Unmatched Wife: Not His To Claim Anymore novel Chapter 111

Chapter 111

Chapter 111

BIANCA

“That’s what makes you an excellent department head,” I said pleasantly.

Sarah stopped walking, and I stopped with her. She turned to face me fully, her expression shifting from professional to something more direct.

“Bianca. Are you safe?”

The question was simple and genuine and it caught me somewhere unguarded.

“Yes,” I said, after a moment. “I’m safe.”

“Are you sure? Because you came to us with a complicated background–your entry paperwork was approved through unusual channels, you have skills that suggest you lived a life that was more dangerous than a standard medical career, and now there are guards at my hospital and an unofficial patient in someone’s private residence and—”

“Sarah.” I met her eyes. “I’m safe. The people I care about are safe. Whatever is happening in the background, I promise it is not going to disrupt this department or put our patients at risk.”

She studied me for a long moment. “You know you can talk to me. Outside of work. If you need someone.”

“I know.” I surprised myself by meaning it. “Thank you.”

She nodded, as she fixed back her professional composure back into place.

“Good. Now come look at the schedule for next week because James has requested three consecutive days off for what he described as ‘a spiritual pilgrimage‘ and I need your opinion on whether that constitutes a valid use of PTO.”

I followed her, grateful for the return to normal. Grateful for colleagues who noticed, who asked, who then stepped back and let

me handle my own life.

It was nearly six–thirty when I finally finished my last chart and started gathering my things to leave. The unit was transitioning to the evening team, the familiar handoff rhythm of shift change moving around me.

My phone buzzed. Rivera again: *There’s something I want to tell you when you get home. Something I should have told you this morning.*

I looked at the message.

My fingers hovered over the screen.

I could respond. Could ask him to tell me now, via text, instead of waiting until I was home and tired and emotionally depleted after a long shift. Could rip the bandage off quickly rather than spending the drive home wondering.

Or I could give him the courtesy of the conversation he was clearly preparing himself for.

I typed: Okay.

One word. I’m listening. I’m coming home. Say what you need to say.

I was sliding my phone into my bag when the emergency tone sounded—not the general alert but the specific two–tone signal that meant something in the main trauma bay had gone critical.

I was moving before the overhead announcement finished.

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“Incoming code, bay one,” the charge nurse called as I pushed through the doors. “Patient went into sudden cardiac arrest, previously stable post–procedure-”

“What do we have?” I was already at the bedside, taking in the scene with the rapid whole–picture assessment of an experienced trauma physician.

The patient was a man in his late fifties, post–magical procedure, who’d been stable and awaiting discharge. Now his monitor was screaming and the evening attending who’d been completing his discharge paperwork was already beginning compressions.

“Bianca.” James appeared at my elbow, his voice tight. “His magical signature spiked about ninety seconds ago, then dropped to nothing. Something destabilized.”

My hands were already moving, feeling for the magical signature that should have been present and wasn’t. The absence of it was wrong in a particular way—not natural cessation but sudden violent interruption.

Like something had been triggered.

“This wasn’t cardiac in origin,” I said, taking over the assessment. “This is magical interference.” I turned to the attending.” Keep compressions. I need a full magical resonance scan immediately—” I was already pulling equipment from the cart, my mind sliding into the focused clarity that emergencies demanded.

My phone was in my bag, Rivera’s message unread.

Whatever he needed to tell me whatever final secret was still waiting–would have to wait a little longer.

Right now, this man needed everything I had.

“Talk to me,” I said to the room, and the team responded, and I worked, and for the next forty minutes there was nothing in the world except the patient in front of me and everything I knew about how to save him.

The man survived. The reason had been a small shard that was something subtle enough to have been missed on the initial scan, significant enough to nearly kill him.

I extracted it with techniques that made the evening team stop and stare with amazement and then I stood at the foot of his bed watching his vitals normalize and felt relief flooding through me once I realised that I had saved his life by luck.

“That,” James said, appearing beside me as the team began the cleanup and monitoring routines, “was not showing off. That was a miracle.”

“That was a missed fragment on the initial assessment,” I said, more sharply than I intended. “Which means our scanning protocols need adjustment. I want to review the procedure with the whole team this week.”

“Yes, ma’am.” But his eyes were warm. “Go home, Bianca. You’ve been here since noon. Save the protocol review for tomorrow.

I looked at the clock. 7:23 PM.

Rivera’s message. The dinner Louis had been planning. The conversation that was waiting.

I pulled out my phone and typed: *Leaving now. Sorry I’m late. Emergency.*

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