Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
RIVEN
The surgical schedule for next week looked like absolute hell.
I stared at my computer screen, annotating staffing conflicts and equipment availability with growing frustration.
Three valve replacements. Two coronary artery bypass grafts.
One transplant evaluation. All high-complexity cases.
All carrying significant mortality risk.
My door opened without a knock.
Cassian walked in and closed it deliberately behind him. He wore that particular expression that meant he was about to say something I wouldn't want to hear.
"We need to talk," he said.
I didn't look up from my screen. "I'm busy."
"This can't wait."
"It can absolutely wait."
"Riven." He sat in the chair across from my desk uninvited. "I ran into August in the surgical wing."
My fingers stopped typing mid-word.
"He seemed pleased with himself," Cassian continued, his tone careful. "Mentioned he'd just offered Mireya Rosen a position at St. Catherine's."
The words took several seconds to fully register. My hands froze above the keyboard.
"He what?" My voice came out dangerously even.
"He offered Mireya a job, with better pay for a specialized cardiac unit. The whole pitch." Cassian leaned back, watching me closely. "Thought you should know."
My hands curled into fists on the desk. "When did this happen?"
"Yesterday."
Yesterday. While I'd been in surgery for six hours. August had cornered Mireya and made his offer without any professional courtesy, without even mentioning it to me first.
Blood rushed in my ears. My vision narrowed at the edges, pure rage coursing through my system.
"He had no right," I said through clenched teeth.
Cassian shrugged. "Technically, he had every right. She's not under exclusive contract. She's a free agent professionally."
"He approached a member of my surgical team without going through proper channels." My jaw ached from how hard I was clenching it. "That's unprofessional."
"There are no proper channels for this, Riv. August runs his own hospital. He can hire whoever he wants." Cassian paused. "But that's not really what's bothering you, is it?"
I stood abruptly and paced to the window, staring out at the city without actually seeing anything.
August. Still pushing. Still interfering in every aspect of my life. First the inheritance demands. Now this deliberate provocation.
"You're angrier than the situation warrants," Cassian observed from behind me.
"He poached my best first assist," I snapped.
Cassian clicked his tongue. "That's not why you're angry."
"That's exactly why I'm angry."
"No." His voice stayed calm. "If this was about professional courtesy, you'd be annoyed. Maybe file a complaint with hospital administration. You're furious. That's different."
I turned around. "And your point is?"
"My point is you've worked with dozens of RNFAs over the years. Lost plenty of them to other hospitals with better offers. You've never reacted like this." He studied my face. "So what makes Mireya different?"
I didn't answer.
I couldn’t.
Because I didn't know. And that was the problem.
"She's good at her job," I said finally, the words feeling inadequate. "I don't want to lose a highly skilled surgical assistant."
"She's very good at her job. One of the best I've seen." Cassian crossed his arms. "But that's not what this is about."
My eyes narrowed dangerously. "Then enlighten me. What is it about?"
"You tell me. You're the one who looks like you want to physically assault August."
I turned back to the window. My reflection stared back at me. Face hard. Jaw set. I did want to punch August. I wanted to walk down to his office and tell him to stay away from my staff. My house. My life.
But that wasn't professional or rational.
And I didn't understand where this anger was coming from.
"She lives in your house," Cassian said quietly behind me. "She takes care of Emma. Has coffee with you every morning before your run. You asked me three separate times last week what kind of flowers women prefer. Don't think I didn't notice that."
I'd desperately hoped he hadn't noticed.
"You've been different since she moved in," he continued. "Less closed off. More present. Emma mentioned it too. She said you smile now. Not those fake ones you give patients."
"You talked to Emma about this?" I turned, genuinely annoyed. "She really has no filter."
Cassian chuckled. “We’re buddies when it comes to gossiping about you.” He paused. "The head nurse noticed it too. She said you've been asking about Rosen’s schedule. What shifts she's working and when she has days off."
I rubbed my face roughly. "I need to know when Emma's medical supervision will be available."
"You could just ask Mireya directly. Or check the schedule I send you every week." His tone remained even—not accusatory, just stating observable facts. "But you don't. You ask me specifically about Mireya."
