KING’s DOCTOR BRIDE

CHAPTER ONE

BRIGHTER DAYS AHEAD

The sound of a siren reaches my ears, and before I can even think about it, my feet are already moving.

Working in the emergency ward is always like this as every second matters, and being one of the hospital's lead surgeons only makes things more intense.

I rush out of my office and head toward the emergency entrance. The ambulance comes to a screeching halt just as I arrive, the back doors swing open, and a patient is wheeled out at alarming speed.

The strong metallic scent of blood immediately fills the air.

Critical case and without wasting another second, I move toward the gurney.

The patient is unconscious, his body covered in blood-soaked sheets and several nurses and paramedics surround him as they rush him toward the operating theater.

I stop one of the paramedics.

"What happened?" I ask.

The female paramedic looks exhausted, sweat glistening on her forehead.

"We think he was attacked by some kind of wild animal, but we don't know exactly what, Doctor."

I frown.

A wild animal attack?

That isn't something we see every day.

"Alright, thank you for the information."

She nods before hurrying away.

I immediately head toward the changing room and judging from the amount of blood loss alone, death is already hovering dangerously close to this patient.

I quickly change into my surgical scrubs and make my way toward the operating room and as I approach, an unfamiliar scent reaches me.

It's strange and almost animalistic but I don't have time to dwell on it.

The moment I enter the operating room, my attention is captured by the horrifying sight before me, the patient's body is covered in deep wounds, blood stains almost every visible surface.

Monitors flash frantically and nurses move around in organized chaos.

And then—

The heart monitor emits a warning sound, the patient is going into cardiac arrest.

"Ma'am, there's an open wound to the chest," one of the nurses reports quickly. "Multiple puncture marks around the ribs, the patient is losing blood rapidly."

I nod.

The situation is bad nut giving up has never been an option for me, not now or ever.

I push every doubt aside and focus entirely on the man lying before me.

"Get the anesthetic ready," I order.

A nurse immediately moves to comply.

"Call Doctor Florence in here now. The moment we get the bleeding under control, we're sealing those wounds. Monitor the patient's heartbeat and blood levels continuously."

"Yes, Doctor."

Everyone springs into action.

The operating room becomes a synchronized dance of urgency and precision, this isn't my first difficult surgery.

Far from it.

Every time I walk into an operating room, I know someone's life is resting in my hands and the pressure never disappears.

You simply learn how to carry it, I step closer to the patient and begin examining the wounds, and the injuries don't look normal.

I've seen animal attacks before, bear attacks, wolf attacks and even large cat attacks, yet something about these wounds feels different, the puncture marks are unusually deep.

Almost as if they were made by something much larger than any animal I know but questions can wait as saving him comes first.

I begin issuing instructions.

"More blood."

A nurse immediately responds.

"Suction."

Another nurse hands me the instrument.

"Pressure here."

The room moves as one.

Minutes pass, then more and the bleeding refuses to stop.

Every time we gain ground, we lose it again, sweat gathers beneath my surgical cap but my hands remain steady despite the tension building in the room.

I refuse to lose him.

Not today, while there's still a chance, the monitor suddenly flatlines and for a split second, the room freezes.

"No," I say firmly.

A nurse prepares the defibrillator.

"Charging."

Everyone watches, the machine whines.

"Clear."

The patient's body jerks.

Nothing, again.

"Clear."

His body jerks once more and still nothing, I grit my teeth.

Come on.

Fight.

Just a little longer.

A third attempt.

"Clear."

A second passes then another.

Suddenly—

Beep, the monitor flickers, then beeps again and again, a heartbeat, relief washes through the room not enough for celebration but enough to keep fighting.

The surgery continues.

Hour after hour and slowly, we begin winning, the bleeding decreases and the patient's vitals stabilize.

The heart monitor settles into a steady rhythm and only then do I finally allow myself to breathe.

A collective sigh of relief spreads throughout the operating room.

We did it.

For now, at least, the patient survives and that's enough.

I remove my gloves and step away from the operating table, the exhaustion hits me immediately yet beneath it lies something stronger.

Satisfaction.

This is why I became a doctor, this feeling right here, the knowledge that someone's family won't be receiving a call informing them of a loss, that someone gets another chance at life.

