Chapter 36
CHAPTER 36
AZARA
I woke up the next day to an empty bed.
The faint scent of his cologne still lingered on the rumpled sheets but Michael’s side of the bed was cold, almost like last night hadn’t happened. We’d slept together for the first time only for him to leave without saying goodbye.
A pang of disappointment settled in my chest. I shouldn't have expected him to stay, but after last night, after everything he’d said, I thought things were different now.
I want you, Azara.
Being there for you is never something you have to thank me for.
His words acted like a balm to wounds I didn’t even know I had. I had great friends, a family that loved me, but I never realized how much I held back on how I felt for fear of either disappointing anyone or feeling like a burden because my emotions weren’t their responsibilities to deal with.
Asking someone to hold me, to be there for me when I was at my lowest had always been something I never dared to do. I always felt like I’d be leeching onto their energy by unloading on them my deepest and darkest thoughts.
It had always just been easier to be that person for everyone else.
But Michael had shown up when I’d needed it the most and never wavered in wanting to be there.
For the first time since my mother’s passing, I’d had someone I could hold on to. Someone who took such gentle care of my vulnerability that it didn’t feel like a weakness to open up.
Tell me about her.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been able to talk about my mother so freely without restraints or fear of sharing too much. With my father, there was never room to discuss her because he’d always shut it down. I’d tried for years and was always met with the same result. With Zayd, I only shared the positive memories so he’d have even a fraction of the experience I’d gotten with her, without weighing him down with how hard it had been for me to lose her.
But with Michael, I’d been able to share the good and the bad. From how much of a vibrant force she had been to how devastating her loss was.
Being able to talk about her had proved to be more therapeutic than I could even fully grasp yet. For so long, I’d clung to the negative aspects of her passing so much that I’d denied myself the space to truly grieve for her.
I’d never had enough time with her, and the longing for more had inhibited me for so long, the weight of it hadn’t allowed me to realize that grieving her didn’t have to be a bad thing.
Grieving wasn’t linear or one-dimensional. It could be both happy and sad, hurtful and beautiful. My mum had been one of the best parts of my life and not letting myself feel her loss only held back all the unexpressed love that I still had for her and that I could hold onto instead.
My fingers grazed the cold sheets where he’d been, the reality of him walking out bringing insecurity rearing its head, only for them to close on a small torn piece of white paper. I sat up in bed and picked it up to open it.
Went to grab breakfast. Don’t miss me too much ;)
What people said about a doctor's handwriting was unmistakingly true; because I stared at the scribbled cursive, and it took me a few seconds to decipher everything he’d written.
But his note had its intended effect and sent a wave of warmth and relief to wash away the previous insecurity and disappointment that had crept in at finding Michael gone.
I swung my legs over the side of my bed and stretched, basking in the delicious soreness in my muscles and between my legs.
Last night had been more than I could have imagined it to be. Nothing about what we’d done had been sweet or gentle, and to be honest, I’d completely forgotten that I was taking his virginity.
Sex had never felt like this before.
I’d been so consumed by him, by my hunger for him and my need to have him closer that all my mind could think about was how to get closer to the precipice before diving head first into the pleasure.
Neither of us held back and it was the best I’d ever had.
But it hadn’t been just sex.
Last night I’d felt cherished.
Wanted.
Free.
And I wanted more of it. More of him.
Of us .
I never thought I’d let myself fall in love with anyone, given the fatal weight I’d attached to it, but with Michael?
It was the easiest thing I’d ever done.
There had been no room for overthinking or weighing up the consequences. Falling in love with him had been as effortless as performing surgery and nothing had ever felt like that.
It came as naturally as breathing.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t afraid to tell him because what if he didn’t feel the same? What if these last few months, and last night, meant more to me than they did to him?
But despite my usual tendencies to distance myself from the concept of love, I trusted Michael. I trusted myself with Michael.
He’d shown me what it was like to be loved. Sure, he’d sent me over the edge more times than I could count, but I’d never once had to question his intentions or motives toward me because of how transparent he’d been about them.
Foregoing making my bed, I washed up and changed into warmer loungewear. I’d had Michael’s warmth last night, but my flat was currently freezing. I really had to fix the heaters before the coldest temperatures hit us.
I turned up the thermostat and headed upstairs. Finding the living room a complete mess from what had transpired last night, I moved to tidy it up when there was a sharp knock at the door.
A newborn anticipation shot through me as I swung the door open, but where I was expecting to find him, there was no one there.
My brows furrowed as I looked out into the hallway, only to find it eerily empty.
Strange.
I briefly wondered if I’d imagined the knocking, but just as I was about to shut the door, something caught my eye on my doorstep.
A large manila envelope sat on the welcome mat but what drew my attention immediately was my name, stamped in bold black letters across the front.
A chill ran down my spine, and the hairs on my nape prickled as I bent down to pick it up. The package appeared innocuous—apart from the fact that it had my name on it. I turned it over, checking for a return address, only to find none.
My instincts were warning me to get rid of it, but the strange pull of curiosity about it being addressed to me overthrew caution. So against better judgment, I closed the door softly behind me, leaving it unlocked for Michael to walk in, and padded into the living room, sinking onto the sofa.
I tore at the seam and retrieved the stack of papers.
