MARRIED TO MY RIVAL DOCTOR

chapter four

Legacy

Emily

Gifted Hands stood exactly as I'd left it, tall, glass-fronted, my parents' name etched into the lobby wall in letters I'd walked past ten thousand times without really seeing anymore.

Today, I saw them.

Xena met me at the entrance, worry etched into every line of her face, and didn't bother with pleasantries.

"They're already in there. Waiting."

"Do you know anything?"

"No one's said a word to me. But Emily," she hesitated, falling into step beside me, "there are people in that room I don't recognize. Not board members. Strangers in very expensive suits."

That did nothing to settle the unease already coiling in my stomach.

I pushed through the conference room doors, and the room went quiet in that particular way rooms do when everyone inside already knows something you don't.

My directors sat along one side of the long table, familiar faces I'd worked with for years. Opposite them sat men I didn't recognize, sharp-suited, watchful, and at the head of the table, a man whose face struck something distantly familiar in me before I placed it.

He looked like an older, more weathered version of someone I'd met only once.

"Miss DelaRosa." One of my directors rose slightly. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

"I didn't feel like I had a choice." I took my seat, keeping my voice level despite the unease climbing steadily up my spine. "Someone want to explain why I flew back a week early for an emergency session no one will describe?"

The unfamiliar man at the head of the table spoke first.

"My name is Snr Mr. Hernandez." He said it plainly, like the name alone should mean something.

It did. Distantly. Painfully.

"This concerns your late father," he continued. "Years ago, before his passing, he entered into a binding agreement with my family."

My fingers curled against the armrest.

"What kind of agreement?"

He held my gaze, steady, almost apologetic. "Our hospitals are to merge."

The words landed like a physical blow, and for one absurd second, I actually laughed, certain I'd misheard him.

"You're joking."

No one laughed with me.

My smile died. "You're serious."

"Completely."

I leaned forward, meeting his eyes directly. "With respect, that's not happening."

"That decision isn't yours to make alone," one of my own directors said carefully, and something in his tone told me this had already been decided somewhere far above my objection.

"Last I checked, I run this hospital." I said already getting pissed as I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

"And this agreement predates your presidency," Mr. Hernandez said, not unkindly, but firmly enough that the words settled like stone.

I sat back, breathing hard, trying to process a decision made about my life, my legacy, my parents' entire life's work, without my knowledge or consent.

"Why wasn't I told about this while he was alive?"

"He intended to tell you himself." Something shifted in Mr. Hernandez's expression, grief flickering briefly beneath the composure. "He simply ran out of time."

That landed harder than anything else in the room. I swallowed against the sudden tightness in my throat, refusing to let it show.

"The agreement has already been activated," he continued quietly. "Whether you consent or not, the process has begun."

"That's not how contracts work."

"It's exactly how this one works." He slid a folder across the table toward me. "I'd encourage you to read it thoroughly before you argue further."

I didn't touch it. Not yet.

"And whose hospital exactly am I being merged with?"

Something in his expression shifted, a flicker of something almost like apology.

"My son's."

The room seemed to hold its breath around me.

"Your son," I repeated slowly, dread pooling low in my stomach even before he confirmed it, even before some distant, horrified part of my brain connected the dots I didn't want connected.

"Dr. Seth Hernandez."

The name I'd learned two days ago in a town square, standing close enough to a stranger's chest to still feel the ghost of his arm around my waist, now sat in this boardroom like a verdict I hadn't seen coming.

I stared at the folder on the table, unable to move, unable to speak, the full weight of what this meant crashing over me all at once.

This wasn't a coincidence.

This had never been a coincidence. Not something like this at least.