Chapter 1Blythe Calder had rotted away for eight years in a nowhere clinic in the mountains of West Virginia, thinking she could finally close the distance with Quentin Ashford, only for her transfer request back to D.C. to be denied—again.
She called Quentin, sobbing, but the voice on the other end belonged to a little girl.
"Are you looking for my daddy?"
The kid's voice was chirpy and bright. "Daddy took Mommy to get cupcakes! They aren't back yet."
Daddy?
The word hit her like an icepick to the chest, burying itself deep without warning.
Her throat seized up, choking off any sound she tried to make.
This has to be a mistake, right?
After all, everyone knew Quentin was obsessed with her—his love was loud and intense.
The six-hour drive from D.C. to the sticks of West Virginia never phased him, he showed up every single month like clockwork.
Even if it was just for a quick hello, he acted like it was the highlight of his life.
Blythe's hand started shaking against the receiver. Just then, a deep, gentle baritone came through the line.
"Gaia-bug, come here. Look what Daddy got you."
It was Quentin!
In that split second, Blythe felt her heart get shredded into a million pieces, the pain so sharp it stole her voice.
She couldn't wrap her head around it—the man she'd wasted her youth on had been playing her for eight years.
He was married. He had a kid. And she was the last to know!
Blythe clutched her aching chest, ready to scream at him, when another woman's voice cut in. "Quentin, did you seriously block Blythe's transfer request again?"
Blythe's eyes went wide, her breath hitching in pure disbelief.
It was Lavinia Reed—her best friend.
"Yeah."
Quentin's one-word answer was cold enough to freeze the blood in Blythe's veins.
Lavinia sighed. "But Blythe's been out there eight years. She's gonna be an old maid soon. Who's gonna want her then?"
"It's fine. She doesn't mind."
Quentin's tone was so detached, so indifferent, it twisted the knife in Blythe's heart.
She couldn't believe it—the only reason she'd been stuck in the mountains for years was because Quentin was keeping her there!
Blythe's mind went blank, the world around her going completely silent.
She slammed the phone down and stumbled back to the main office in a daze, desperate to confront the clinic director.
But as she reached the door, she overheard the director gossiping with a new assistant fresh from the city.
The assistant sounded confused. "Wait, isn't Dr. Ashford already married with a kid back in D.C.? Why keep Blythe in the dark and block her transfer eight times in a row?"
The director sighed. "If Blythe leaves, her spot opens up. The board would ship Dr. Reed out here to fill the vacancy, and Dr. Ashford isn't about to let his wife get sent to the boonies."
"Makes sense. I guess since his wife is Dr. Reed..."
Hearing that, the reality finally sank in. Quentin was actually married!
And he was married to her best friend.
Suddenly, the air felt too thin to breathe.
The truth was, Blythe wasn't the one originally drafted for rural service—Lavinia was.
She and Quentin were military brats, born and raised on the same base.
When she was ten, Lavinia's mom remarried an officer, and from then on, Lavinia became the little shadow trailing after her and Quentin.
Lavinia was soft, an easy target for bullies, and Blythe was always the one throwing punches to protect her.
Lavinia had promised that when Blythe got married, she'd be the maid of honor, no questions asked.
But instead, she stabbed Blythe in the back and played house with the man her best friend loved.
That night, Blythe lay on her narrow cot, tears soaking into her pillow.
She'd crushed on Quentin for a decade before finally gathering the guts to confess on her eighteenth birthday.
Quentin didn't say no, instead, he handed her an application for the rural medical corps.
"Blythe, I don't date pampered princesses. Prove you can handle the real world, prove you're on my level, and I'll marry you."
And she bought it. Hook, line, and sinker.
Ignoring her parents' warnings, she packed her bags for the Appalachian wilderness and stayed there for eight long years.
In those eight years, she'd struggled, she'd cried herself to sleep, but she never once said she regretted it.
She thought the finish line was a happy marriage.
Turns out, she was just the sacrificial lamb.
Heartbroken, Blythe dragged herself out of bed, gathered every letter, every photo, and every gift Quentin had ever given her, threw them into a metal bin, and set them on fire.
If eighteen years wasn't enough to warm his heart, she was done trying.
Three days later, Blythe got an urgent wire from D.C.—her father was in critical condition.
