Page 2 of Bitter Lies

The plan was to stay in the navy and make a difference. It inspired dreams of a brighter future. But dreams die. And when they do, they lead you down one of two paths. One that leads you to a better place, or the one that spells your doom.

I haven’t decided which route to take. I’m angry. Pissed that I’m here in this hospital waiting for someone else to decide my fate when I know damn well I’m more than capable. Most of my life, I’ve felt like a puppet, with others pulling the strings, their decisions dictating where I would end up.

What if the journey I’m meant to travel only leads to destruction? I fear I’m destined to walk the same toxic path as my father, perpetuating a legacy of violence. It’s not too late to revisit my past and pick up where I left off. I tried doing the right thing and look where it got me.

Nowhere.

As I flip through the dossier and study it, the quiet rustle of the pages helps clear my mind. Each word resonates with a feeling that draws me in. Showing me where I’ve always belonged and why.

The man who gave me this is an enigma. He’s opened my eyes. It may not have been his intention, but he’s given me a new perspective and purpose. For the first time since waking up in this antiseptic-scented hellhole, I know where I’m headed once discharged.

Life’s too short to care what others think. My new journey starts now.

Chapter 1

Isabel

3 Years Later

On my way through the locker room, I toss my medical cap in the bin, ready to forget this long-arse day. Add up all my days on this surgical placement in Oxford, and today easily ranks as one of the worst. And I thought medical school was tough.

I’ve never met a man more arrogant than Dr. Grieves. You’d think I was royally fucking up by the way he scolded me during my last procedure.

I wasn’t.

In fact, I executed it flawlessly. Removed the inflamed appendix without rupturing it, unlike a fellow resident surgeon a few days prior. He’d taken over for her, yelling the entire time, sending the poor woman out of the operating room in tears with an order not to return until she was absolutely sure she wouldn’t screw it up.

The words from today’s conversation still echo in my mind.

“I’m not impressed, princess. If it were up to me, you wouldn’t be here. Training you is taking away time and resources we could use for someone who’ll actually practice medicine.”

It’s a battle I’ve faced since starting my medical career. No one believes I’ll practice in the real world. I’m often called a spoiled princess. My family’s backing of my ambitions is seen as a way to pacify me.

They’re wrong.

One day, I’ll defy expectations and prove that even a spoiled princess can be an excellent surgeon—one who changes lives. I have goals. They may seem illogical, but with my princess title, doable. My privileged life gives me options most people can’t imagine, and I intend to use that to my advantage.

Those who doubt me can go suck on a sour grape or fuck a damn porcupine, for all I care. I’ve heard it all before. My whole life I’ve been told: you can’t do that, you’re not a regular person, and protocols must be followed to keep you safe. Yet here I am, and not just because I’m a goddamn princess. I deserve to be here. I’m no longer tolerating disrespect. I’m twice as determined to work harder and show everyone just how wrong they are.

Slamming my locker, I snag a towel off the fresh stack and head for the showers. My shift is finally done, and after I clean up, I’m leaving before I do something stupid.

Just as I’m about to rip my scrubs off, the overhead intercom crackles. “Paging doctors Hilbert, Lopez, and Fletcher. Report to A&E. Repeat. Paging doctors Hilbert, Lopez, and Fletcher to A&E immediately.”

Looks like my day just got longer.

Tossing the towel back onto the clean pile, I return to my locker to grab my credentials, trading flip-flops for my apple-green clogs. With everything I need, I rush out of the locker room and book my arse to A&E.

Dr. Fletcher charges out of the break area, shoving in the last bite of what must be his lunch. “It’s rare to page three of us all at once,” Billy mumbles around his food. “I thought you were finished for the day?”

“I was.” Our footsteps echo as we turn down the hallway toward A&E wing. “Guess that’s changed.”

A senior surgeon, Dr. Hilbert, jogs up behind us. “What the hell is going on?”

We shrug but don’t slow our pace. If she doesn’t know, it means we’re walking into an unknown crisis.

“Heard about what went down during your surgery with Grieves.” She lays a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “We don’t all agree with his assessment of your skills. I’ve watched you work. Don’t let him discourage you. You’ll be on my board next week. It will give you a nice breather from him.”

“Thank you.” I want to say more, but we’ve reached what appears to be complete chaos. Girls, ranging in age, along with several adults, litter the waiting area. There’s a lot of crying. A palpable sense of dread visible on all their faces.