Entangled with the Cold Billionaire CEO

Chapter 2: Saving John Doe

“The patient,” the nurse panted over the line. “He stopped breathing!”

Fiona’s hand trembled. The phone slipped from her grip, hitting the floor with a loud clang.

Her legs moved faster than her brain. She ignored the elevator and sprinted up the stairs, bursting through to the VIP trauma ward.

The room was pure chaos. The medical team were crushing chest compressions while a nurse frantically charged the defibrillator paddles. The cardiac monitor screamed a flat, continuous tone. Asystole.

Fiona froze for a fraction of a second. The sight of the bloody, dying man triggered a violent memory—her father’s mangled body after his accident. A sharp pang of old trauma threatened to paralyze her.

No. Not again.

Forcing back the tears pricking her eyes, Fiona snapped into a pair of nitrile gloves. She stepped up to the table, shoving the panicked resident aside.

"Get me an amp of Epi, now!" Fiona ordered, taking over chest compressions. She threw her body weight into the compressions, her mind blurring. For a split second, the patient’s bloody face morphed into her father's. "Dad, don't you dare die!" she cried out.

The room went dead silent at her exclamation, but no one dared question her.

"Epi is in!" a nurse called out.

Fiona delivered one final, brutal compression. Suddenly, a sharp beep broke the flatline. The cardiac monitor sprang back to life, registering a faint, erratic rhythm.

Fiona swayed slightly, her knees buckling from the adrenaline crash. A nearby resident caught her elbow.

“I'm fine,” she whispered, pulling away and forcing herself straight. She glared at the nominal head of the medical team, Michael.

They were far better than her, with influence and level; but in a crisis, they had to take a step back.

Knowing his own incompetence, Michael quietly stepped back, clasping his hands behind his back to let her take total command.

Eve, the trauma nurse, quickly handed Fiona a plastic-sheathed intake sheet.

"Thirty-one-year-old male. High-speed head-on collision on the highway. Unrestrained driver.”

Fiona placed her fingers against the patient's neck, checking the carotid pulse while her eyes scanned the damage.

Beneath the smeared mud and road grit, the man's facial features were aggressively sharp—symmetrical, stark, and entirely out of place in a gritty trauma bay. He looked like royalty dropped into a war zone.

But she had no time to admire him. Her fingers sank into his lower abdomen, feeling the rigid, wood-hard distension.

"He’s bleeding out into his peritoneum," Fiona snapped. "Call the blood bank. Prep four units of O-negative and have them ready in OR One. Move, move!"

Within two minutes, the patient was under the bright fluorescent lights of the operating room. The moment she held out her hand, the chaos in her mind evaporated. Her mother, the disastrous blind date, the Dean's malicious threats—all of it vanished.

"Scalpel."

The cold metal hit her palm. She made a swift, masterful midline incision.

"Suction. Keep up with the pooling, I can't see the celiac axis."

For the next grueling hour, the room was silent save for the rhythmic hiss of the ventilator and the occasional click of a hemostat. Fiona’s hands moved with micro-precision, clamping blood vessels and suturing the ruptured organ.

Finally, the erratic flatline from earlier was replaced by a steady, beautiful, rhythmic beep.

Fiona stepped back, her shoulders aching intensely. "Dr. James, finish closing the skin layer for me."

"Yes, Doctor. Incredible save," the assistant replied in awe.

Peeling off her bloody gloves, Fiona stepped out into the quiet hallway. She stretched her back, wincing as a dull ache shot through her spine. She had completely overdone it. Five high-intensity surgeries in a single shift, all because the corrupt Dean kept dumping heavy cases on her schedule to break her spirit.

“Dr. Fiona!” a voice called out.

Fiona turned to see Emily, her personal secretary, jogging toward her with a look of utter panic.

“I'm fine, Emily,” Fiona smiled faintly, trying to hide her exhaustion.

“You need to go home, Doctor. You've officially cleared your schedule for the rest of the day,” Emily insisted.

“I'll leave as soon as the John Doe in OR One wakes up from the anesthesia,” Fiona replied firmly. She couldn't shake the unsettling feeling he gave her.

Emily leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “But Dr. Fiona... don't you think there's something incredibly terrifying about that patient? And honestly, his face looks so familiar. I swear I've seen him on television.”

Fiona stopped in her tracks, raising an eyebrow. “Emily, have you forgotten our hospital's strict patient privacy policies?”

Emily blushed furiously, lowering her head. “Right. Sorry.”

“Go home,” Fiona sighed, too drained to lecture her. “Don't wait up for me.”

Emily’s face lit up, and she practically bolted down the hall before Fiona could assign her more paperwork.

Shaking her head, Fiona walked into her private office, slumped into her leather chair, and closed her eyes. She intended to rest for just five minutes. But the moment darkness took over, the sharp, regal face of the patient flashed across her mind.

Even unconscious and intubated, the man exuded a powerful, dangerous aura. Someone like that didn't just end up nameless in a public hospital.

Ring!

Her phone blared on the desk, shattering the quiet and making her gasp. She snatched it up. Before she could say hello, Emily’s breathless voice exploded through the line.

“Dr. Fiona! I just figured out who he is!”

Fiona sat up straight, knitting her brows. “Who?”

“The John Doe from the highway crash!” Emily panted, a dramatic, terrified pause echoing over the line. “His name is William Sterling.”

Fiona frowned. “And? Should I know that name?”

“Doctor, he's the sole heir to Sterling Global! The most powerful, ruthless billionaire conglomerate in the entire country!”