ATHENA

"What?" I gasp.

I look from left to right and left again.

"Surely there must be a mistake."

"Nope. It''s you, Dr. Dawson. We have that tradition. The one with the most votes represents the hospital at the g. It''s important because we get donations from the Kings foundation." Ian exins, and I watch him with a suspicious eye.

"Votes by whom?" Isabelle asks, and we all turn to look atn.

"The board. They vote anonymously, and it''s tradition, so changes can''t be changed."

"Tradition huh?"

"Yes!"n ps his hands together, standing like he didn''t just ruin my weekend ns.

"Then I''ll apany her." Zayan says, makingn turn to face him.

"As what?"

"There has to be something you can give him. Don''t they give two invites each year?" Isabelle backs him up.

"They do, so if you can tell me what, Dr. Sinir will apany Dr. Dawson, as to this very professional and important g, please don''t let me stop you."

It''s a trap.

Which has to be Alex''s doing.

I''m sure of it.

I was nning on going on a weekend away with Zayan. I don''t want to introduce

him to Rayen just yet, so I asked Alex to swap dates, and he said,

"Sure. No problem."

Just like that. No questions asked.

I should have known it was too good to be true.

Zayan straightens, thoughtful for a moment before he finally says,

"As a doctor at this hospital."

He uncrosses his arms and shakes his head slowly. "I wouldn''t want any rumors spreading about me having favorites, Dr. Sinir."

His gaze flicks to me.

"I''ll be apanying Dr. Dawson myself."

My jaw nearly drops.

What?

"If anyone else wants to attend," he continues casually, "feel free to secure your own ticket."

Zayan stiffens beside me.

I blink atn, utterly baffled.

"You''re going with me?"

"Yes, I am. You represent the hospital, and I represent the administration. It only makes sense."fn3aaf This text is hosted at ?ovelFind/fn3aaf

It doesn''t.

At all.

But I know this isn''t about logic. It''s about Alex. And whatever invisible strings he''s yanking from behind the scenes.

Zayanughs under his breath, low and humorless.

"I guess it can''t be helped then."

"I''m so sorry. We can go next weekend." I whisper as I squeeze Zayan''s hand.

"Okay! So, if we have that out of the picture, we are dismissed." Ian ps his hands together, then he walks out.

The room empties slowly, Isabelle mouthing a dramatic "call me" before slipping out.

Zayan lingers, brushing his thumb over my knuckles in silent reassurance.

"I''m sorry," I whisper again.

I feel so bad.

"It''s not your fault," he says, though his jaw is tight. "We''ll make the next weekend better."

I nod, but the weight in my chest doesn''t lift.

The hospital corridors are quiet by the time I make my way to the ICU floor.

I stop in front of Room 402.

Sloane''s room.

I take a deep breath before pushing the door open.

Five months have passed and she still hasn''t shown any sign of waking up. She had only woken up once, but it was so brief that we thought we imagined it. Alex has ns of taking her outside the country if she doesn''t improve. But I told him to give me some time.

It''s not ego or anything, but if I don''t help her get better and she fails to walk for the rest of her life, it will kill me.

I pull the chair closer to her bed and sit, folding my hands in myp.

"Hey, Sloane," I say softly. "I, uh... got nominated for the g."

I let out a dryugh. "Apparently it''s a hospital tradition. I didn''t even know we had

traditions. Can you believe it?"

She doesn''t move.

I watch her face, hoping for a flutter of eyelids. A twitch. A miracle.

But I get nothing. My heart shatters even though I keep believing she will wake up and be whole again.

"I was supposed to go away with Zayan," I continue. "But nown''s going with me instead, and honestly? I think it''s Alex pulling strings. Again."

I sigh and lean back in the chair.

"You''d probably tell me to ditch the g and run off anyway."

Iugh through the tears that begin to run down my cheeks.

"I miss you, Sloane. Please wake up. I beg you."

The wordse out so quietly that they almost don''t exist.

"I miss our coffee breaks. Your snark. The way you always had my back, even

when I didn''t deserve it."

I reach out, brushing her hand gently.

"Rayen asked about you yesterday. Said he misses your stories. I didn''t know what to tell him."

My throat tightens.

"You have to wake up, okay? We miss you so much."

I sit with her a while longer, the only sound in the room, the rhythmic beep of the

monitor.

Eventually, I stand and press a soft kiss to her forehead.

"I love you, Sloane."

I leave the room slowly, ncing back once before the door clicks shut behind

me.

After my shift, I step into the boutique to get myself a dress before I embarrass myself.

I received a strange email about there being a sale, and I thought it was a scam

for a sec. I ignored it, but I received an actual call an hourter telling me the

same.

I asked where they got my line because their shop was the most expensive and never in my wildest dreams would I ever buy anything from there.

"You have been our biggest client, ma''am." She said. "You may have forgotten because your assistant used to pick up the dresses for you."

Then it clicked.

They probably kept my line from the time I was married to Alex.

I could use a discount right now. So here I am, hoping the 80% off isn''t going to

leave a hole in my purse.

The boutique smells like soft jasmine and wealth.

A little too much of both.

I step inside cautiously, my shoes clicking against the polished marble floor.

Everything sparkles.

Everything screams you don''t belong here.

I nearly turn back until a tall woman in sleek ck approaches me with a weing smile and a tray.

"Wee to La Miroir, Dr. Dawson," she says warmly, offering me a wine ss. "Would you like white or red?"

"Um..." I blink at her, flustered. "Water is fine."

She gives a knowing nod and swaps the wine for a sparkling water ss instead.

"May I take your bag?"

I hesitate, but she''s already motioning to another woman nearby, who steps

forward with gentle hands.

"I''m just here for a quick look," I murmur.

"Of course," the first woman says. "Right this way. We''ve arranged a seat for you."

A seat?

Before I can protest, I''m guided

toward a plush white chair in front of

a soft runway-style mirror The lighting overhead is warm, the room; quiet except for low ssicalmusic ying in the background.  s

"Someone will model the dresses for you shortly," she says.

I blink. "Wait, what?"

She pauses, mid-step. "Yes?"

"I thought was here to browse... Is that a new service? Because, no offense, I''m just here for something simple. Can see prices first before. I waste your time? I halfugh, feeling ufortable.  s

The woman just smiles.

She pulls a sleek, ck envelope from behind her tablet and hands it to me.

"You won''t be needing prices today, Dr. Dawson."

My brows pull together. "Why not?"

She opens the envelope and removes a card. It''s matte gold, my name written

across the top in elegant cursive.

"You can pick any dress you want. It''s on the house."

I stare at her.

"I....what?"

"You''ve supported us for so long," she exins, a genuine smile softening her face. "We wanted to

appreciate our long-time clients, we organized a special gift care giveaway. You were one of the winners. Please pick anything you like."  s

I''m speechless.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes ma''am."