Cared for Like a Wife (Wifely Hearts #3)

Chapter 1 The Man Behind the White Coat

The Endless Shift

By the time Adrian Cole stepped out of the operating room, the digital clock above the scrub station had already passed midnight.

The hospital corridor was quieter than it had been earlier, but the silence did nothing to ease the exhaustion pressing behind his eyes.

Twenty hours had passed since he had arrived for what was supposed to be an ordinary trauma rotation, and somewhere between the first emergency surgery and the last desperate call from the emergency department, ordinary had disappeared completely.

He stood beneath the harsh fluorescent lights for a moment, still wearing his surgical cap and mask around his neck, while a nurse handed him a cup of water.

“Doctor Cole, you need to go home.”

Adrian accepted the cup but barely drank from it. “I have another case in the morning.”

“You have another case in six hours.”

“I’ll manage.”

The nurse gave him the kind of look people gave him when they had heard that answer too many times.

Adrian understood the concern. He simply didn’t share it.

People depended on him.

That had always been enough.

During the last twenty hours, he had moved from one crisis to another without giving himself time to think.

A highway collision had brought in multiple patients just after his shift began.

One needed emergency abdominal surgery. Another had internal bleeding that required immediate intervention.

Before Adrian had finished reviewing the final scans, the emergency department had called again.

A construction accident.

Then a stabbing.

Then another surgical emergency.

Each case demanded the same thing from him: concentration, certainty, and control.

There was no room for hesitation when a patient’s life was balanced between his hands.

Adrian had built his entire career around that expectation.

He was the surgeon people called when situations became complicated. He was the man junior doctors watched during difficult procedures. He was the colleague who stayed late when another surgeon had reached the end of their shift. He was the doctor who rarely said no.

Being needed made him feel useful.

Being useful made him feel safe.

He had never questioned the arrangement.

“At least eat something before you leave,” the nurse said.

“I’ll get something later.”

“You said that eight hours ago.”

Adrian gave her a tired smile. “Then I’ll make up for it.”

She clearly didn’t believe him.

Neither did he.

He walked toward the physicians’ lounge and found the meal someone had left for him earlier. The sandwich sat untouched beside a bowl of soup that had long since gone cold. He stared at it for a few seconds before checking his phone instead.

Twenty-three unread messages.

Most were work-related.

Two were from his sister asking whether he had eaten.

One was from a colleague reminding him about a committee meeting.

Another was from the hospital administration.

Adrian turned the phone face down.

The meal remained untouched.

He told himself he wasn’t hungry.

That was easier than admitting he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten a proper dinner.

He washed his hands again, changed out of his surgical clothing, and put on the dark shirt he had brought with him that morning. His shoulders ached beneath the fabric. His lower back felt stiff, and there was a dull pressure behind his forehead that had been growing steadily throughout the night.

He ignored all of it.

The hospital never stopped needing people like him.

Adrian stepped into the corridor again.

A younger resident approached him immediately.

“Dr. Cole, before you go, could you look at this scan?”

Adrian stopped.

Of course he did.

Five minutes became fifteen.

Fifteen became another consultation.

By the time he finally left the hospital, the eastern sky was still dark.

Outside, the city had settled into the strange quiet that belonged to the hours when most people were asleep. Adrian walked toward his car, his body heavy with exhaustion, and paused beside the driver’s door.

For a moment, he considered calling someone.

Not a colleague.

Not the hospital.

Someone who would ask whether he was all right.

The thought disappeared almost as quickly as it came.

He had never been good at needing people.

He drove home through nearly empty streets, moving on instinct more than energy. When he finally pulled into the parking area beneath his apartment building, he sat behind the wheel for several seconds with his eyes closed.

His apartment was only a short elevator ride away.

It should have felt comforting.

It didn’t.

Adrian entered his home and switched on the lights.

Everything was exactly where he had left it.

The books on the shelf were arranged by subject and height. The kitchen counters were spotless. The dining table held nothing except a decorative bowl he had never used. The sofa cushions were perfectly aligned.

There were no photographs scattered across the room.

No shoes abandoned near the door.

No half-finished project sitting on the table.

No laughter waiting for him.

The apartment was beautiful.

It was also empty.

Adrian dropped his keys into the small ceramic dish beside the entrance and loosened the collar of his shirt.

