stitch Line
1459 Words
The first rule of trauma medicine is don’t get emotionally involved.
Dr. Elara Voss had followed that rule like scripture.
Until now.
Because now, the man staring at her from the ICU bed wasn’t just another body pulled back from the brink.
He was Lucian Moretti.
Mafia heir. Target of an assassination attempt.
And for some reason… he was alive because of her.
---
Elara adjusted his IV, letting her fingers move by memory while her brain scrambled for control. The room was too quiet. The kind of quiet that made heart monitors sound like war drums.
“Do you remember what happened?” she asked softly.
Lucian’s gaze trailed from her hands to her face. His voice was low and rough, like gravel dragged across silk.
“I remember headlights. Asphalt. Pain.”
A pause.
“Then you.”
She froze. “Me?”
“I knew someone was trying to kill me. But I didn’t expect to wake up in the hands of a trauma surgeon who looks like she sleeps with a scalpel under her pillow.”
She blinked. “I sleep fine, thank you.”
His lip twitched into something like a smirk. “Liar.”
She stepped back, letting professionalism slip back between them like a scalpel blade.
“You’re stable for now. But you lost a lot of blood. If you move too much or try to get out of bed, you’ll tear your sutures.”
Lucian tilted his head. “Is that concern I hear?”
“No,” she said curtly. “It’s protocol.”
---
> Elara didn't want this.
She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want him looking at her like he was trying to memorize the sharpest parts of her soul.
And she definitely didn’t want to wonder why the man who was supposed to be a monster didn’t feel like one in this moment.
---
Back in the hallway, Marko was waiting. His brow furrowed. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“He’s awake?”
“Lucian Moretti is very much awake. And annoyingly aware.”
Marko leaned in, lowering his voice. “I don’t like this, El. You need to think this through.”
“I already did,” she snapped, a little too fast.
Marko crossed his arms. “He’s not just a patient. He’s a target. That makes you a witness. Maybe even a liability.”
She ran a hand through her ponytail. “I didn’t ask for any of this. I just did my job.”
“Exactly. But now your job is about to get a hell of a lot more complicated.”
---
That afternoon, she got called into a closed-door meeting with the hospital’s Chief of Surgery and two people in dark suits.
One of them was Special Agent Raines. The other was a woman — sharp cheekbones, sharper eyes.
“Elara,” said the Chief, “the FBI has a few… follow-up questions.”
Elara sat, spine stiff. “I’ve already answered them.”
“This isn’t about the procedure,” Agent Raines said. “This is about what happens next.”
The woman beside him leaned forward. “Dr. Voss, Lucian Moretti’s survival complicates multiple ongoing investigations. There’s a chance whoever tried to kill him might come back to finish the job.”
“And you’re telling me this why?” Elara asked.
“To inform you that your hospital is now a crime scene,” she replied. “And you may be involved whether you like it or not.”
Elara’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t commit a crime. I saved a life.”
The woman smiled coldly. “That depends on whose life you saved.”
---
> That night, she stayed late.
The halls were quieter after visiting hours, but Elara couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her.
Her footsteps echoed. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
She rounded the corner toward Lucian’s room—and froze.
The door was cracked open.
No nurses were scheduled in ICU 3 past 9 PM.
Heart pounding, Elara pushed it open.
Lucian sat up, one hand gripping his IV pole, the other on his stitches. His jaw was tight with pain, but his eyes were alert—too alert.
“You should be lying down,” she snapped, rushing to him.
“I heard a noise,” he muttered. “Didn’t trust it.”
“You didn’t trust the hospital?”
“I don’t trust anything,” he said. “Not after being left in the street with a bullet in my chest.”
She paused. “Who did it?”
His eyes met hers. “If I tell you, you’ll be next.”
---
She helped him back into bed, her hands gentler than she wanted them to be. She checked his vitals, ignoring the way his gaze followed her like a second heartbeat.
“You shouldn’t care,” he murmured. “But you do.”
“I don’t,” she said quickly.
“Then why are your hands shaking?”
She pulled away, blood rising to her cheeks. “You need rest.”
“And you need to stop pretending you’re not curious.”
She looked down at him—bruised, bandaged, dangerous.
He was right.
---
> In her apartment that night, Elara stood at the sink, watching the city lights blur through her window.
Her phone buzzed. A blocked number.
She let it go to voicemail.
Ten seconds later, a message popped up.
“You saved the wrong man.”
No name. No ID. Just those five words.
She stared at the screen, pulse racing.
Then she deleted the message.
---
> The next day brought more trouble.
The hospital cafeteria was almost empty when she spotted the man sitting at the far end. Dark coat. Leather gloves. Face too calm.
He stood as she approached.
“Elara Voss?” he asked.
“Yes?”
“I work for your patient.”
Her blood turned to ice. “Lucian?”
“He sent this.”
The man handed her a thin envelope, nodded once, and walked out the exit like a shadow.
She stared at it.
Inside was a note written in elegant script:
> “If you’re going to keep saving me, I figured you deserve to know why I’m still alive.”
Tonight. 11 PM. Rooftop.
She should have thrown it away.
Instead, she folded it, slipped it into her coat pocket, and walked back toward ICU 3 with her heartbeat thudding in her ears.
---
> At 11 PM, she stood on the rooftop.
The wind bit through her scrubs, but she didn’t move.
Lucian was already there, leaning against the ledge like he had all the time in the world. His bandages peeked beneath his black coat.
“You’re bleeding again,” she said, arms crossed.
He gave a ghost of a smile. “You’re watching again.”
She looked away.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“I want to make you understand.”
“Understand what?”
He took a step closer.
“Why I was left to die. And why I didn’t.”
---
> In the next ten minutes, he told her pieces of the truth.
About a deal gone wrong.
About someone inside the family feeding information to enemies.
About betrayal.
And about her.
“You weren’t a random hospital,” he said. “I asked them to bring me here.”
“You—what?”
“You’re the best trauma surgeon in the city. I did my research before the job went sideways.”
She took a shaky breath. “You planned this?”
“Not the shooting. But the backup plan? Yeah.”
He stepped closer, voice softer now.
“You saved me, Elara. I’m not going to forget that.”
---
> She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
Because everything inside her was screaming not to get pulled deeper.
But something else whispered, You’re already in it.
She turned to leave. But his voice stopped her.
“Be careful who you trust,” Lucian said. “It wasn’t just my family who wanted me dead.”
She turned slowly.
“What do you mean?”
He looked at her, expression unreadable.
“I mean you should check your patient files from last week. One of your surgeries wasn’t an accident.”
Her heart stopped.
> “They’re not just watching me, Elara.”
“They’re using you.”
💬 Do you think Elara can trust Lucian—or is he dragging her into something darker?
Comment your theories below!
🔪 Who do you think tried to kill him?
🧠 And who might be watching her?
- Writer
