life together, built on love and compromise and a thousand small moments that added up to something I'd thought was permanent.
And I had just agreed to leave all of this without telling my husband.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CASSIAN
PRESENT DAY
I started arrivingat protocol meetings exactly on time. Not early, the way I used to. Not with coffee in hand and small talk ready, the way I approached every other professional obligation in my life. Just exactly on time, sliding into my seat as Patel began speaking, minimizing the window for any interaction that wasn't strictly necessary.
I stopped lingering afterward too. The moment Patel dismissed us, I was already packing my notes, already standing, moving toward the door with a mumbled excuse about patients waiting or charts needing review. I made sure there was always someone else in the room. A resident asking questions. Another attending reviewing data. Anyone who could serve as a buffer between me and the woman sitting at the opposite end of the table.
It wasn't working.
Every time I saw Calla in the hallway, my composure would crack a little. I would forget what I was saying mid-sentence, words dissolving on my tongue like sugar in water. My hands fumbled with charts I'd been holding steady. Once, I walked into a door frame while trying to look casual walking past her.
A freaking door frame. Like a character in a bad romantic comedy. Like a teenager who'd never spoken to a woman before.
I was thirty-one years old. I'd performed hundreds of surgeries. I'd delivered death notifications to grieving families without my voice breaking. I'd held patients' hands while they took their last breaths and maintained perfect composure.
But Calla Karras walked into a room, and I became someone I didn't recognize.
Riven, naturally, found it hilarious.
"You look like a teenager with a crush," he said over lunch in his office. We were eating sandwiches from the cafeteria, a weekly ritual we'd maintained since he'd taken over as CEO. His desk was immaculate, every paper and pen aligned at perfect angles. His office looked exactly like him—controlled and precise. "It's painful to watch."
"I'm fine."
"You walked into a wall yesterday." He took a bite of his sandwich, chewing with infuriating calm. "Mireya saw the whole thing. She told me about it in great detail."
"It wasn't a wall. It was a door frame. There's a difference."
He raised a brow. "The difference being that a door frame is harder and more embarrassing?"
I dropped my head into my hands. The sandwich sat untouched in front of me, appetite gone. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm usually capable of basic human functioning."
"You were like this when you first started dating her too." Riven's voice carried a hint of sympathy, though with him it was always hard to tell. "You used to trip over your own feet whenever she was nearby. I remember you walked into a glass door at that coffee shop once and left a face print."
I winced. "That was different. We were residents. I was younger."
"And now you're older and somehow worse at hiding it."
I didn't have a response for that.
Riven set his sandwich down and leaned back in his chair, studying me. "Have you considered that maybe the boundaries you're trying to enforce are making things worse?"
"What do you mean?"
"You're spending so much energy avoiding her that it's become its own obsession. You're thinking about not thinking about her, which isstillthinking about her."
I heaved a long, deep breath. "That's… very philosophical."
"I read it in a book somewhere." He shrugged. "The point is, you can't outrun this. Whatever you're feeling, you're going to have to deal with it eventually."
"I'm not feeling anything. She's my ex-wife. We're colleagues. That's all."
Riven just looked at me.
