Page 84 of The Wrong Husband
"Idowant to marry you; you know that."
I nod, knowing she’s working her way toward telling me what’s on her mind and that I need to be patient about it.
"Go on," I say gently.
Something in my voice must buoy her confidence, for she tips up her chin and meets my gaze. "And it’s going to be a real marriage.Iwant it to be a real marriage. Which means, we’ll be sharing a bedroom."
I frown, wondering what she’s getting at. I stay silent, knowing that’s the best way to coax her into completing her train of thought.
"But you know how independent I am. It’s why I left home and put myself through med school with the loans I took out and the money I made with the part-time jobs I picked up in the hospital." A crease forms between her brows. "It was my need to earn the money toward saving my ER that made me agree to your proposition."
"Your independence is one of the reasons I’m attracted to you.” I hold her gaze. “You challenge me, Fever. You make me want to understand what makes you tick. What goes on behind your eyes and in that intelligent mind of yours. It’s what makes me want to find a way to make you submit willingly."
She flushes. The color is so pretty on her cheeks and staining the column of her throat. I resist the urge to lick the line of pink and allow my stance to stay patient.
“But there’s one thing I don’t understand.”
She tilts her head.
“Why do you feel responsible for finding the money to save the ER? Why are you so desperate to save this specific hospital, of the many in this city?”
Her expression turns inward like she’s chasing a thought she hasn’t quite caught. “I never realized how it might seem from the outside.” She rubs at her forehead. “You’re right, there’s no reason for me to feel a moral obligation to save the ER?—”
“But you do.”
“I do.” Her jaw locks. “I think, it’s because I was born into privilege. My job—it’s not just a career. It’s how I prove I’m more than the circumstances I was handed. Yes, it pays my bills, and no, I’ll never be on the streets—my family would never let that happen. But that’s exactly the point. Most of my colleagues here don’t have that safety net. They show up, day after day,giving everything they’ve got. And I’ve worked alongside them long enough to know their stories. Their struggles. Their quiet resilience. That’s why I can’t walk away. That’s why I feel responsible.”
Her voice drops. “I knew what was coming. I could’ve done something sooner. I didn’t. So now, I have to fix it. Not just for the ER—but for them.”
A shadow crosses her features.
“I’ve saved lives in this place. Countless lives. If the ER closes, people in this borough will die.”
Her gaze turns inward, haunted. I know she’s hurting, and damn, I’d do anything in my power to stop it.
“What is it, Fever?” I ask, low and urgent.
She doesn’t respond, so I grip her chin and tilt her face up to mine. “Talk to me.”
She blinks, comes back to herself. “Neurologically? I’m trapped in a feedback loop. My brain registers a failure—something I should’ve done but didn’t. My body floods with cortisol, and I get stuck in fight-or-flight, without a real threat or a way out. So, I stay there. Spinning.”
“You feel guilty for the advantages you had. And somewhere inside, you believe you haven’t earned any of it. So, you overcompensate. You try to make it right by giving everything to the people who don’t have what you do.”
She draws in a sharp breath. “Am I that transparent?”
“Only to me.” I curve my lips. “And only because I get it. That’s why I’m donating my trust fund to Save the Kids. I need it to mean something.”
Her eyes soften. “We’re more alike than I thought.”
“We are.”
The seconds stretch, taut and silent. Our gazes lock—unflinching, unguarded. The air thickens, electric with the pulse of that constant chemistry. But beneath the heat, there’ssomething deeper now. A sense of alliance. Like we’re no longer just two people colliding—but a single force, turned outward, facing the world together. A team. A unit. And it hits me again—how lucky I am to have found her. How inevitable this is. Her and me. Us.
“Your condition?” I clear my throat.
“Eh?”
“You said you had a condition?”