I understand the value of a second chance better than most people necause life almost never gave me one.

My name is Isabella Mauron.

I'm twenty-four years old and will be turning twenty-five soon, I'm currently one of the youngest surgeons at Texas International Hospital and, according to countless magazines and medical organizations, one of the best surgeons in the world.

The title still feels strange whenever I hear it not because I don't believe I've earned it but because I know where I started.

I was born with a heart condition, condition severe enough to scare away the people who should have loved me most, .y parents abandoned me shortly after my birth, I never knew their names, saw their faces or received an explanation, I simply grew up knowing they didn't want me.

The orphanage became my home and for years, I watched other children get adopted while I stayed behind, families would come in smiling, hopeful, eager to find a child to love and the moment they learned about my condition, their interest vanished, no one wanted the sick girl or wanted the child who came with hospital visits, medication, and uncertainty.

So I stopped hoping.

Instead, I focused on studying, books became my escape, refuge anf future and while other children dreamed about families, I dreamed about becoming a doctor.

Maybe it was because I spent so much time around hospitals or it was because I wanted to understand the condition threatening my life or maybe I simply wanted to help people.

Whatever the reason, I pursued that dream with everything I had then came the miracle, I was eighteen years old and preparing to leave the orphanage, I had already accepted that I would be completely alone.

Then I won the National Scholars Quiz Competition and overnight, people knew my name, interviews followed.

Scholarship offers arrived and suddenly, everyone wanted to hear my story, nd that was when an adoption offer appeared.

At eighteen.

An age when most people considered adoption unnecessary but looking back, it still feels surreal, the newspapers called it inspirational and the public loved the story, the orphan girl who overcame every obstacle.

The sick child who became a genius, the future doctor destined for greatness.

People love stories like that.

Reality, however, isn't always as beautiful as the headlines make it seem, my adoptive mother and I never developed the relationship everyone expected and it wasn't for lack of effort on my part.

I tried.

For years, I tried, I reached out, started conversations, attended family gatherings, remembered birthdays, sent gifts.

Did everything a daughter should do.

Yet somehow there always seemed to be an invisible wall between us, a distance neither of us could cross and eventually, I stopped asking why.

Some questions don't have answers or perhaps they do maybe they simply aren't answers we want to hear either way, life moves on and so did I.

Medical school, residency, fellowships and endless sleepless nights with years of sacrifice to years of proving myself and fighting to earn my place.

Now here I am.

Doctor Isabella Mauron.

Surgeon.

The title still makes me smile sometimes, a little girl abandoned at birth somehow becomes one of the world's most respected doctors.

Life is funny like that, the shrill sound of my phone pulls me from my thoughts, I glance down at the screen as I walk back toward my office.

The hospital hallways are as busy as ever.

Doctors hurry between departments and nurses push carts loaded with supplies, patients sit in waiting areas and concerned family members stop me every few steps.

Some ask questions and others simply greet me, I answer politely whenever I can.

Still, I can't help feeling a small ache inside watching worried relatives sit beside loved ones always reminds me of what I never had, a family, people waiting for me, people worrying about me and calling just to ask whether I've eaten.

The thought disappears as another notification appears on my phone, I unlock the screen, a message from Susan.

Of course.

I don't even need to open it before knowing what it says, Susan has been my best friend for years.

She's loud, persistent and annoyingly impossible to ignore and the message reads:

Don't forget about the party tonight.

A sigh escapes me.

Trust Susan to dedicate every one of my precious days off to dragging me around clubs and social events not that I truly mind as those rare nights are often the only times I allow myself to relax.

The only times I stop being Doctor Isabella Mauron and simply become Isabella, I type back quickly.

Alright, ma'am. I'll be there as promised.

Almost immediately, three excited emojis appear in response, I shake my head with a small smile, .aybe tonight will be fun dancing and loud music will help clear whatever strange restlessness has been bothering me lately.

Maybe I'll finally stop feeling like something is missing or maybe I'll simply enjoy a night away from operating rooms, emergency calls, and endless responsibilities either way, tonight is happening.

And who knows?

Maybe I'll finally find something capable of pulling me away from the edge I've been feeling myself standing on lately.