Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
CASSIAN
PRESENT DAY
My mornings followed a reliable pattern. Wake at five-thirty. Run four miles through the park regardless of weather. Shower, coffee, arrive at the hospital by seven. I liked the predictability of it. Structure kept everything manageable.
Life was easier when you didn't leave room for surprises.
This morning, I woke to find my girlfriend Maya already up, sitting at our kitchen counter with journal articles pulled up on her tablet.
The apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the fridge and the distant sounds of traffic fourteen floors below.
She looked up and smiled when I padded into the kitchen.
I'd grown comfortable with our setup over the past eight months.
"Morning. Coffee's ready."
"You're a saint." I poured myself a cup and kissed the top of her head, catching the familiar scent of her coconut and vanilla shampoo. "What would I do without you?"
"Drink terrible hospital coffee and complain about it."
I clicked my tongue. "Accurate."
I leaned against the counter, cradling my mug while she scrolled through her tablet.
The morning light filtered through the windows, casting soft shadows across the kitchen.
Maya was beautiful like this, with her dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, reading glasses perched on her nose, absorbed in whatever research had caught her attention.
She looked relaxed, content, and at home in the space we'd built together.
"What time's your shift?" I asked.
"Eight. I got that cardiac bypass at ten, so I need to prep early."
She worked at St. Catherine's across town, a solid forty-minute commute, but we made it work. Different hospitals meant we never brought the same workplace drama home. It was clean. Uncomplicated.
"You?" she asked back.
"Seven. Meeting with Patel this afternoon."
"The new one Riven mentioned at dinner last week?"
I nodded. "That's the one."
"He seemed excited about it." She tilted her head, considering. "As excited as Riven gets about anything, he mentioned it without looking like he wanted to be somewhere else."
I laughed. "That's practically giddy for him."
Maya smiled and turned back to her tablet. I built a life with her over the past eight months. We fit together easily. No complicated guessing or uncomfortable silences. She laughed at my jokes, supported my career, and never demanded more than I could give.
Speaking of jokes.
"Hey. What do you call a surgeon who fails anatomy?"
She glanced up, eyebrow raised, already bracing herself. She knew my sense of humor by now.
"A lawyer,” I said, wiggling my brows.
Maya laughed, shaking her head. "That's awful, Cass. Truly terrible."
"Made you laugh though."
"Only because I have dangerously low standards." She threw a wadded napkin at me, which I caught easily. "You're lucky you're cute."
"I prefer dashingly handsome, but I'll take cute."
She rolled her eyes, still smiling, and went back to her reading.
I grinned and sipped my coffee, but something flashed at the edge of my mind—a memory I hadn't invited, a comparison I shouldn't be making.
My wife. Ex. Calla…
She would not have laughed. She would have stared at me with those light brown eyes, her expression unchanged, and told me my sense of humor was fundamentally broken. She would've said, ‘That's not a joke. That's a cry for help.’
But later, when she thought I wasn't watching, I would have caught a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. That secret smile she saved for moments when her guard slipped and forgot to be stoic.
I used to live for those moments—the hairline cracks in her armor, the glimpses of warmth she buried beneath all that control. Winning a laugh from Calla felt like an achievement, something earned rather than given freely.
Maya laughed openly. There was no mystery to it. No chase or victory in making her smile because she smiled at everything.
I didn't know which I preferred more.
I shoved the thought back down. That was a dangerous road, and I shouldn't be treading it. Calla was five years in my past. Maya was here, present, warm, real and uncomplicated.
I was happy with Maya.
We’re happy together.
She stood and wrapped her arms around me from behind as I stared out the window. The city stretched below us, the gloomy morning made it more difficult to focus.
"You've been distracted lately," she murmured against my shoulder blade. "Is everything okay?"
I hummed. "Just work stuff. You know how it is."
"I do." She kissed the spot between my shoulders, a gesture so tender it made my chest ache for reasons I didn't want to think. "But you know you can talk to me, right? About anything."
"I know."
And I did. Maya was patient, understanding.
She never pushed me into conversations I wasn't ready to have or demanded explanations I couldn't give.
Living together for the past six months has been easy.
Shockingly easy, considering how complicated my marriage had been.
We had routines. We respected each other's space.
"Love you," she said, pulling away to gather her things.
"Love you too."
I meant it. I did.
I drove too early and used the extra time to grab a decent breakfast from the cafeteria, a luxury I rarely allowed myself.
Scrambled eggs, toast, and fresh fruit. I sat by the window and watched the morning shift trickle in, nurses and doctors and technicians badging in for another day of saving lives.
I loved my job, the energy of it, and the sense that anything could happen at any moment and we would handle it because that's what we did in medical emergencies. They demanded focus, action, solutions.
There was comfort in that. Clarity.
By seven, I was already reviewing overnight admits and checking in with the residents.
A second-year named Denver had handled a difficult intubation solo, and I made sure to tell him he'd done good work.
A third-year named Kendra was struggling with a diagnosis, so I walked her through the differential, asking questions until she arrived at the answer herself.
This was the part of the job I loved most. Teaching and watching young doctors grow into confident surgeons, knowing that the skills I passed on would save lives long after I was gone.
