Silent Strings

Chapter 18

The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a warm light across Jackson’s bare chest, and Ines couldn’t stop staring. He looked so effortlessly handsome, his dark hair a tousled mess against the pillow, his sculpted torso rising and falling with each breath. She had always known he was attractive—how could she not?—but seeing him now, so relaxed and utterly hers, made her throat dry.

Her fingers, as if possessed by their own curiosity, reached out to touch his chest. Warm, firm, and smooth under her fingertips. She traced the faint outline of his muscles, marveling at how unfairly perfect he was.

“You know,” Jackson drawled, his voice breaking the silence with a teasing lilt, “if you wanted to feel me up, all you had to do was ask.”

Ines’s hand froze mid-touch, her face heating so quickly she was sure she resembled a tomato. “I wasn’t— I mean—” she stammered, trying to snatch her hand away, but Jackson caught her wrist and grinned lazily.

“Oh, don’t stop now,” he teased, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “I was enjoying that.”

She swatted his arm with her free hand, her embarrassment melting into exasperation. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, though she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips.

“And yet you’re still here,” he shot back with a wink, pulling her closer until she was half-sprawled on top of him.

The playful exchange dissolved into comfortable silence, but Ines’s thoughts refused to settle. As her fingers resumed their soft, absentminded patterns across his chest, her mind wandered to the weight of everything she hadn’t yet told him. Three years of silence, three years of distance. It had taken so much just to get back here—to him—but she knew she couldn’t keep avoiding the truth.

Jackson’s arm tightened around her, his thumb brushing lazy circles against her shoulder. “You’re still thinking,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep and satisfaction.

Ines hesitated, her lips curving into a faint, rueful smile. “Of course I am,” she admitted softly.

“About what?” he asked, his tone gentle but curious.

She didn’t answer right away, unsure of how to begin. Her gaze traced the slope of his jaw, the faint stubble there, the way his eyes—half-lidded and drowsy—watched her like she was the only thing that mattered.

“Ines,” he said quietly, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. His thumb brushed lightly over her skin, and the tenderness of the gesture made her chest ache. “Talk to me.”

A lump formed in her throat, and she struggled to find the words. How could she tell him everything? About why she hadn’t come back for so long, about why she had pushed everyone away?

“I don’t know where to start,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Anywhere,” Jackson urged, sitting up slightly so their faces were level. “I’ve been waiting for this, Ines. Just tell me.”

His words struck a chord deep within her, and for a moment, she could see the raw vulnerability in his eyes. This wasn’t the Jackson she was used to—the ever-confident, teasing genius who always seemed to have the upper hand. This was a man who had waited, who had hurt, and who still looked at her like she was the only woman in his life. But I know I’m not.

Her resolve wavered, but she knew she couldn’t keep avoiding the truth. If she wanted to build anything real with him, she had to start being honest.

“Ines,” Jackson prompted gently, his gaze searching hers.

She swallowed hard, her hand coming to rest against his chest again, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm.

“I’ll tell you,” she said at last, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not now, but soon. I promise.”

His brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t push her. Instead, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll wait.”

And just like that, the crushing weight of her guilt eased, replaced by a fragile, tentative hope. She didn’t know if he’d still look at her the same way after hearing the truth, but for now, she let herself sink into his warmth, into the quiet comfort of his embrace.

Soon, she told herself. Soon, she would tell him everything—about her grandmother, about the grief that had swallowed her whole, and about the fear that had kept her away.

But for now, she let herself linger at the moment, her heart lighter than it had been in years. Jackson’s steady presence beside her was enough to remind her that maybe—just maybe—coming back wasn’t a mistake after all.

The sky was gray, the air chilly, and the overall mood inside the hospital matched the gloomy weather outside. Another long shift, another exhausting day. Or at least, that’s what everyone expected.

But then—

Dr. Jackson Huáng happened.

Heads turned. Conversations halted. Even the beep of monitors seemed to stutter.

The usual composed, sharp-tongued, and mercilessly efficient Dr. Huáng was walking through the hallways of Huáng Medical Center—but not in his usual domineering, I-own-this-place-and-everyone-in-it stride.

No.

This Jackson Huáng had an extra pep in his step. He was grinning. His normally razor-sharp gaze was soft, twinkling even.

It was… terrifying.

Nurses huddled in small groups, whispering.

"Is that— is that really Dr. Huáng?"

"He’s smiling! Do we call security? Is he having a breakdown?"

A janitor, mid-mopping, nearly dropped his mop. A receptionist gasped so loudly that a passing doctor looked over in concern. Even the patients sitting in wheelchairs were staring.

"Am I hallucinating?" a junior resident whispered.

"I think I just saw an angel," another muttered.

Meanwhile, Jackson continued his joyous march through the hospital, hands in his pockets, looking like a man who had figured out the meaning of life.

Then—

He did something unthinkable.

He greeted people.

"Good morning, Doctor," a passing surgeon greeted out of instinct.

"A beautiful morning indeed, Professor Lee!" Jackson responded brightly.

The surgeon tripped over air.

A group of interns, clutching their coffee cups like lifelines, watched in stunned silence as Jackson stopped at the nurse’s station.

"Ladies, gentlemen," he said, flashing a genuine smile, "how’s everyone this fine morning?"

One of the nurses dropped a clipboard. Someone else audibly gasped.

"Who is this man?"

"Where is the real Dr. Huáng?!"

The poor receptionist on duty pressed her hands together as if praying.

If there was any hope that Jackson’s insanity would wear off once he entered the OR, that hope was quickly shattered.

Athy, his younger sister and longtime scrub nurse, had been watching him closely ever since this bizarre version of Jackson arrived. At first, she assumed he was in a good mood—maybe he had just received good news, or finally had a decent night’s sleep.

But as the surgery prep continued, her concern grew.

Because Jackson was humming.

HUMMING.

In the sterile, high-stakes environment of an open-heart surgery, Jackson Huáng—the man known for his laser focus and terrifying precision—was humming a tune like he was baking cookies.

The anesthesiologist went near to Athy, enough not to make her unsterile. "Is he high?"

Athy sighed. "Maybe. I don’t know. My brother’s weird but this is weirder."

Then, it got worse.

Jackson cheerfully snapped on his gloves and looked at the team. "Alright, everyone! Let’s do this. It’s a great day to save a heart, don’t you think?"

Silence.

A junior resident, wide-eyed, turned to Athy in a panic.

"Are we about to die?"

Athy fought the urge to slap her forehead.

As the surgery progressed, Jackson was still… enthusiastic. Too enthusiastic.

"Scalpel," he requested, beaming like he was about to carve a Thanksgiving turkey.

Athy handed it to him cautiously. "Are you… okay, Ahia?"

"Never better, my dearest sister!"

My dearest Sister?

The entire OR visibly tensed.

Jackson never used such terms unless he was mocking someone—or had a concussion.

Even Athy, his sister, who had known him for years, was at a loss. But since they were literally in the middle of an open-heart procedure, she decided to let it go—for now.

After the surgery, just when everyone thought they had survived the Twilight Zone, Jackson pulled one last stunt—

He paid for lunch for the entire hospital staff.

The cafeteria erupted in chaos.

"What the hell is happening?!"

"Does he have a terminal illness?!"

"Is the apocalypse coming?!"

A traumatized nurse clutched her chest. "I never thought I’d live to see this day."