Page 43 of Bleed with Me

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Dorian

The next morning, Eleanor finally signed my discharge but acted as if she were authorizing a crime.

“You are cleared,” she grumbled, shoving the paper at me. “Medically. Mentally is still up for debate.”

“I’ll book a group therapy session for the entire family,” I promised, a wide grin splitting my face. I couldn’t wait to leave this depressing room.

“I’m serious, Dorian.” She folded her arms, tablet pressed to her chest like a shield. “Go home, sleep, hydrate. Do not touch a scalpel for at least forty-eight hours.”

“Oh, c’mon,” I whined, my lips pursing into a pout. “That sounds worse than another dose of an unknown poison.”

Her eyes narrowed in that very specific way that meant she started counting all the times I ignored her recommendation. The list was most likely longer than our patient registry.

“Dorian,” she sighed, with a warning underlining my name.

“I will be careful,” I promised, leaning closer and lowering my voice. “If I stay at home, Mom won’t let me out of her sight. Zyon will deploy an entire army to count my breaths, and Malin will haunt the shadows, the ones even darkness is scared of, pretending he’s calm while quietly planning genocide. I need a break.”

She exhaled through her nose, probably debating with herself whether she should sedate me on the spot.

“Work if you have to,” she finally agreed, but her face was telling a different story. “Light cases only.” She raised her index finger at me. “No ten-hour marathon surgeries, and if you feel even a little off, you tell me.”

“I always feel a little off,” I reminded her, overcoming an urge to hug her. She hated physical contact almost as much as Malin. “It’s part of my charm.”

“Don’t make me regret letting you walk out of this room.” Her glare could’ve started a thunderstorm. “We almost lost you this week.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I saluted just to annoy her. She muttered something very unflattering and walked away.

Mentally celebrating my success, I took my phone, checked that I hadn’t left anything behind, and exited the room.

Sasha waited in the corridor like a silent wall in a black suit, nodding once when our eyes met. There was no Malin in sight, which meant my older triplet was either already murdering someone or preparing for something vile.

“Home?” Sasha asked quietly, taking my duffel bag.

“Work,” I corrected, walking toward the elevators. “If I sit in a bedroom alone with my thoughts, I’ll amputate my own brain.”

The surgical floor greeted me with the familiar controlled chaos I loved. Nurses hurried with charts, monitors beeped, and residents murmured, trying to sound confident and failing spectacularly. It smelled like antiseptic, coffee, and sleep deprivation. It smelled like home.

The moment I stepped into the staff area, four heads snapped in my direction, followed by a chorus of “Dorian!” and “Dr. Zhumagulov!” and “Holy shit, he’s alive.”

“Surprise,” I drawled, spreading my arms. “The rumors of my fiery death have been slightly exaggerated.”

Melody Wright, my right hand in the OR and overall pain in my ass, marched straight toward me, her stormy blue eyes blazing and platinum blonde hair in a messy bun screaming “I’ve been on call too long.”

“You asshole,” she hissed, jabbing a finger into my chest hard enough to bruise. “You vanish from the gala, your family’s army locks the city down, and when you show up after being thrown off the cliff, your charming brother turns the hospital into a fortress.” She let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to come to work and realize the entire building answers to Malin Zhumagulov?”

“Character-building?” I offered, trying to enlighten the conversation. “Educational? A wonderful bonding experience?”

She glared at me like she seriously considered throwing a scalpel at me.

“He almost closed the hospital,” she rumbled. “Not even two days after the grand opening, your brother was one call away from destroying all our work.”

“He’s just overprotective.” I smiled at her, but my charm didn’t do the trick this time. She took Malin’s safety measures as an attack.

“If it weren’t for your mother, we would’ve been jobless and left in the dark.” She placed her hands on her hips, her expression softening a little. “I’ve known your family for years. And I know they’re crazy, but Malin barred every visitor and made it very clear that no one was getting anywhere near you without his approval. No explanations. No updates. Nothing. That’s not how you treat people who care. I consider myself your family, too, so next time you decide to play with fire and cliffs, at least send a text.”

Guilt pinched my chest, fast and sharp.