Flash Marriage To The Ruthless Surgeon

Jaimie had learned about Gerry’s hospitalization two days earlier, through a curt voicemail from his lawyer. The message stated that Gerry Brady had sustained a fractured right arm during what the lawyer called "the incident at the restaurant," that he was being treated at St. Clare’s Hospital, and that his legal team was preparing to pursue maximum damages. The words had burrowed into her brain like a splinter she couldn’t remove. She had spent the following forty-eight hours staring at her ceiling, her bank balance, and the wall, cycling through every possible outcome until only one desperate option remained. She had to go there. She had to see him. She had to try.

The walls of the hospital corridor were painted a dull, institutional green.

Jaimie sat in a plastic chair outside room 412, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles were white. She had spent the last hour staring at the wall, trying to convince herself that this wasn't a mistake.

She had come to the hospital to see Gerry. It was a desperate move, maybe a stupid one, but she had to try. She had checked her bank account again this morning-$3,247.56. It was a joke. Gerry wanted fifty thousand.

She had to negotiate. She had to beg if she had to. Anything to avoid a lawsuit.

As she waited, she overheard two nurses chatting at their station. "Did you hear Dr. Evans is out sick? They had to pull in that new surgeon from Washington to cover his patients. Hired him almost overnight, apparently-some kind of emergency credentialing." The other nurse nodded. "Yeah, Dr. Lawson. He specifically asked to take over the case in 412. Said he wanted to review the file personally." A cold knot formed in Jaimie's stomach, but she pushed the thought away. It had to be a coincidence.

She stood up, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door to Gerry's room.

He was sitting up in bed, his right arm in a cast resting on a pillow. The TV was on, playing some daytime talk show. He looked up as she walked in, and a slow, slimy smile spread across his face.

"Well, well," he said, his voice nasally. "Look who finally came to her senses. Did you bring the check, or are you here to watch me call my lawyer?"

"I don't have fifty thousand dollars, Gerry," she said, staying near the door. "I have five. That's all I can get right now. Take it, and we can forget this whole thing."

Gerry laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Five grand? That barely covers my legal fees, Jaimie. You're going to have to do better than that."

"I can't. You know I can't."

He leaned forward, his eyes roaming over her body in a way that made her skin crawl. "Maybe we can work out a different kind of payment," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You know, for old times' sake."

"Go to hell," she snapped, the anger flaring up and burning through her fear.

"Don't talk to me like that!" Gerry shouted, his face twisting with rage. "You did this to me! You and your crazy father! I'm the victim here!"

"Mr. Brady, please keep your voice down."

A nurse appeared in the doorway, a heavyset woman with a stern expression. "This is a hospital, not a bar."

"She's harassing me!" Gerry whined, pointing at Jaimie with his good hand. "I'm a patient! I'm in pain, and she's here yelling at me!"

The nurse looked at Jaimie, her gaze disapproving. "Ma'am, if you're causing a disturbance, I'll have to ask you to leave."

"I'm not-" Jaimie started, but before she could finish, the door swung open again.

A man stepped into the room. He was tall, wearing a white lab coat over a crisp dress shirt. He had a stethoscope draped around his neck and a patient chart in his hand.

Jaimie's heart stopped.

It was Graham.

He walked past her as if she didn't exist, his attention focused entirely on Gerry. "Mr. Brady," he said, his voice professional and cool. "I'm Dr. Lawson. How are we feeling today?"

Gerry's face went slack. He looked from Graham to Jaimie, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. "You... you know her?"

Graham didn't even glance at Jaimie. "I know she's visiting during restricted hours. Miss, I'll have to ask you to step out."

Jaimie couldn't move. She was frozen to the spot, her brain trying to process what she was seeing. Dr. Lawson. Graham was a doctor at this hospital. Graham was Gerry's doctor.

This wasn't a coincidence. This was a setup.

Gerry, oblivious to the tension, saw an opportunity. He turned to Graham, his face a mask of suffering. "Doctor, you have to do something. She attacked me. Her father broke my arm. They're trying to ruin me. And now she's here, threatening me!"

He was playing the victim, using the presence of an authority figure to bolster his case. He thought the doctor was on his side.

Graham listened patiently, his expression neutral. He checked the monitors, adjusted the IV drip, and made a note on the chart.

"Mr. Brady," Graham said, his voice still calm. "Your chart indicates a blood alcohol level of point one two upon admission, and traces of oxycodone in your system. That suggests you were not in a sound state of mind during the altercation."

Gerry's face went pale. "That's... that's not relevant."

"It's highly relevant to your credibility," Graham said, his tone sharpening slightly. "Furthermore, the security footage from the restaurant shows you initiating the physical contact with an elderly man. A man who was simply defending himself."

Gerry started to sweat. "You can't... that's private!"

Graham finally looked at Jaimie. His eyes were flat, empty. "Miss Stuart," he said, using her maiden name like a weapon. "Please wait outside. I need to discuss my patient's treatment plan with him. Privately."

Jaimie wanted to scream. She wanted to demand answers. But the look in his eyes told her not to push it. Not here.

She turned and walked out of the room. The door clicked shut behind her.

She leaned against the wall, her legs weak. Graham was inside with Gerry. He was Gerry's doctor. He had access to Gerry's medical records, his blood work, his everything.

The web he had spun was so much bigger than she had realized. She wasn't just married to him. She was trapped in his world, and he had been watching her long before he knocked on her door.