Chapter 103: Calls that heal

But also… the man who apologized with his eyes when words failed him. Who asked about her day even while battling for his own life.

Who, somehow, managed to look at her like she was more than just a surgeon in a white coat.

She exhaled slowly, standing to toss the tea she hadn't drunk.

"Maybe it wasn't him," she muttered under her breath.

But her heart whispered otherwise.

Late that in Ethan's apartment, the city looked different from his window—clean, contained, far from the shadows he used to navigate.

Ethan stood still in the silence of his penthouse, a glass of untouched whiskey in his hand, the bracelet gone from his wrist, now shoved into a drawer he didn't plan to open again.

"She turned off the lights," he muttered to himself. "She stripped herself of dignity just to fool a gang…"

He hadn't asked her to go that far. He didn't ask for any of it.

How many men before me?

How many emergencies does she play savior in?

His thoughts twisted, bitter. He wanted to be grateful. He had been. But now, the memory burned—too intimate, too messy, too reckless.

Ethan stared at his reflection in the window. I'm not some broken case she needed to fix.

I don't owe her my pride.

He set the glass down hard on the counter, fingers curling around the edge of it like he was trying to hold himself still.

Maybe she saw him as weak.

Maybe she pitied him.

The resentment wasn't full yet—but it had begun to grow.

And love never bloomed clean in poisoned soil.

Ethan stood still for a long time after setting down the glass.

The questions burned inside him—unspoken, unanswered. But instead of chasing them, Ethan let the silence settle. Let it swallow the heat in his chest.

"She made a choice," he whispered to the empty room. "And so will I."

His hand brushed over the drawer, pausing, then slowly pulled it open. The bracelet sat there, quiet and innocent. He looked at it for one breath too long before shutting the drawer again—firmly, finally.

He wasn't going back.

No calls. No letters. No goodbyes.

Whatever that moment was between them… it would stay in that dimly lit hospital room.

He turned away from the drawer—and from the woman who'd pulled him from death like it was just another shift.

Let it be, he told himself.

And for now…

He meant it.

The following evening, Jillian was at the rooftop of the hospital, she leaned against the cool rail of the rooftop terrace, a mug of chamomile tea warming her hands.

The sky above Shanghai was painted in violet and orange hues, the city's heartbeat pulsing below. It had been a long day, but the silence tonight felt… heavier than usual.

She took a sip and let the steam brush her face.

Ethan hadn't been seen around in days.

No updates. No notes. Nothing.

And she wasn't sure why that unsettled her.

"He's probably long gone," she murmured to herself, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

It wasn't like she expected anything. She'd done her duty. Saved a life. That was all.

Still, the memory of his fingers wrapped around her wrist, the desperation in his voice—"Please help me…"—lingered like a song she couldn't forget.

Jillian sighed and looked up at the sky, hoping the stars might settle her restless thoughts.

But the ache beneath her ribs said something else.

She turned away and walked back into the hospital—back to duty, back to normal.

Unaware that Ethan had already closed the door behind him.

Meanwhile, Jillian buries herself in work.

She throws herself into surgeries, research, and mentorship to keep her mind off Ethan.

A new, complex patient case reminds her of someone...

In the operating room, the lights overhead burned bright. The sound of monitors, gloves snapping, and the steady rhythm of her own heartbeat filled the space. Jillian stood over the open chest of a young male patient—early 30s, athletic build, multiple internal injuries from a motorcycle crash.

It wasn't just the case—it was him.

His eyes, when he first arrived, had the same haunted glint Ethan's did.

"You're doing great, Dr. Jillian," the assisting nurse said quietly.

She nodded, lips pressed into a firm line. Focus.

Scalpel. Clamp. Suture.

The surgery was complicated—more than expected. But Jillian worked like a machine, her movements precise, almost surgical poetry. The team around her watched in awe.

Three hours later, she stepped out of the OR, peeled off her gloves, and scrubbed her arms harder than she needed to.

Why did his voice sound like his?

Why did saving him feel like déjà vu?

Back in her office, she sat in silence for a long time, looking at her schedule, then picking up a stack of research papers for an upcoming journal submission.

If she was tired, she didn't show it.

If she was aching, she didn't admit it.

Instead, she buried herself deeper. Because in the operating room… the only heart she had to worry about was someone else's.

In Jillian's apartment that night after her day shift, exhaustion weighing down her limbs. After a long day in the operatingroom, the silence felt heavy—not peaceful.

She reached for her phone and dialed.

Chloe picked up on the second ring, Clara joining moments later on video. Their familiar faces filled her screen.

"Jill?" Clara smiled. "It's been forever."

"You look drained," Chloe added. "What happened?"

Jillian leaned back against a cushion. "I just needed to hear you guys. Today was… something else."

She hesitated, her voice dropping. "I saw Ethan again. A few days ago, actually. He was injured badly, barely holding on and was followed by a gang threatening his life. I operated on him."

Clara's eyes widened. "Wait—the Ethan?"

Jillian nodded. "Yeah. But after the surgery, he left. No word, no note. Just vanished."

"And today," she continued, voice softening, "I had a patient. Same height, same look in his eyes. It hit me harder than I expected."

For a moment, none of them said anything.

Then Chloe spoke, her tone gentle. "You're not a machine, Jill. You gave a part of yourself. That doesn't just fade."

Clara nodded. "He left—but you're still carrying it. That's the hard part."

Jillian gave a quiet, almost tired smile as she leaned her head against the backrest of the couch. The glow of the phone lit up her face, but her eyes had dimmed with thought.

"I guess I thought I'd buried it," she murmured. "Put it behind me with everything else I push away."

"You're strong, Jill," Clara said, her voice warm but firm. "But strength isn't about forgetting. It's about carrying things without letting them crush you."

Jillian exhaled slowly, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

"I know," she said. "But some days, I wish I didn't care so much. That I could just… focus, like before."

Chloe smiled faintly. "You still care because you're human. Because you feel. And that's what makes you a damn good doctor. And a better friend."

The three sat in silence for a beat, the quiet somehow comforting.

Then Clara grinned, trying to lighten the mood. "Anyway, when are you going to take a proper break? You're long overdue for a night out. Or even a spa day."

Jillian let out a small laugh. "Maybe once I catch up on sleep. Or if I ever make it through a week without someone bleeding in front of me."

"Deal," Chloe said. "Until then, we'll keep dragging you into video calls and checking in, whether you like it or not."

"Thanks, guys," Jillian said softly, her voice full of gratitude.