Drugged In Love

Chapter 16: Stethoscope

Marc Alvaro

The on-call room was dimly lit, the weight of the day pressing down on me like a vice. I had just come out of surgery, my mind still clouded with adrenaline and exhaustion, when my phone vibrated on the desk.

Emilia.

Of course, she found out. She always does.

I let it ring for a few seconds before finally answering. "What do you want?"

"You're just mad. You don't want to divorce me, Marc. I'll let you cool down."

"No. You don't understand."

She let out a condescending chuckle, the sound of it sending a wave of irritation through me. "Marc, you separate from me, and I'll take away that stupid foundation."

My blood turned to ice. "Don't you dare."

"You divorce me, and I'll pull the funding. I can do that since there was no prenup agreement."

I clenched my jaw so hard I thought it would snap. "You're using my foundation to manipulate me? That's low, even for you."

"It's business, Marc. You know how this works."

"I'm seeing someone—"

"No divorce, Marc." Her voice was sharper now, filled with venom. "I find out who this bitch is, and I will ruin her and you. Mark my words."

My breathing was uneven, my hands curling into fists. I didn't realize I was gripping the edge of my desk until my knuckles turned white. I wanted to lash out, to tell her to burn in hell where she belonged, but I forced myself to stay composed.

"Give me another chance, and if it still doesn't work out, I'll give you what you want."

I hate her. I fucking do. But that made me feel something. I was with her for years, and no matter how much I wanted to deny it, she knew how to crawl under my skin.

"No." I dropped the call before I could even process her words.

"Puta mierda!" I roared, slamming my fist against the desk so hard that the lamp shook.

She sees that paper as a means to control me. And I was fucking done being controlled.

*.*.*.*.*.*

Amelia Joan

"Hoy, kasing sakit nga ng period cramps 'yung heart attack," Pau muttered, tapping away on her phone while rolling her eyes.

Kevin squinted at her, clearly skeptical. "Hindi ah."

"Oy, totoo nga," I chimed in, flipping through a patient's chart. "I actually prescribe topical and oral pain medicine for that. It's documented."

"Be, tawagin mo nga 'yung cardio, ayaw maniwala," Pau teased, nudging Kevin's arm.

"Yeah, Kevin. Why are you even a nurse if you didn't know that?" I added with a smirk.

Before he could fire back, the piercing sound of the heart monitor cut through our banter.

The three of us snapped to attention. Code blue.

"Shit," I muttered, snatching a stethocospe from the desk and slinging it around my neck as I bolted toward the patient's room.

The room was chaotic. The patient, a middle-aged man, lay on the hospital bed, his skin alarmingly pale, sweat glistening across his forehead. His body trembled, his chest rising in shallow, erratic movements. The heart monitor blared, red numbers flashing dangerously low.