DASHIELL
I felt something pointy poking my side.
I blinked my eyes open, vision blurry and thick with sleep. I squeezed them shut again, then forced them wider this time. The room came into focus, unfamiliar ceiling, wrong light, wrong everything.
And then I saw him.
Alexander Astor stood right in front of my bed, impeccably dressed in a crisp white shirt and pants, the shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled to the elbows. He looked like he'd been awake for hours. Maybe he had.
Alexander Astor.
The name hit like cold water. Yesterday crashed back in full color, the courthouse, the ring, the rules, and everything else.
I was married.
I was in his house.
I was no longer in my bedroom.
He was poking me with my own pen—the one I'd left on the nightstand last night—jabbing my side like touching me directly would give him a disease.
"Would a bucket of water over your head suffice?" he asked, voice deep, bored, completely emotionless.
I scrambled upright, sheets tangling around my waist. "I…I'm awake!"
He stopped poking. Dropped the pen back onto the nightstand with a soft clatter.
"You should be dressed," he said. "We leave for the hospital in fifteen minutes."
I blinked. "What time is it?"
He didn't answer. Just looked at me with a blank stare like I was dumb.
I fumbled for the bedside clock. 7:47 a.m.
My stomach dropped.
"I—I'm sorry," I stammered, already swinging my legs over the side of the bed. "I promise I'm an early riser. It's just… new place. New bed. Everything felt… off. I didn't mean to oversleep."
He tilted his head slightly. "Sure you are."
The words dripped with disbelief. No heat. No sarcasm. Just cold, factual dismissal.
I felt my face heat again. "I am. Normally I'm up at 5:00. I set alarms. Multiple. I just… didn't hear them…."
He cut me off with a single raised brow.
"Excuses waste time. Get dressed."
He turned and walked out without another word, leaving the door wide open behind him.
I sat there for half a second, heart thudding, cheeks burning, before reality kicked in.
I had to be at Astor Health medical early, new department, new schedule, new colleagues who didn't know me, didn't know how I worked.
I couldn't afford to look like the oversleeping charity case on day one.
I scrambled.
I dressed faster than I ever had, fingers fumbling with buttons, hair still damp and sticking up in every direction. No time for product. No time for breakfast. No time for anything.
I grabbed my backpack, the notebook still inside (rules and all), and hurried down the stairs.
Alex was waiting in the foyer, keys in hand, coat already on, expression exactly the same as it had been upstairs: blank.
He didn't comment on my disheveled state. Didn't ask if I was ready.
He just opened the front door.
"Let's go."
I followed him to the SUV in silence, pulse still racing from the rude awakening.
As I slid into the passenger seat, I stole a glance at him.
Handsome and impeccable.
And I wondered, not for the first time—what it would take to make that blank mask crack.
Even a little.
He started the engine.
We drove toward the hospital in near-total darkness, the silence between us heavier than ever.
It stayed like that for five minutes. Five long, suffocating minutes.
My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. I had so many questions about the hospital, what to expect, where I'd be placed, who I'd report to, what my schedule would look like. I hated walking into new environments blind. The uncertainty felt like static crawling under my skin.
I couldn't take it anymore.
I cleared my throat.
"Um… about the hospital," I started. "Where will I be working? I mean, which department? Do I report to someone specific? Is there an orientation or…?"
Alex didn't look at me. His eyes stayed fixed on the road, hands steady at ten and two on the wheel.
"Your father already told mine," he said, voice flat. "You're going into Pediatric Neurology. Same specialty. Same level. They're putting you under Dr. Elena Ruiz—she runs the division. She'll handle your orientation and schedule. You'll get your badge, locker assignment, and OR/consult access today."
I blinked.
That was… it?
No warmth. No welcome. No "you'll do fine." Just facts. Delivered like he was reading from a chart.
"Oh," I said softly. "Okay. Thank you."
Silence again.
I shifted in my seat, fingers twisting in my lap.
"Is… is there anything I should know? About how things work there? The team? The routines?"
He exhaled through his nose—barely audible.
"It's a hospital," he said. "You treat patients. You document. You don't die. That's the job."
I swallowed.
"Right."
Another minute passed.
I tried one more time.
"Do you… ever work with the pediatric team? Like, joint cases or consults?"
He flicked on the turn signal, merged into the hospital exit lane.
"When necessary," he said. "Congenital heart defects with neurological complications. Seizures post-cardiopulmonary bypass. That kind of overlap."
My stomach did a weird flip.
So we would see each other.
Professionally.
In scrubs.
In the OR.
In the hallways.
I glanced at his profile—sharp jaw, unreadable expression, ring glinting under the dashboard lights.
"And… when we're at work," I asked quietly, "do we… act like we're married? Or…?"
He finally looked at me.
One second.
Then his gaze returned to the road.
"We act like professionals," he said. "No one needs to know anything unless it becomes unavoidable. You keep your head down. You do your job. You don't embarrass me."
The words weren't cruel.
They were just… empty.
I nodded slowly.
"Okay."
He pulled into the staff parking garage beneath Astor Health Medical Center.
He killed the engine.
"Out."
I unbuckled, grabbed my backpack, and followed him toward the elevators.
He didn't wait for me to catch up.
He didn't hold the door.
He just stepped inside, pressed the button for the fifth floor—Pediatric Neurology—and stared straight ahead as the doors closed.
I stood beside him, heart still racing, trying to memorize the smell of his cologne (sharp, expensive, cold) and telling myself I could do this.
One shift at a time.
One breath at a time.
But as the elevator rose, I couldn't help stealing one more glance at his profile.
He was really, really handsome, I'll give him that.
The doors opened with a soft ding.
Alex stepped out first.
I followed.
Into the unknown.