He should have gone straight to bed.

Instead, he walked into the kitchen.

He opened the refrigerator.

Nothing appealed to him.

There were containers of food he had purchased with good intentions and never prepared. Fresh vegetables sat untouched in a drawer. A carton of milk was approaching its expiration date.

He closed the refrigerator.

His phone buzzed again.

Adrian glanced at the screen.

Another message from the hospital.

He answered it automatically.

Then another.

He responded to that one too.

He didn’t notice how long he had been standing there until the room seemed to shift beneath him.

Adrian frowned.

He placed one hand against the kitchen counter.

The dizziness passed.

At least, he thought it did.

He reached for a glass.

His fingers didn’t close around it properly.

The glass slipped from his hand and struck the counter before falling to the floor.

The sound seemed strangely distant.

Adrian stared at the broken pieces.

He should clean them up.

That was his first thought.

Not that he needed help.

Not that he needed rest.

The floor tilted beneath him.

He grabbed the edge of the counter, but his arm suddenly felt too weak to hold his weight.

His breathing became shallow.

For the first time in years, Adrian felt genuinely frightened by his own body.

He tried to reach for his phone.

It was too far away.

His knees gave way.

He hit the floor hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs.

For several seconds, he simply lay there, staring at the ceiling.

The apartment was silent.

No monitor beeped.

No nurse called his name.

No colleague stood nearby with instructions.

There was only Adrian, alone on the kitchen floor, finally forced to confront what twenty hours of exhaustion had done to him.

He closed his eyes.

Somewhere beyond the walls of his apartment, a car door slammed.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway.

Adrian barely registered them.

A few seconds later, someone stopped outside his door.

Riley Han had just finished helping with the hospital’s children’s art program, carrying a folder filled with unfinished drawings and colorful activity sheets beneath one arm.

He had stayed later than expected because one of the children had wanted to finish a painting before leaving, and Riley had never been good at telling a child that their picture could wait until tomorrow.

He was tired, but it was the pleasant kind of tired that came after doing something meaningful.

He had been thinking about a cup of tea and bed when he noticed the small light beneath Adrian Cole’s apartment door.

Riley slowed.

He knew Adrian only by reputation.

Everyone at the hospital did.

Brilliant trauma surgeon.

Demanding.

Private.

Impossible to read.

Riley had seen him occasionally from a distance, usually moving quickly through the hospital with a serious expression and several people following behind him.

But tonight, something felt wrong.

The apartment door wasn’t completely closed.

Riley hesitated.

“Dr. Cole?”

There was no answer.

He stepped closer.

“Adrian?”

Still nothing.

Riley pushed the door open.

The sight inside stopped him cold.

Adrian was lying on the kitchen floor.

Riley dropped the folder.

The papers scattered across the hallway.

He rushed inside.

“Adrian?”

Adrian’s eyes opened slightly.

For the first time, Riley saw the man behind the white coat without the hospital surrounding him.

He didn’t look powerful.

He didn’t look untouchable.

He looked exhausted.

Human.

And completely alone.

Riley immediately dropped to his knees beside him.

“Can you hear me?”

Adrian tried to answer.

Only a weak sound came out.

Riley reached for his phone.

“Don’t try to get up,” he said calmly. “I’m here.”

Adrian’s eyes closed again.

And for the first time in a very long time, someone else took responsibility for making sure he would be all right.

The Man on the Floor

Riley kept one hand near Adrian’s shoulder without trying to move him.

“Stay where you are,” he said, reaching for his phone with the other hand. “I’m getting help.”

Adrian opened his eyes again. The fog had lifted slightly, but the room still seemed unsteady around him. He recognized Riley now. They had crossed paths at the hospital several times, though never long enough to have a proper conversation.

“Riley Han,” Adrian murmured.

Riley looked at him in surprise. “You know my name?”

“I know most people who work in my hospital.”

There was enough irritation in Adrian’s voice to make Riley almost smile.

“Good. Then you know I’m not going anywhere until someone checks you.”

“I don’t need an ambulance.”

“You just collapsed on your kitchen floor.”

“I’m exhausted.”

“Exactly.”

Adrian tried to push himself upright.

Riley immediately placed a steady hand against his shoulder.

“Don’t.”

Adrian stared at him.