But since her transfer was denied, she couldn't leave her post without going AWOL.
Pacing frantically around her small room, Blythe had no choice but to call Quentin again.
Choking back sobs, she begged, "Quentin, please, I'm begging you! Let me come home to see my dad one last time!"
Her parents had tried to stop her from leaving, but she had been stubborn, breaking their hearts to chase a boy.
If she could just get back, she'd apologize and spend every second making it up to them.
But Quentin was ice cold. "Blythe, I want you back more than anyone. But your dad isn't gonna get better just because you show up. Follow protocol. When your transfer is approved, I'll pick you up at the station myself."
"No!"
Right before the line went dead, Blythe heard that little voice again. "Daddy, you promised we'd go to the carnival! When are we leaving?"
"We're going right now."
The difference between who he loved and who he didn't was painfully obvious. How had she been so blind?
Every disappointment sharpened into an icicle, stabbing her heart over and over again.
A reckless idea began to take root in the wasteland of her mind.
She marched into the director's office, took a deep breath, and announced, "I want to join the new Doctors Without Borders mission to Africa!"
The director jumped. "Blythe, are you crazy? That's not a vacation!"
"It's ten times worse than here! It's a multi-year commitment, you don't speak the language, it's a disease hotbed—people die out there, Blythe!"
Blythe looked him dead in the eye, calm as a bomb. "I heard volunteers get an immediate seven-day leave pass. Is that true?"
"Well, yes."
The director sighed. "But did you clear this Africa thing with Director Ashford?"
"No."
Blythe gave a bitter smile. "I make my own decisions now. Just sign the papers, sir."
Seeing she wouldn't budge, the director added her name to the mission roster.
That very night, Blythe grabbed her bags and boarded the train back to D.C.
Chapter 2
After two days on a rattling train, Blythe arrived in D.C. looking like a ghost.
But she didn't stop to rest, she dragged her luggage straight from the station to the hospital.
As she wove through the chaotic lobby, her eyes swept past the front desk and froze on a familiar figure.
Quentin stood there in a sharp, charcoal-grey peacoat, his posture perfect—the kind of man who commanded attention just by existing.
He was holding a girl, maybe six or seven, who was slumped against his shoulder, her face flushed with fever.
A moment later, Lavinia appeared with a chart, and Quentin immediately leaned in, intimate and attentive, to hear what she was saying.
Blythe stopped dead. Her blood rushed to her head, then instantly turned to ice.
She thought she was numb, but seeing this picture-perfect family in the flesh sent a jagged cramp through her heart.
Just then, sensing eyes on him, Quentin turned his head.
Their eyes locked. Blythe saw the shock flash across his face, instantly replaced by fury.
Blythe didn't acknowledge him, she turned to walk away.
But Quentin strode toward her, child in arms. "Blythe? What the hell are you doing here?"
He raked his eyes over her luggage and her gaunt face, scowling. "Did you go AWOL? Are you insane?! Do you have any idea how serious it is to abandon your post?"
"I didn't..." Blythe started to pull out her stamped leave papers, but Quentin cut her off.
He freed a hand and grabbed her arm, hard.
"Let's go. I'm putting you on the next train back! And when you get there, you're writing a formal apology and facing the disciplinary board!"
His grip was iron-tight, pulling her off balance so she stumbled.
Just then, Lavinia walked up.
She stared at Blythe in shock, then looked at Quentin's tense jaw, her expression complicated. "Quentin, give me Gaia. I'll take her to the doctor."
But the little girl clung to Quentin's neck. "No! I want Daddy!"
Blythe's face hardened, and she violently ripped her arm from Quentin's grasp.
She looked up into his eyes—the same eyes that used to hold the universe for her now held nothing but irritation and blame.
God, it was so obvious who he actually loved.
She'd been blind for years, thinking love conquers all, when really, she was the only one playing the game.
"Quentin, we're done."
Her voice was terrifyingly calm. No screaming, no drama.
Quentin froze, clearly blindsided. His expression shifted.
"Blythe, stop being dramatic. This isn't the time for your tantrums. Go back to West Virginia, and I'll explain everything later..."
"I'm not being dramatic."
Blythe cut him off, her words hitting the floor like ice. "It's over. It should have been over a long time ago. My life is none of your business anymore."
