3. Lillian #2
The room for the class was small but bright, with rows of chairs lined up in front of a whiteboard, some already filled by her fellow interns.
Lillian scanned the room, looking for a seat, when she caught sight of a man about her age lounging in the back row, his hair a bit tousled, wearing a mischievous grin.
He waved at her, motioning for her to join him.
“Hey, Harrington, right? The one with all the family connections?” the man said as she took the seat next to him.
Lillian hesitated, unsure how to respond to the obvious mention of her last name.
Before she could say anything, he laughed. “Relax. I’m kidding. I’m Benji.” He extended his hand, his grin softening into something more genuine. “Nice to meet you. I hear you’re the queen of this place, at least by birthright.”
Lillian couldn’t help but smile at his easy humor. She shook his hand, feeling some of the tension slip away. “I don’t know about queen. But yeah, that’s me.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not one of those people who’s going to suck up to you because of your name.” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I only suck up to people who bring me coffee.”
Lillian laughed, feeling a genuine warmth toward him. Benji’s laid-back approach and humor were exactly what she needed this morning. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Benji leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “So, how’s the first week been? I heard it’s brutal. Everyone here is sizing you up, yeah?”
“It’s...been a lot,” Lillian admitted, glancing around the room as more interns filtered in. “I’ve been trying to just keep my head down and work.”
Benji nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, I get it. The pressure here is no joke. But hey, you’ve got me now. I’m your unofficial tour guide and moral support. No need to suffer alone.”
Lillian found herself liking Benji instantly.
There was something easy and comforting about his presence, the kind of person who could take the edge off an otherwise intense environment.
They chatted quietly as the room filled up, Benji cracking jokes about the hospital hierarchy, the absurdities of being an intern, and even their upcoming class, which he described as “a crash course in surviving the madness.”
The class went well enough—basic orientation about procedures, rotations, and expectations.
The instructor droned on, and Lillian found herself occasionally glancing over at Benji, who made exaggerated faces at some of the instructor’s comments, clearly not taking it all too seriously.
His jokes and quiet comments kept Lillian from getting too lost in her own nerves.
After class, as they packed up to leave, Benji bumped her lightly with his shoulder. “Good luck with your mentor meeting today. Don’t worry about it too much, though. I’m sure they’ll be great.”
Lillian forced a smile, though her stomach had already started twisting itself into knots. “Thanks. I’m meeting Dr. Lang.”
Benji whistled softly. “Dr. Lang, huh? Yeah, she’s legendary, but she’s kind of got that whole Ice Queen vibe, doesn’t she? Heard she doesn’t give much away, but hey, that could be a good thing. No small talk, just straight to business.”
Lillian nodded, trying to suppress the rising anxiety in her chest. “Yeah…should be interesting.”
“Interesting is one way to put it,” Benji said with a wink before heading off toward his next task. “Catch you later, Harrington. And remember, I take my coffee black.”
Lillian’s heart raced as she walked down the polished halls of Harrington Memorial, trying to focus on the task at hand.
She had gotten through her first class with a few nerves, but it had gone well enough, and meeting Benji had been a welcome distraction.
The jokes about her status as a Harrington had been surprisingly refreshing, and his laid-back attitude had put her at ease.
She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of his last words.
The calm he had provided began to slip away as she neared the cardiothoracic wing, where her mentor, Dr. Rebecca Lang, awaited.
The name had hung over her since she was assigned to her rotation, a name synonymous with brilliance, exacting standards, and, from what she had heard, a rather cold demeanor.
Lillian had spent the weekend trying to prepare herself mentally for the intensity of working under Dr. Lang.
But as she reached the door, her nerves surged, and she wondered if anything could truly prepare her.
She reached up, knocking softly on the office door, her hand slightly shaking. Her mind was full of expectations: Dr. Lang, the Ice Queen, her mother’s colleague and close professional friend, renowned for her surgical skill and her emotional distance.
“Come in,” came a sharp but calm voice from the other side.
Lillian swallowed hard and turned the knob, stepping into the office.
And there she was.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Standing by the window, backlit by the morning sun, was her —R, the woman from the hotel bar.
Rebecca Lang.
Lillian froze, the world seeming to narrow down to that one impossible moment.
For a heartbeat, she didn’t move, didn’t even breathe.
Her mind spun, trying to reconcile the two images: Dr. Lang, the legendary cardiothoracic surgeon, and R, the confident, seductive woman she had spent the night with in a hotel room just days before.
Rebecca turned slowly, her face unreadable, though there was a brief flicker of recognition in those beautiful dark brown eyes.
The same eyes Lillian had stared into all night.
Her expression remained neutral, professional—impossibly composed, as if the weight of what had happened between them had evaporated.
“Miss Harrington,” Rebecca said, her voice steady, giving no indication of their previous encounter. “Take a seat.”
Lillian blinked, her pulse hammering in her ears. She hesitated for a moment, her brain trying to catch up with the reality of what was happening. She had prepared for this meeting for days, but she hadn’t prepared for this. How could she have?
Silently, she walked forward, her legs feeling shaky beneath her, and took the seat across from Rebecca’s desk. Her throat was dry, her palms slick with sweat. The tension between them was thick, but Rebecca—R—was acting as if nothing had happened. It was surreal.
“I’ll be overseeing your cardiothoracic rotation this year,” Rebecca continued, her voice as cold and authoritative as her reputation suggested. “You’ll be expected to meet high standards—mine—and I won’t tolerate anything less than excellence.”
Lillian could barely register the words.
She nodded mechanically, her heart still pounding, her mind swirling with the memory of Rebecca’s lips on hers, the heat of their bodies pressed together, Rebecca’s elegant fingers deep inside of her.
And now, here they were, mentor and mentee, facing each other as if that night had never existed.
Rebecca’s eyes flicked briefly over Lillian, but her expression remained controlled, professional. “I don’t give special treatment,” she said coolly, her gaze sharp. “Not even to a Harrington. You’ll have to prove yourself here.”
Lillian swallowed, finding her voice at last. “Understood,” she managed, though her voice felt distant, disconnected from the chaos inside her head.
There was a beat of silence, the air between them heavy with the unsaid. Lillian wondered if Rebecca would acknowledge it, if she would say something—anything—that hinted at the truth beneath the surface. But Rebecca remained impassive, her demeanor as icy as ever.
“You’ll receive the schedule for your rotation this afternoon,” Rebecca continued, leaning back slightly in her chair. “Be punctual. Be prepared. And don’t expect leniency.”
Lillian nodded again, her heart still thudding painfully in her chest. It was clear that Rebecca intended to keep things strictly professional, as if their encounter was buried deep, never to be mentioned again.
And maybe that was for the best. After all, what choice did Lillian have?
This was her career, her future. There was no room for mistakes, no room for personal entanglements.
But as Rebecca stood, signaling the end of their meeting, Lillian couldn’t help but feel the weight of the secret between them. It was as if something fragile had cracked open, and despite Rebecca’s cold front, Lillian knew there was more beneath the surface—more that couldn’t simply be ignored.
“Good luck, Miss Harrington,” Rebecca said, her voice smooth and measured. “I expect you to live up to your name.”
Lillian stood, her legs still shaky, and gave a curt nod. “Thank you, Dr. Lang.”
She turned to leave, her heart still pounding in her ears, but as she reached the door, she couldn’t resist one last glance over her shoulder.
Rebecca was already back at her desk, her eyes on her computer, her expression as unreadable as ever.
Lillian stepped out of the office, the door closing softly behind her, and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.