Chapter 2
2011words
Sitting backstage at a television interview in my tailored suit, I had almost forgotten about the man who'd stood under the New York night sky before rushing to some distant battlefield.
My life had returned to normal—or rather, back to its precise, efficient track that couldn't tolerate the slightest deviation.
I was about to be interviewed as the youngest trauma surgery director candidate at Presbyterian, for a program promoting the hospital.
"Dr. Sterling, your principles are admirable, but sometimes medicine needs a bit of... flexibility."
One of the board members—the corpulent Mr. Rosenberg—"kindly" reminded me before I went on stage.
His nephew, some Wall Street hotshot, wanted to commandeer valuable ER resources for an expensive and completely unnecessary facial reconstruction just because he'd broken his front teeth playing football and wanted to make it to a party that night.
I'd refused and put him in the regular queue at the dental clinic.
"My flexibility serves medicine itself, not someone's social calendar, Mr. Rosenberg."
I responded with a smile, though my tone was cold enough to freeze the fake smile on his face.
During the interview, my performance was flawless—professional, calm, compassionate—perfectly playing the role of a top surgeon.
But as a result, I lost my shot at promotion.
Rosenberg used his influence to strike my name from the candidate list, replacing me with a doctor far less qualified but more "compliant."
Not only that, I also received notice of a new assignment.
"Hadram? Middle East? Leading an eight-month medical volunteer project?" I stared at the dean's hypocritical face, nearly laughing. "Is this exile, sir?"
"Chloe, this is an opportunity," the dean said pompously. "A chance for you to reflect on your career. The board believes you need to learn how to handle more complex 'interpersonal relationships.' Plus, it helps our hospital's international humanitarian image."
From his shifty eyes, I read the subtext: either go to that godforsaken place for eight months, or get out of Presbyterian altogether.
I had no choice.
A month later, I stood in the departure hall of JFK, followed by a medical team of six doctors and nurses looking as bewildered as I felt.
Hadram's airport was pathetically small—like an abandoned bus station.
Rolling waves of heat mixed with dust and unfamiliar spices hit us in the face, nearly suffocating those of us accustomed to New York's climate-controlled environments.
I adjusted my scarf, put on my sunglasses, and tried not to look like a tourist who'd accidentally wandered into the Sahara.
Just as I was counting personnel and looking for our military escort, a familiar figure burst into my line of sight.
He was leaning against a Humvee, wearing tactical camo pants and a tight sand-colored T-shirt that outlined muscles even more defined than I remembered.
Still with that dazzling blond hair, those Mediterranean-blue eyes staring at me unabashedly, a playful smile tugging at his lips.
It was Leo.
My heart jolted. I almost instinctively turned away, pretending to give instructions to the nurse beside me, completely ignoring his existence.
You've got to be kidding me.
My place of exile was actually his deployment zone?
Could the world get any smaller?
"Dr. Sterling, we can't seem to find our escort," my assistant, a freshly graduated doctor, said anxiously.
I took a deep breath, suppressing the irritation bubbling inside me. "Don't worry, they should be—" Before I could finish, a piercing alarm suddenly blared nearby.
Several soldiers in U.S. military uniforms jumped from another vehicle, shouting nervously and gesturing for us to get down.
"What's happening?" My team members panicked. "Get down! Everyone down!" I commanded, and with the composure developed from years in the ER, I was the first to drop to the scorching ground.
Immediately after, a series of distinct "clicks" sounded around us, as if something had been stepped on.
"Don't move! You've entered a minefield!" a soldier shouted nervously. "Moving your feet will trigger an explosion!" Panic spread through my team like wildfire—some began crying, others turned pale.
My heart was in my throat as I lay frozen, not daring to move a muscle. Each second felt like an eternity.
Just when I was about to break down, that familiar voice drawled: "Alright, folks, game over."
Leo stood with his hands in his pockets, a playful smile on his face, casually strolling over.
He came to me, squatted down, and poked at the object that had made the "click" near my foot—a cheap plastic toy landmine.
"Welcome to Hadram, Doctor. Seems your sense of direction is as poor as your memory—getting lost at the airport and pretending not to see old friends."
I sprang up from the ground, glaring at him furiously, blood rushing to my face. "Do you think this is funny, Captain Kane?" I asked through gritted teeth, my voice trembling with anger. "You're playing with people's lives!"
"Relax, Dr. Sterling," he stood up, amusement dancing in his blue eyes.
"This is just... an unconventional welcome ceremony. Payback for someone who pretended not to see me at the airport."
His gaze swept over my anger-flushed face, finally resting on my lips.
"Though I must admit, you look... even more captivating when angry than I'd imagined."
His team members burst into laughter while my assistants looked horrified and confused.
I was too furious to speak, only able to glare at him fiercely, wishing I could burn holes through his handsome face with my eyes.
The American military base was nothing like I'd imagined—no movie-style tents and mud, but a neatly planned "small town" of shipping containers and prefabricated buildings.
Our medical station was in one corner of the base, with better conditions than expected—at least we had private rooms and air conditioning. But new problems quickly emerged.
