Chapter 2

Camron looked stunned, like he hadn't expected me to stay so calm.

"That's it? Nothing else you want to say?" he asked.

I almost laughed as I glanced at him.

"What exactly do you want me to say?" I shot back.

So, did he want me to go back to how I used to be—making a fuss about everything, throwing tantrums, and not letting anyone else get close to him?

Or maybe he wanted me to grovel at his feet like a dog, begging him to marry me again?

Camron frowned, his expression turning sour.

"You'd better not be planning anything else," he warned.

I nodded, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

"Relax, I'm not here to stir up trouble," I said. "Hope you two have a great time. I'm leaving now."

With that, I walked away without looking back.

Behind me, I could still hear their voices, full of disbelief and gossip.

"Mallory didn't even throw a fit?" someone blurted out.

"Wait, isn't she supposed to have been obsessed with Camron for years? Didn't she finally get her shot at marrying him?" another whispered.

"Enough, stop talking. Can't you see Camron looks seriously pissed off?" someone else interrupted.

I should've realized that some crushes were only meant to stay as beautiful memories from the past.

Once I tried to bring them into reality, they were nothing but a worthless stone.

Back at my apartment in Havenville, the city lights outside were as familiar as ever, but the place felt lonelier than ever.

I didn't bother turning on the lights. Instead, I pulled out the dusty wedding dress from the back of my closet.

It was a dress I had designed myself, but Camron never cared enough to ask about it.

As I unfolded the dress, memories came flooding back.

Three years ago, at that party, I stepped in to bail him out.

It was just because the way he furrowed his brows looked so much like a blurry shadow from my memories—that frail neighbor boy who used to share candy with me when we were kids.

Out on the terrace, he asked me why I helped him.

"It's no big deal," I said.

He smiled at me, gentle and polite.

"Thanks," he said.

Later, when my family needed an arranged marriage, my parents decided I was the one to make it happen.

I went along with it, telling myself that those vague feelings deep down were reason enough.

I quit my job at the hospital and started finding ways to run into him. He started off distant, then sometimes he'd toss out a snide comment.

I learned to read financial reports, got familiar with his investment interests, and I'd bring him oatmeal to his office when he was working overtime.

One time, he was burning up with a fever and yelled at me, "Who told you to come here?"

But I stayed put.

In that moment, I felt like I was just a kid again, worrying about the frail boy next door.

Camron drank the oatmeal I brought him in silence.

I was the one who asked him to marry me.

After I asked, he simply nodded and agreed.

After everything I did for him, I thought he might finally care about me, even just a little.

The memories snapped back to reality. I picked up a pair of scissors and cut the wedding dress I had painstakingly crafted into shreds. Then I set it on fire, watching as it burned away completely.

Once everything was taken care of, I slept soundly for the first time in ages.

When I woke up, I called the chief neurosurgeon who had treated me before.

"Doctor, it's me, Mallory," I said.

The chief sounded genuinely surprised on the other end.

"Wow, you actually remembered me. So, are you coming back to perform surgery, or do you need something else? Just so you know, if it's not the first one, I might just hang up on you," he joked.

I laughed, feeling lighter.

"Yep, I'm coming back to do surgery," I said. "But I haven't touched a scalpel in three years, so I hope you'll help me get back up to speed."

I could practically hear the chief sit up straight in surprise.

"No way! Seriously?" he blurted out. "Great, I'm just glad you're coming back. I'll get everything set up for you right away."

I let out a sigh of relief.

Just then, I heard the chief continue, "Actually, we've got someone pretty impressive who just joined the hospital—Maverick Barnett. He specializes in neurosurgery too, so I'll have him help you get back in the game."

My heart skipped a beat.

I'd heard that name before.

When I saw his photo, I knew it wasn't just someone with the same name.

He was the guy whose pants I accidentally yanked down back in middle school.

I was the one who fell, but he was the one who ended up humiliated.

Back then, he was this scrawny, timid kid. After I yanked his pants down, he was so determined to rat me out to the teacher, nothing could stop him.

My parents were crazy strict, so to save my own skin, I ended up locking him in the bathroom.

After that, I completely stopped paying attention to him.

And then, not long after, word got out that he'd transferred to another school.

Early the next morning, I showed up at the hospital right on time.

Kyson Padilla, the chief neurosurgeon, greeted me with a smile and addressed another person in the office.

"Maverick, this is Mallory Randolph. She's your responsibility now," he said.

The man on the couch looked up.

He was dressed in a light gray shirt, wore thin-rimmed glasses, and gave off a quiet, steady presence.

The moment our eyes met, I recognized him.

It was the scrawny kid from middle school whose pants I'd accidentally yanked down.

"Good to see you, Dr. Barnett," I said.

He stood up, reached out his hand, his voice calm and even. "Welcome back, Dr. Randolph."

"I appreciate your help going forward, Dr. Barnett," I replied.

I took a deep breath as I responded, pretending to stay calm.

"There's a surgery this morning at ten. Meet me in the prep area outside Operating Room 7 at 9:40," Maverick said.

After finishing his instructions, he headed out first.