Kelsey Mcknight's question hung in the air, a petty dart aimed at Iris's professionalism.
Iris didn't flinch. She simply held the actress's gaze, her expression unreadable, and waited. She had dealt with far worse than a spoiled celebrity's doubt.
Adler's eyes, however, moved from Iris's face back to Kelsey, then back to Iris again. A silent, assessing sweep. He didn't speak, didn't move to defend or dismiss. He was watching, gauging her reaction.
This was him. Adler Pope. The man whose name was legally bound to hers. The other half of a four-year contract that had been defined by its emptiness: no contact, no interference, no connection. They were two parallel lines, never meant to cross.
And yet, here he was. Standing beside the woman the world believed he loved. The irony was so thick it was almost suffocating. A bitter, metallic taste filled her mouth.
With a practiced mental shift, Iris slammed the door on her personal history. He was no longer Adler Pope, her husband. He was just a man in a room, a bystander. She was Dr. Weaver.
She turned her attention away from both of them, her gaze landing on Caleb. She gave a slight, sharp nod toward the chart in his hand. He fumbled for a second before handing it over.
Seeing herself ignored, Kelsey's pout deepened. She turned to Adler, her voice taking on a childlike, pleading tone. "Adler, I'm scared."
A humorless smile threatened to touch Iris's lips. She kept her eyes on the chart. Acute Gastroenteritis. The diagnosis was mundane, almost laughable given the drama. A simple case of an upset stomach, likely from travel and a rich diet. Nothing that required a top-floor VIP suite and a team of doctors.
Finally, Adler spoke. His voice was a low, resonant baritone that seemed to vibrate in the air. But he wasn't speaking to Kelsey.
"Dr. Weaver," he said, his eyes fixed on her. "Does Kelsey's condition require surgery?"
He stressed the name, "Dr. Weaver," drawing it out, turning it into a wall between them. A reminder of the roles they were supposed to play.
"No," Iris replied without looking up from the chart. "It's a common stomach bug. IV fluids and a night of observation will be sufficient."
She snapped the chart closed. Her gaze, cool and direct, finally met Kelsey's. "Ms. Mcknight," she said, her voice level. "This isn't the first time we've met."
Kelsey blinked, a flicker of confusion on her perfectly made-up face. She searched her memory, trying and failing to place Iris.
Iris didn't give her time to struggle. "A year ago. In Zurich. You had an emergency cholecystectomy." She paused, letting the words sink in. "I was your lead surgeon."
The statement dropped into the room with the weight of a stone.
Caleb's jaw literally dropped. He stared at Iris as if seeing her for the first time. He'd known her for six months, seen her as a competent, if aloof, colleague. He had never heard a word about Zurich or high-profile surgeries.
Kelsey's face went from pale to ghostly white. The memory surfaced, foggy and distant. She remembered the panic, the sterile Swiss hospital, the intense pain. She remembered being told the best surgeon available had been called in. But she had been heavily sedated; she had never seen the doctor's face.
Adler's reaction was more subtle, but Iris saw it. A flicker of genuine surprise in those cold eyes, quickly masked by a deeper, more intense scrutiny. He hadn't known. For all his supposed closeness to Kelsey, he hadn't known this crucial piece of her medical history.
The knowledge settled something inside Iris. It was a small, hard confirmation of a suspicion. Adler's relationship with Kelsey was complicated, but perhaps not in the way the world assumed.
Iris held Kelsey's gaze, her voice dropping slightly, laced with an undeniable authority. "So, are you questioning whether I did a poor job on your surgery a year ago, or are you questioning my ability to handle a simple case of gastroenteritis?"
The question was a checkmate. Kelsey was left speechless, a flush creeping up her neck. She managed a weak, embarrassed laugh. "No, of course not. I just... I didn't recognize you."
Iris had made her point. She turned to Caleb, her tone all business. "Have the nurse start a saline drip. I'm off the clock."
Without a backward glance at Adler, she turned and walked toward the door. She wanted out of this room, out of this cloying, suffocating atmosphere.
"Doctor," Kelsey called out, her voice suddenly desperate, unwilling to lose the upper hand so completely. "I still have some questions..."
Iris paused, her hand on the doorknob, but didn't turn around. "My colleague will answer them for you."
Caleb watched the entire exchange, a newfound respect for Iris solidifying in his chest. Her composure was unshakable, her authority absolute. He glanced from the powerful, unreadable Adler Pope to the cool, commanding Iris Weaver. They were nothing alike, and yet... there was a matching intensity in their stillness. They felt more like a pair than Adler and the wilting actress on the bed.
Iris's hand tightened on the cool metal of the doorknob, ready to pull it open and end this farce.