"What do you mean Wi-Fi is only available from seven to nine in the evening?" I burst into Leo's command center—an office converted from a shipping container—and slammed the network usage regulations onto his desk.
"We need internet to research and consult with colleagues in New York! We're not here on vacation!"
"Doctor, welcome to the war zone, where every bit of data traffic costs more than your Botox injections.
He continued signing documents without looking up, his tone flat. "Besides, my soldiers need to contact their families too. It's their only entertainment."
"And what about shower time? Why do we have to finish before five in the afternoon?" I continued. "We often work late!"
"Because after five is shower time for the soldiers. They've been training all day—surely you don't expect them to sleep with the scent of your perfume in their noses?" He finally looked up, leaning back in his chair with a composed expression.
"Also, water is precious here, doctor. You can't take hour-long showers like in your Manhattan penthouse. Is there a problem with that?"
"You..."
I was speechless with anger at his businesslike yet provocative attitude.
We were like two fighting roosters, arguing endlessly about everything from the cafeteria menu to the laundry schedule.
I could tell he was enjoying himself, delighting in this game of constantly pushing my buttons.
And I, damn it, realized that during these pointless arguments, the gulf between us that had formed when he left seemed to be gradually closing.
Life at the base was monotonous but far from peaceful.
Besides bickering with Leo, I noticed another strange dynamic—between his deputy Mark and our best field surgeon, Captain Eva Rostova.
Eva was an expert I'd specifically "borrowed" from the Army Medical Department who had volunteered for this project.
I'd always thought she was here to pad her resume, until I witnessed her reunion with Mark at the base.
"Hades." Eva called to the man who was about to walk away, with a barely perceptible tremor in her voice.
Mark's body stiffened, but he didn't look back, saying only in an almost cruel tone: "Lieutenant Rostova, welcome to the base."
Then he quickly walked away, as if fleeing from something.
Eva stood there, watching his back, her eyes filled with determination and pain.
I later learned that Eva was the only daughter of the Vice Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. She had followed Mark to this dangerous place, while Mark, under enormous pressure from her father, kept avoiding her, trying to push her away.
Their love was heavier and more desolate than the desert itself.
"Mark is a stubborn bastard." One evening, Leo and I were having a rare moment without arguing, sitting together on sandbags outside the medical station, looking at the stars. "He thinks he's not good enough for Eva, and he's afraid her status will either ruin him or ruin her."
"What about you?" I asked, as if possessed. "What are you afraid of? Are you afraid your work will ruin me, or ruin yourself?"
The air instantly froze between us.
Leo turned and looked at me deeply, those blue eyes burning like twin flames in the darkness.
"What I'm afraid of is that when I tell you the truth, you'll walk away without looking back, just like that night."
His voice was low and hoarse, carrying a vulnerability I'd never heard before.
After that day, our relationship underwent subtle changes. The arguments continued, but they felt more like flirtation.
Until one afternoon, when a rare antivenom we urgently needed appeared on the black market in town, but the road was blocked due to recent tribal conflicts.
"Hold on tight." Without another word, Leo pulled me toward the helipad. He actually broke protocol by requisitioning a "Little Bird" helicopter and, under everyone's astonished gaze, flew me to the chaotic town.
At the black market, we successfully traded two boxes of antibiotics and a dozen military ration cans for the life-saving serum. By the time we headed back, the sky had darkened.
Leo didn't fly directly back to base but instead circled above a quiet bay, then landed on the beach. We jumped down from the helicopter, and he gestured for the pilot to return to base first.
Next, he pulled me toward a speedboat hidden behind some rocks. The boat cut through the waves toward an abandoned ancient port deep in the bay. The sunset had painted the entire sea surface brilliant gold, and the old stone pier and shipwreck remains presented a serene yet desolate beauty in the fading light.
"Beautiful," I sighed sincerely as the day's heat and noise were carried away by the peaceful sea breeze.
"The locals call it 'Shipwreck Bay,'" Leo stopped the boat, letting it drift gently. "Legend says anyone who takes sand from this place will eventually return, no matter how far they go.
As he spoke, he jumped off the boat, his bare feet sinking into the soft sand, then extended his hand to me.
I hesitated for a moment before placing my hand in his broad palm. He pulled me ashore, where warm sand wrapped around my ankles. We walked side by side along the deserted beach, hearing only waves crashing against the shore.
"So you brought me here to take some sand, so I'd come back after eight months?" I turned to look at his profile outlined in gold by the sunset, asking teasingly.
He stopped walking and turned to face me. In those blue eyes were reflected the brilliant evening glow and my own image. He didn't answer my question but instead bent down, scooped up a handful of fine sand, and gently poured it into my shirt pocket.
"I just hope," he leaned close to my ear, his voice deep and gentle like an enchanting spell, "that before you leave, you'll spend every day here by my side."
At that moment, I felt the sand in my pocket grow scalding hot, the heat penetrating the fabric and searing itself onto my heart. All the barriers, arguments, and misunderstandings between us dissolved in this golden afterglow and this confession so straightforward it bordered on domineering.
I raised my head, meeting his burning gaze without speaking, simply rising onto my tiptoes to kiss his lips of my own accord.
