TWO REALITIES COLLIDE IN LOVE

CHAPTER 4

Lucy’s POV



The sharp ring of my phone on the bedside table snapped me awake. My heart raced as I reached for it in the dark.

“Hello?” I croaked, my voice rough with sleep.

“Lucy? It’s Victor. Victor Cross.”

I groaned and dropped back onto the pillow. “Victor… do you know what time it is? If this isn’t about a patient dying, I swear I’ll kill you.”

“It’s Crazy Dog,” Victor whispered. His voice sounded scared. “He’s been calling me because you’re not answering. He’s losing it, Lucy. He keeps asking for you. And… he’s asking about your dad.”

I sat straight up. Sleep vanished instantly. “My dad? Why?”

“I don’t know,” Victor said quickly. “Just get down here.”

I stared at my reflection in the dark window of the residents’ lounge. Right then, I was reminded that I was Lucy Grant, a second-year resident who barely had time to shower, let alone deal with drama. I stood up, fixed my scrubs, and headed out.

The bright hospital lights of Everheart Medical Centre buzzed nonstop, low and steady, like they were drilling into my brain. That sound was my life now. At 3:00 a.m., the hospital didn’t feel like a place that saved lives. It felt like a maze built to break people.

I stopped in the residents’ lounge and stared at the vending machine. My reflection in the glass looked terrible. My hair was pulled into a tight ponytail that made my face look permanently shocked, and the dark circles under my eyes were so deep they were almost purple. I would have worried if I weren’t too tired to care.

“If I eat one more bag of stale pretzels, my blood is going to turn into salt,” I muttered to myself.

I hadn’t slept more than forty-five minutes in the past day. I’d helped with a six-hour heart surgery, cleaned infected wounds, and filled out enough paperwork to kill a forest.

My phone suddenly buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and froze.

Ten missed calls.

All from “Crazy Dog.”

Professor Mark, the head of cardiothoracic surgery.

“Oh no. No, no, no,” I whispered, my heart pounding.

Professor Mark wasn’t just my boss. He was a genius with a horrible temper. If he was calling this much, someone was already dead… or about to be.

My sneakers squeaked on the floor as I ran down the hallway. I didn’t care about the nurses staring at me. I slid to a stop outside the Professor’s office, breathing hard. I quickly tried to smooth my scrubs and calm myself, then knocked.

“Enter!” Professor Mark shouted.

I opened the door. The office looked the same as always, a total mess. Medical journals were stacked everywhere. Plastic skeleton parts sat on shelves and tables. In the middle of it all, Professor Mark was hunched over his desk. He didn’t look like a surgeon getting ready for work. He looked like a man having a breakdown or seeing a vision from God.

“You took your sweet time, Grant,” he snapped without lifting his head. “I could have done a full heart transplant in the time it took you to walk here.”

“I’m sorry, Professor,” I said quickly. “I was… checking on a patient in the ICU.”

It was a lie, and my voice went a little too high.

Professor Mark finally looked up. He was in his late fifties, with wild, messy hair that never stayed in place. That hair was why everyone called him “Crazy Dog.” He stared at me for a long moment, making my skin crawl.

“Your father,” he said quietly, leaning forward, “is he really Oliver Grant?”

The question hit me out of nowhere. I expected to be tested on surgery facts or drug doses, not my family.

“Uh… yes, sir,” I said. “Oliver Grant is my father. But my parents are divorced, and I don’t see him that much...”

“Then why are you like this?” Professor Mark cut in, throwing his hands into the air. “If your father is the Oliver Grant, the genius behind X, the man who changed modern thrillers, how are you just… Lucy?”

The way he said it hurt. He said my father’s name as if it were holy. He said my name like it was boring and forgettable.

I felt that old, heavy feeling in my chest, the feeling of always being the normal, invisible kid of a famous man.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” I said flatly. “Sorry for being just Lucy. I’ll try to be more… interesting next time.”

He ignored my tone. Instead, he opened his desk drawer and pulled out a stack of shiny books.

I knew them instantly.

The sharp art. The bold lines. The dramatic covers.

X.

My father’s greatest work.

“I’ve been reading it since the very first chapter came out ten years ago,” Mark said. His eyes were bright and a little wild. “I even own the limited-edition figurines. Do you know how smart your father is? The way he writes politics? The way he writes him?”

He lifted Volume Four and held it up like it was something holy. On the cover was a good-looking man in a sharp suit. He held a gun loosely in one hand. His eyes stared straight out, dark and intense, both scary and charming at the same time.

“He’s the perfect main character,” Mark went on, pacing the tiny office. “He takes action. He suffers. He makes hard choices. He’s exactly what every surgeon should be: careful, cold, and perfect when things get stressful.”

I nodded, forcing a polite smile. “Yes, sir. He’s very popular. My father spent a lot of time creating him.”

“Popular?” Mark slammed his hand on the desk. A jar full of reflex hammers shook and rattled. “He’s a legend! And the final issue is coming out this week. The ending! Ten years of story, and now it all comes down to this!”

He stopped pacing and leaned over the desk, getting way too close to my face. “So… tell me what happens.”

I blinked. “Sir?”

“You’re his daughter,” he said quickly. “You have to know the ending. Who’s the killer? Does he marry Monica? Just tell me something!”

“My father doesn’t share his work,” I said, slowly stepping back. “He doesn’t even show his assistants the final pages until they’re finished. I honestly don’t know anything.”

Mark’s excitement vanished. His face dropped into a childish pout that looked strange on a grown man like him. Then his eyes sharpened.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “You get me spoilers, just a tiny hint, and I’ll make you the main assistant on the next open-chest surgery. I’ll even let you close.”

My heart jumped.

“The closing stitches?” I asked. “On a real patient?”

“A living, breathing person,” Mark said. “But I need answers. I have surgery tomorrow, and I can’t be shaking because I don’t know if Alexander lives or dies!”

I didn’t stop to think. “I’ll call him. Right now.”

I rushed out of the office, suddenly wide awake. All my tiredness disappeared, replaced by pure excitement. I pulled out my phone and called my dad.

Straight to voicemail.

I tried again. Same thing.

That was normal for Oliver Grant. When he was close to a deadline, he disappeared. No calls. No messages. Just work, coffee, and too much scotch until the job was done.

I switched plans and called James Porter, my dad’s main assistant. James was the one who kept everything running. He was the link between my father’s talent and the real world.

James answered on the first ring, but he didn’t even say hello.

“Lucy? Thank God,” he said, his voice thin and shaky. “I was just about to call you. Something’s wrong. Something is really wrong.”

My stomach dropped. “James? What happened? Did he have a heart attack? Is he in the hospital?”

“No,” James said, breathing hard. “He’s gone, Lucy. Your father is gone.”

I froze. “What do you mean by ‘gone’?” I asked. “Like… he went out for a drink?”