"Dr. Reed!" A first-year resident jogged up to me, slightly out of breath. "Got a consult for you. MVA victim, possible internal bleeding. Bay four."
"On my way."
The patient was a twenty-six-year-old who'd run a red light and lost the argument with a delivery truck. He garnered multiple fractured ribs and lacerations across his chest and arms. He was conscious but barely, drifting in and out while we worked to stabilize him.
"You're going to be fine," I told him, keeping my voice calm even as my hands moved quickly. "We've got you. Just stay with me."
He mumbled something I couldn't make out. His girlfriend's name. Or his mother's. Nobody could tell.
"We're taking you to surgery now. You're in good hands."
An hour later, I handed him off to the surgical team, confident he would make it. My scrubs were stained with blood, but there was satisfaction in knowing I'd done my job well. One more life saved. One more family that wouldn't get the worst phone call of their lives.
Just another morning at Obsidian.
I was reviewing a patient chart in the physicians' lounge when Riven appeared, holding two cups of coffee in hand.
He moved through the department quietly, confidence oozing as the CEO of Obsidian in his thirties.
Half the staff was intimidated by him, while the other half pretended to be unaffected.
But I just knew him as the guy who'd fallen asleep in our dorm room with a textbook on his face more times than I could count.
"Morning, Reed."
"Riven." I accepted the coffee he offered. "You're slumming it with the common folk today?"
"Board meeting in an hour. I needed to escape the executives for a few minutes before I fell into another long argument." He settled into the chair across from me, his posture perfect even in a break room. "I also wanted to check in."
I raised a brow before sipping from my cup. "About?"
“The new attending."
My hand paused halfway to my mouth. I set the coffee down carefully. "What about her?"
"Don't insult my intelligence, Cassian."
I should have known better than to try to play dumb with Riven. The man noticed everything. It was what made him an excellent CEO and a terrible person to have secrets around.
"I'm fine," I said. "It's been five years. We're both adults."
When I first found out about Calla being the new attending, I almost freaked out. I panicked about seeing her again. After years of marriage and years of distance, I wouldn’t know what to expect when I see her. Would I hate her? Would I be indifferent?
Riven’s words snapped me back to reality. "Adults who were married for years and haven't exchanged a single word since the divorce."
I looked away. "We agreed to stay civil. We'll be professional."
"Professional." Riven's tone didn't change, but something in his expression shifted. The closest he ever came to showing concern. "Is that what you're calling it?"
"What else would I call it?"
He studied me for a long moment, and I resisted the urge to fidget under his scrutiny. Riven had a way of looking at people that made them feel like specimens under a microscope. Most people found it unsettling and I had years to get used to it.
"When Mireya and I were figuring things out," he said finally, "I spent a lot of time telling myself I was fine when I wasn't. It didn't help. Just delayed the inevitable reckoning."
"This is different. Calla and I are over. I'm with Maya now. We live together."
Riven titled his head. "Living with someone doesn't mean you've stopped carrying someone else around."
I didn't have a response to that. Riven wasn't the type to push, which made it worse when he did. He only bothered when he thought he was correct.
"I'm not carrying anyone," I denied, my words felt like sandpaper in my throat.
Riven held my gaze for another beat. Then he stood, straightening his jacket.
"Just be careful," he said. "I'd rather see you honest and struggling than pretending everything's fine."
"Noted."
He left without another word. That was Riven. No unnecessary goodbyes or lingering conversations. He was efficient even in friendship.
Later that afternoon, Dr. Patel found me at the nurses' station.
"Reed, got a minute?"
I looked up from the chart I was updating. "Sure."
She settled against the counter beside me, tablet in hand. Patel was efficient and direct. She didn't waste time on small talk, which I appreciated. Life was too short for unnecessary words.
"I wanted to give you a heads-up about the department meeting tomorrow," she said. "We've got a new attending joining the trauma team. She'll be co-leading with you."
"Okay."
"Dr. Calla Karras." Patel pulled up something on her tablet, scanning the information.
"I know it can be awkward, but her work on emergency thoracotomy protocols is some of the best research I've seen in years.
She has excellent surgical outcomes and extensive publications.
Just exactly what this department needs. "
I already knew Calla would be joining us, but hearing her name still brought a sense of dread I didn't know existed. It made everything feel dangerously real.
I kept my face neutral. Years of delivering bad news to families had taught me how to control my expressions and to stay calm when everything inside me was screaming.
"Yeah, she’s always been good at what she does," I said steadily.
"She is." Patel smiled briefly, having no idea what grenade she'd just lobbed into my life. "I think you two will still work well together, despite… you know.” She paused, as if giving me space to react. But then she continued, “Fresh perspectives are always valuable."
I swallowed. "Looking forward to it."
"The meeting's at seven tomorrow. I'll send the agenda tonight."
"Great."
She nodded and walked away, already focused on the next task. I watched her go, my hands gripping the edge of the counter so tightly my knuckles ached.
Calla and I would be working together in this building starting tomorrow. We would co-lead a team that would require meetings and collaboration and hours spent in close proximity.
It had been five years since we signed the divorce papers. We'd divided our lives into boxes and walked away from each other. And I’ve moved on by building something new with Maya.
And now Calla was back.
This was fine. I was fine. I was a professional.
I could handle working with my ex-wife.