Without waiting for a reply, she grabbed her bag, squared her shoulders, and walked right past him toward the inpatient wing.
Quentin instinctively stepped to follow, but his daughter whimpered in his arms.
Lavinia tugged his sleeve, whispering, "Quentin, Gaia's fever..."
"Let's get Gaia to the doctor."
He turned immediately toward pediatrics. When Blythe glanced back, his back was already disappearing down the hall.
Chapter 3
In the hospital room, Blythe's father looked decades older than she remembered.
After Blythe pressed him, he finally spilled the truth.
While she was gone, the family had been targeted.
Her dad had faced hell at work, and the stress had destroyed his health.
This hospital stay? It was triggered when he got fired over a bogus report.
Blythe felt a chill run down her spine.
All these years, Quentin told her everything back home was fine.
He lied about that, too.
He hid his wife, his kid, and the fact that her family was falling apart.
Lie after lie. Her trust in him felt like a pathetic joke.
"My health is fading, Blythe. You and Quentin need to get married soon."
Her father's weak cough pulled her back to reality.
She gave a bitter smile and shook her head. "Dad, the wedding is off."
"I volunteered for the medical mission to Africa. It's approved. I'll be leaving soon..."
Before she could finish, the door burst open.
Quentin stormed in, looking dark. "Who's going to Africa? Blythe, what kind of nonsense are you feeding your father now?"
"Can I help you, Director Ashford?"
Blythe didn't engage, just glancing at him with cold, dead eyes.
Quentin ignored her tone, switching to boss mode. "I was just about to ask you—who authorized you to leave West Virginia?"
Blythe laughed coldly. He really never trusted her, did he?
"I have approved leave papers."
She pulled the folded document from her bag.
Quentin lunged forward, grabbing her wrist, his voice rising. "Blythe, you'll really do anything to get your way, won't you!"
He snatched the papers, didn't even look at them, sneered, and ripped them to shreds right in front of her face!
Confetti rained down on the floor.
Blythe stared at the pieces, shaking with rage.
"Quentin, I told you! My life is none of your business! Stay the hell away from me!"
As she screamed the words, her chest ached violently.
Looking at the man she used to adore, she finally realized: this entire relationship was just a fantasy in her own head!
Those papers he just destroyed were her ticket out—her proof that she was here legally.
And he couldn't even be bothered to read them before tearing her life apart!
Quentin frowned. "Forging documents? That just makes it worse!"
"I didn't forge them!"
He cut her off. "Do you have any respect for the rules? Any sense of responsibility?"
"That clinic needs people, and you just took off! Do you know how bad this makes us look?"
On the bed, her father struggled to sit up, looking at his daughter in shock.
"Blythe, is he telling the truth? Did you run away? How could you..."
Mid-sentence, he clutched his chest, gasping for air, his lips turning blue.
"Dad!"
Blythe shoved Quentin aside and dove for the bed.
He was out cold, and the monitor started screaming an alarm.
Panic set in. Blythe slammed the emergency button, screaming for a doctor.
Five minutes passed. No one came.
Blythe looked up and met Quentin's cold eyes, and suddenly, she understood.
This was Quentin's hospital. He was God here.
Quentin spoke calmly. "Blythe, admit you were wrong. Agree to come back to West Virginia right now and face the consequences. Do that, and I'll get the best surgeons and the best meds for your dad immediately."
Blythe stopped breathing.
She couldn't believe it—the man she loved was holding her father's life hostage to force a confession for a crime she didn't commit!
Despair and rage swallowed her whole.
She looked at her unconscious father, and her blood ran cold.
Every second was another knife in her heart.
"Fine. I'll go back with you."
She hadn't done anything wrong.
But her father's life came first.
Once they got to West Virginia, the director would prove her innocence!
"You should have just said that from the start."
A satisfied smirk touched Quentin's lips. He snapped back into professional mode, walked to the door, and flagged the head nurse.
"Get Cardiology and Anesthesiology down here. Prep for emergency surgery, now!"
As her father was wheeled away, Blythe collapsed onto a cold chair in the hallway, wiping her dry eyes in silence.
Quentin Ashford, we are done!
From this moment on, she would never shed another tear for him.
