Chapter 42 Marry Him Or Die
The room went quiet.
Monitors continued their soft beeping. Curtains rustled slightly. But every sound felt distant compared to the heat crawling up Olive’s neck and into her ears.
“You already have absences without prior notice,” Dr. Mathilda continued, unimpressed. “And now that you are finally on duty, your mind is elsewhere. This is a hospital, not a place for daydreaming.”
Olive became painfully aware of the eyes on her.
A few patients glanced over. Some were curious. Some looked sympathetic. One nurse avoided looking at her entirely.
Humiliation settled deep in her chest.
Olive bowed her head slightly. “I’m sorry, Doctor,” she said quietly. “It won’t happen again.”
She didn’t explain. She didn’t defend herself. She already knew—Dr. Mathilda didn’t care about personal problems. Only results.
Dr. Mathilda clicked her tongue and made a sharp gesture. “The patient’s records.”
Olive jolted.
Her fingers fumbled through the stack of papers she was holding, panic tightening her chest. Her hands shook just enough to earn her a sharp, warning stare.
Focus. Focus.
After a tense second that felt far too long, she found the correct file and handed it over.
Dr. Mathilda took it abruptly—too fast, too rough.
A sharp sting followed.
Olive flinched as the edge of the paper sliced into her finger. A thin line of red appeared almost instantly. She pressed her thumb against it instinctively but said nothing. Pain, at least, was familiar. Manageable.
They finished checking the patient without another word.
As they turned to leave, the patient—an old woman with soft wrinkles and gentle eyes—looked up at Olive. She smiled warmly and gave her a small nod. Not pity. Not judgment.
Just understanding.
Hang in there.
It was simple. Small.
But it grounded Olive more than the doctor’s sharp words ever could.
She returned the smile—just a little—then straightened her shoulders and followed Dr. Mathilda out of the ward.
When they were done with the patient, the old woman looked up at Olive again. This time, her smile was slow and warm, the kind that reached her eyes. She gave Olive a small nod—quiet, steady.
It felt like gratitude.
It also felt like encouragement.
You’re doing fine. Don’t give up.
Olive returned the smile without thinking. It was brief, almost shy, but real. Then she turned and followed Dr. Mathilda out of the ward.
By the time their rounds ended, it was already lunch.
The hallway outside the wards buzzed softly with movement—nurses passing by, a stretcher rolling in the distance, muted voices echoing off the walls. Olive walked toward the cafeteria, her stomach finally reminding her that she hadn’t eaten properly since morning.
Her steps were slow. Her shoulders felt heavy. Her thoughts were still scattered, jumping from one thing to another no matter how hard she tried to pull them back.
Then—
Someone poked her shoulder.
Olive stopped and turned—
Only for the person to suddenly slip to her other side.
She frowned, confused, scanning the hallway.
“What the—?”
A quiet laugh followed.
She looked down.
Adrian was crouching beside her, one hand covering his mouth, shoulders shaking as he tried—and completely failed—to hold in his laughter.
“Oh my God,” Olive said, laughing despite herself. “What are you doing? You’re so silly.”
Adrian stood up, still grinning. “You looked way too serious. I figured you needed a little disturbance.”
Olive shook her head, smiling. For the first time that day, the tightness in her chest loosened, even if only a little.
She didn’t say anything right away, but the heaviness on her face softened.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you for weeks already,” Adrian said as they started walking side by side. “What, are you that busy now?”
His tone was light, teasing.
Olive glanced at him and shook her head. “No,” she replied quickly. “Just… things. You know.”
She kept her eyes forward.
She didn’t explain.
She couldn’t.
Adrian looked at her for a moment longer than necessary, like he sensed there was more she wasn’t saying. Something heavier. Something she was carefully holding in.
But he didn’t push.
Instead, he smiled again—gentler this time—as they continued toward the cafeteria.
The rest of the afternoon passed quietly.
Too quietly.
No codes. No rushing stretchers. No alarms echoing through the halls. Olive finished her shift without incident, but the calm did nothing to ease the tightness in her chest. As soon as she clocked out, she hurried out of the hospital, her mind already at home—at soaked furniture, damp clothes, and her mother trying to save what little they could.
By the time she boarded the bus, the sky had already darkened.
It was past seven.
Olive sat by the window, exhaustion weighing heavily on her body. She rested her head against the cool glass, eyes closing as the city lights blurred past. The gentle sway of the bus lulled her, and for a moment, she almost drifted into sleep.
Then someone sat beside her.
She stirred slightly, half-aware. Thinking she might be taking up too much space, she shifted, straightening her back and moving closer to the window to give the other person room.
That was when she felt it.
Something hard.
Cold.
Pressed against her side.
Her breath caught.
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs as fear crawled up her spine. Slowly—terrified of making a sudden move—Olive turned her head.
The man beside her wore a hoodie pulled low over his face. She couldn’t see his eyes clearly, only the shadow beneath the hood. Her gaze dropped lower.
A gun.
Small, black, unmistakable.
Her blood turned to ice.
The man leaned closer, his mouth near her ear, his voice low and calm—too calm.
“Marry Vescari,” he whispered, each word deliberate, deadly. “Or you and your family die.”
Olive froze.
The bus continued moving, passengers around them unaware, talking softly, scrolling on their phone while Olive started to pray silently in her mind, hoping it was just a dream.