My stomach plummeted when I flipped through the photographs. The images were disjointed snapshots of Michael in various parts of the city, outside the hospital.
And… here?
My confusion deepened as I tried to understand what it all meant, but the empty contents of my stomach threatened to surge up when I landed on the last one.
A picture of me, naked, on top of Michael, both lost in our own world and oblivious to who might be watching. The profound intimacy I’d experienced last night had now been tainted, reduced into a perverse mockery.
My throat grew tight as the air in my lungs suddenly thinned, and I couldn’t breathe.
Who had sent these?
Who had seen them?
If these were to fall into the wrong hands…
My heart hammered in my chest, and another wave of nausea swirled in my gut.
Trying to focus on being pragmatic, I examined every photo again, my mind struggling to grasp what I was looking at, and why I was sent this.
Why was someone following him? Why were they following me ?
I was an ordinary, overworked surgeon.
This had to be a sick joke.
I grabbed the envelope again, finding it still heavy. I shook the content out and a small, black recorder tumbled on my lap. Grabbing it, I found a note taped on it and unfolded it. It contained a small paragraph typed out in a neat black font, but the signature at the end made my blood run cold.
Dearest Ms. Ziani,
It has come to this author’s attention that secrets have been kept from you, and as one who deals solely in truth, I find it in my very duty to set the record straight.
In the following recording, you will find all of the answers you’ve been seeking.
With utmost sincerity,
The Gilded Truth
The notorious gossip columnist never addressed their issues to anyone directly, but I couldn’t afford to dwell on that, nor the unease swelling in my chest.
My fingers trembled as I reached for the recorder. The device felt frigid in my palm, the weight of it pressing down on me as I pressed the play button.
The room was quiet for a moment, before it filled with the sound of a voice I recognized instantly.
Michael’s.
But the warm voice I’d grown accustomed to had been replaced by one of a stranger’s.
“I think we can both do each other a favor and stop pretending by dragging this charade of yours out.”
A brief silence followed, punctuated with the rapid thuds of my heart. Almost as if Michael was baiting me and whoever he was addressing. I wondered who it was, but the rest of his words not only answered my question, it sent horror consuming every fiber of my being.
“I know you’ve been falsifying reports for NyxMedica so they wouldn’t lose their UKCA mark. They’ve been paying you handsomely in exchange for this hospital to push and endorse their devices.”
“You’ve been altering patients' records by adding the use of NyxMedica’s devices into procedures when it wasn’t the case to improve their success rate, overriding access logs and making sure your name never appeared in any of the notes once you’d made your ‘adjustments.’”
“This contains every altered patient file you’ve meddled with. While this, has all of the statements for the bank account you opened in your son’s name.”
“Since there’s no point in you denying any of this, here are your options. You’ll either resign as medical director and from your position on AGH’s board, or this all becomes public.”
“The choice is yours.”
I didn’t know how long I stood there, rewinding the recording, over and over, each time desperately hoping for a different outcome.
But it always ended the same.
The man I’d fallen in love with, threatening my father.
A storm of emotions spiraled inside me from the sudden turn of events until one emotion rooted itself in my chest.
Betrayal.
My phone pinged from somewhere but my heart was hammering so violently against my ribcage, I couldn’t hear anything but the sound of my battering pulse deafening in my ears.
You’ll either resign as medical director and from your position on AGH’s board, or this all becomes public.
His words were stuck in my head like a broken loop, each one drilling deeper. A burning sensation spread behind my eyes while I replayed the last year, each memory twisting into a nightmare.
The dinner date, the soft words whispered during late nights in the closet and all the moments in between.
Last night.
Had he… had he been pretending this whole time? Was his goal to lower my defenses so I’d be an easier opponent and he’d get to my father more easily?
I’d never needed anyone. I had myself to rely on and it had always been enough.
Or at least, that was what I’d been telling myself for years until I’d met Michael and I’d discovered how liberating it was to have someone by your side.
But I should have known better.
I did know better.
I’d buried my heart for the longest time, sheltering it from the pain that inevitably came from heartbreak and this was exactly why.
Because the moment I’d allowed myself to believe that love wasn’t a painful feeling, that it could be carefree and exhilarating, it was shattered into oblivion.
Because the moment I put my trust in something as fickle as love, reality stomped on it and showed me its true colors.
The door to my flat creaked open, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
“Azara, I’m back,” Michael’s voice called out as he clicked the door shut behind him. “The line at the shop down the street lasted forever, but I got us—” His voice faltered and I felt the suffocating weight of his presence standing a few feet from me.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” he said, his voice full of concern. The term of endearment that normally would have sent a flurry of warmth rushing through my body, now created a painful crack to rip through my chest.
He placed the paper bag with what I assumed had our breakfast inside on the table next to the evidence of his deceit and my grip on the recorder tightened as though it might somehow offer me protection from what I already knew deep down.
Yet despite that, a part of me was still holding onto a small, desperate sliver of hope that this was all some mistake, and Michael would offer a perfectly reasonable excuse.
But when I finally lifted my gaze to meet his, and watched his smile dim, only to be replaced with a flicker of guilt, I knew.
I knew it hadn’t been a mistake.
And the love I’d felt for this man had been all but a fabricated lie.