Chapter 2. Stranger in the Night
I was on autopilot the whole surgery. My hands moved with precision, but my mind was far away. Who was this grown man lying on the operating table? Why was he left bleeding behind a pub? A criminal? A victim? A homeless man no one cared about? My head was buzzing with questions, but there were no answers.
"Eva, are you even with us?" my assistant asked quietly, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"Yes, of course," I replied automatically, handing him a clamp.
When the operation ended, I peeled off my gloves and stepped out into the hallway. The clock on the wall showed 3:27 AM. It was one of those moments when your body screams, "Enough!" but your mind refuses to stop. I wanted to go home, collapse into bed, and forget everything. Home! Téma must be worried sick—I was supposed to be back five hours ago. I headed to the nurses' station.
"How is he?" I asked the night nurse, who would've known the man's condition after he was transferred to intensive care.
"Stable. Eva, you got involved in something you shouldn't have—again," said Natasha, the seasoned nurse I'd worked with for years, her tone reproachful.
"I couldn't just walk by," I shrugged.
"That's your problem," she sighed. "You always try to save the whole world and forget about yourself."
I stayed silent. Maybe she was right. But what else could I have done? Leave him there? Let him die from someone else's indifference? That's not who I am.
In the morning, I managed to have a fight with Téma, who'd waited for me all night and couldn't sleep properly. He even suggested I quit the hospital altogether, but I just can't. This is my dream—my calling.
Back at work, I went straight to my patient. Standing by the door was a man who looked like a bodyguard—black suit, earpiece, and too absorbed in his phone to notice me.
Inside, my mysterious patient lay pale but… composed. Thick dark hair streaked with gray, sharp features, and a silver stubble that made him look even more imposing. He looked around fifty or sixty, but when his eyes suddenly opened, I saw something more. Those were the eyes of someone who had seen too much.
"Who are you?" he asked in a deep voice, tired but not weak.
"I'm your surgeon. You lost a lot of blood—we barely saved you," I answered professionally, though something inside me flinched under his gaze.
He said nothing, just studied me. His eyes seemed to scan right through me, and it made me uncomfortable.
"Thank you," he finally said, his voice making it sound like the words didn't come easy.
"You need to rest," I said firmly, trying to regain control. "Try not to move and get some sleep."
"What's your name?" he asked suddenly.
"Eva," I replied without thinking.
"Eva," he repeated, tasting the name. "And your last name?"
"Why do you need that?" I asked, starting to feel uneasy.
"No reason. Just in case I need your help again," he said with a half-smile that looked more like a predator's grin.
"I hope that won't be necessary," I replied coldly and left the room, my heart pounding harder than usual.
When I reached the doctors' lounge, Alena was already there.
"Do you know who he is?" she asked, eyes sparkling with excitement.
"How would I know? Yesterday you said he was a homeless guy," I replied, surprised.
"Don't say that again! He's the head of some powerful family. Maybe a mafia boss or a billionaire—God, that's so cool. I wish he'd marry me."
"Isn't the chief of surgery enough for you? Besides, he's old," I said almost emotionlessly, changing into my scrubs.
"You… How dare you?" she snapped and stormed out.
I didn't answer. My thoughts were spinning. Who was that man? And why does he have enemies who would leave him bleeding out behind a pub?