Page 60 of His to Protect
We talked for a few more minutes. About therapy, Lyra’s classes, and mundane things that felt far away from the penthouse, from Riven and Emma, and everything that had quietly become part of my daily life.
When we hung up, I didn’t move right away. I stared at my phone, the screen dimming and then going dark in my hand.
Everyone was proud of me. They were happy I was moving forward and I’d clawed back stability after everything had unraveled.
So why did I feel like I was about to ruin something?
CHAPTER TWELVE
RIVEN
ONE MONTH LATER
The printedconference schedule rested on my mahogany desk like a silent, heavy indictment. The Annual Medical Conference in Boston loomed ahead of me. It promised three exhausting days filled with technical presentations, networking events, and various professional obligations.
Usually, I managed these trips with the absolute minimum amount of social effort required to remain respected. However, this particular year carried a different weight entirely.
This year, Mireya would be attending alongside the rest of the surgical staff.
My computer speakers emitted a sharp ping, signaling a new message in my inbox. I shifted my gaze toward the monitor and my chest tightened when I saw her name listed in the sender column.
Subject: Notice of Resignation - Living Arrangement
My fingers turned clumsy, momentarily freezing against the plastic of the mouse. I forced myself to click the message and expand the text.
Dr. Cross,
I wanted to let you know that I’ve found an apartment…
I processed the words once, then forced my eyes over them a second time. By the third reading, the reality began to settle.
Mireya had already reached a decision without consulting me. She had hunted for a place, signed a lease, and sent this formal, distant notice. I expected to feel a sense of relief because this move followed logic. It was the natural progression of things.
Instead, a hollow ache settled in my chest.
I closed the browser tab without typing a response and turned my attention back to the conference schedule, flipping through the heavy paper agenda and trying to focus on the logistics. Day one started with a keynote speech regarding recent advances in cardiac surgery. The afternoon featured breakout sessions on valve replacement techniques, followed by an evening reception with an open bar and far too much forced small talk.
Day two consisted of various panel discussions and surgical demonstrations. Another reception occupied the evening slot. Day three offered the final presentations and closing remarks before everyone earned their freedom.
Seventy-two hours. I could manage seventy-two hours of proximity.
I pulled a yellow highlighter from my drawer and began marking specific sessions. The Cardiac Innovation Symposium started at nine in the morning. She would likely attend that one, so I marked the competing session on transplant protocols instead.
The seminar on Minimally Invasive Techniques began at two in the afternoon. She would definitely be there to learn.Consequently, I circled the administrative meeting occurring at the exact same time on the other side of the building.
I capped the highlighter and tossed it back in the drawer. Utterly pathetic.
We worked together almost every single day at the hospital and lived under the exact same roof every night.
But at the hospital, other staff members acted as buffers, and professional distance remained built into every single interaction. At home, Emma served as our bridge. She was always there, talking and laughing, effectively filling the awkward spaces that stretched between us.
The upcoming conference felt inherently dangerous. It involved long hotel corridors, dimly lit evening events, and the removal of all the familiar structures that helped me maintain my self-control.
Three days in Boston with nowhere to hide.
My office door swung open without warning. Only Cassian had the audacity to enter without knocking. He set a cup of coffee directly on my desk.
“Are you packing for Boston yet?” he asked.