"What exactly is your point?"
"My point is something's changed. And you need to figure out what that means before she makes her decision about August's offer."
"There's nothing to figure out. This is a professional arrangement. Temporary from the beginning. She provides nursing care for Emma. I provide housing. That's the extent of it."
Cassian studied me with those unnervingly perceptive eyes. "Then why do you look absolutely terrified right now?"
My back straightened, shoulders tensing.
"I'm not terrified," I said, but the words sounded hollow even to my own ears.
"You are. I've known you long enough to recognize it." Cassian stood and walked to the window beside me. "You're scared she's going to leave. And not just because you'll lose an excellent RNFA."
"I don't know what you want me to say," I finally admitted.
Cassian sighed, staring at me through our reflection in the glass. "I want you to be honest with yourself about what you really want."
"I want my surgical team to stay intact. I want August to stop interfering in my life. I want things to stay the way they are." The words came out more defensive than intended.
"And if she takes the offer? If she moves out? What then?"
My stomach dropped.
I imagined the penthouse without Mireya, going back to how it was before. Quiet. Empty. Just me and Emma and too much space. No coffee in the morning. No sound of her voice talking to Emma.
No Mireya.
The thought made me want to put my fist through the window.
"Then she accepts it," I said, forcing my voice flat and emotionless. "It's an excellent opportunity. She'd be foolish not to take it."
"Even though it means leaving Emma? Leaving your house? Starting over somewhere new?"
"People do it all the time. It's called career advancement."
"It's also called running away from something you're not ready to face," Cassian said quietly.
I looked at him sharply. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're both doing the exact same thing. Building walls, maintaining distance, pretending this is purely professional when everyone around you can see it's become something else entirely."
"There's nothing else. She works for me. That's all."
"Keep telling yourself that." Cassian headed for the door. Then stopped with his hand on the handle. "I think you should talk to her before she makes a decision. Tell her you don't want her to go."
I shook my head. "I can't do that. I don't have the right. She deserves a real home. Not just a guest room in someone else's apartment."
"Maybe she should decide what she deserves." He opened the door. "Just think about it, Riv."
He left me in my office, anger still burning through me.
But underneath it was something else. Something colder and heavier than anger, something that had been quietly building for weeks and had chosen this particular moment to make itself impossible to ignore.
Fear.
Real fear that Mireya would take August's offer and leave.
And the worst part was that I understood exactly why.
I had been telling myself a clean story for months.
That I had brought her into my home for practical reasons.
That I noticed her because she was exceptional at her job.
That the way my apartment felt different with her in it was simply the effect of having another person around, of Emma being happier, of the penthouse feeling less like a space I occupied and more like somewhere someone actually lived.
I had been lying to myself with great dedication and moderate success.
The truth was simpler and more inconvenient than any of that.
I was falling for her.
Had been falling, probably, since a scrub room at two in the morning when she had pressed two ibuprofen into my palm without being asked and said goodnight like it cost her nothing.
Maybe before that. Maybe since the first time I had looked up across a surgical field and found her already looking back, calm and certain and completely unafraid of me in a way that almost no one was.
She had walked into my carefully ordered life and quietly, without permission, made it better. And now August was offering her a door out and I was sitting here understanding for the first time that I did not want her to take it.
Not because of Emma. Not because of the OR.
Because of her.
Because the thought of this apartment without her in it felt like something being taken, and I had no right to feel that way, and I felt it anyway, completely and without apology, and I had absolutely no idea what to do with that.
I stayed late finishing paperwork, reviewing patient charts, scheduling surgeries for the following month—anything to avoid going home. Because I had no idea what I'd say when I saw her.
The hospital emptied around me. Day shift leaving. Night shift arriving. Quiet settling over the surgical floors.
My phone buzzed around eight.
Emma
When are you coming home?
Riven
Soon.
Emma
Mireya and I are making dinner. Well. Trying to. It's going badly.
Emma
Never mind. We burned it. Ordering pizza instead.
Emma
Are you okay?