Chapter 2

Friday night, 7 PM, on the rooftop terrace of a luxury Back Bay apartment.

I was balancing on a ladder, hanging string lights for tomorrow's rooftop party. The venue was taking shape according to my perfectionist standards—champagne stations, DJ equipment, floral arrangements.

Three days.

Three whole days without saying a single word to that cold-blooded doctor.

I deliberately cranked up the sound system for a test run, letting the deafening electronic music explode into the night sky. Let that early-to-bed, early-to-rise control freak get a taste of what real life sounds like!

My phone buzzed urgently.

"Sunny!" My mother's hysterical voice tore through the line. "Get to the hospital now! Your father... he just collapsed! Heart attack! They've rushed him to Mass General Emergency!"

Decorations tumbled from my hands, crashing to the ground.

String lights shattered, glass fragments scattering everywhere.

"What?!" I nearly fell off the ladder. "Mom, what are you saying? Dad, how could he..."

"I don't know! We'd just finished dinner, he suddenly clutched his chest saying it hurt, then he collapsed! The ambulance already... God, there was so much blood..."

The line went dead.

My world imploded.

No, impossible! Dad was always in perfect health! Just last week he was playing chess with Zachary's grandfather!

I raced downstairs like a madwoman, not even bothering to change out of my heels, and sped toward the hospital.

Fifteen minutes later, I burst through the doors of Mass General Emergency. Complete chaos.

The sharp wail of monitoring equipment, nurses running, doctors barking orders—it all blended into a symphony of panic. I collapsed into a waiting room chair, trembling uncontrollably, tears streaming down my face.

I'd never seen my father look so fragile. Pale as paper, motionless on the stretcher...

"Miss Peterson?" A doctor approached. "Your father's condition requires immediate cardiac catheterization, but..."

"I don't understand these medical terms!" I screamed, breaking down. "Just tell me—is he going to die?!"

"We're doing everything we can, but with myocardial infarction..."

But what?!

My mind went blank, the doctor's words buzzing incomprehensibly in my ears. Heart attack, cardiac catheterization—these cold medical terms sounded like a foreign language I couldn't understand!

Who could I turn to? What was I supposed to do?

Mom had already fallen apart, Dad was lying there between life and death, and I... I was utterly helpless! I was just a party planner—facing this life-and-death crisis, I was completely powerless!

What if Dad died? What if I never saw him again?

Panic flooded over me like a tide. My legs went weak, everything around me started spinning...

Just as I was drowning in the chaos of the emergency room, I suddenly remembered Zachary also worked at this hospital.

"Sunny."

A deep voice came from behind me.

I turned to see Zachary striding toward me, his white coat flowing behind him. That perpetually cold face now showed complete focus and urgency—nothing like the detached way he read medical journals at home.

"What's his current status?" Zachary directly questioned the ER doctor, his voice calm and authoritative.

"ST-elevation MI, admission BP 90/60, irregular heart rate. We've administered nitroglycerin and aspirin, but..."

"Prepare for immediate cardiac catheterization." Zachary interrupted without hesitation. "Contact Dr. Rodriguez—I want the best interventional cardiologist! Reserve the finest CCU room!"

"Dr. Palmer, but protocol requires..."

"I'll take responsibility!" Zachary rolled up his sleeves—that familiar gesture now carried unprecedented authority. "Professor Peterson is my family member. I have decision-making rights!"

I stared in shock at the man before me. Was this really the same awkward husband who couldn't maintain eye contact with me for three minutes at home?

This version of Zachary commanded with confidence, every medical term precise and professional, every decision swift and decisive. All the medical staff moved according to his orders.

So... this was the authority he had here.

"He's going to be fine." Zachary turned to me, his gaze steady. "I promise."

Those words carried more power than any comfort.

Soon, Dad was wheeled into surgery, and I could only watch that heavy door close before my eyes.

The surgery lasted six grueling hours.

The hospital corridor at midnight was dimly lit with emergency lighting, occasionally punctuated by a nurse's quick footsteps. I curled up in the hard waiting chair, having long since cried myself dry.

The sequins on my party dress glittered harshly under the lights, making me feel completely out of place—like a party girl who'd wandered into a hospital by mistake.

Why today of all days? Why was I still giving Zachary the cold shoulder? If something happened to Dad, I'd never forgive myself...

"Have some coffee."

A warm voice spoke beside my ear. Zachary had removed his white coat and gently draped it over my shivering shoulders, then sat in the chair next to me, offering a cup of hot coffee.

"You... you don't have to stay with me," I croaked. "I know you need rest, you have surgery tomorrow..."

"Drink." His tone was gentle but firm. "You need to maintain your strength."

The coffee was bitter but warming.

I stole glances at the man beside me. Zachary had dark circles under his eyes, his hair slightly disheveled, but he still sat perfectly upright, ready to spring into action at any emergency.

He'd been working for over ten hours, yet here he was, staying with me...

"Why..." I couldn't help asking, "why are you being so good to me? We just... we just decided to get divorced..."

Zachary was silent for so long I thought he wouldn't answer.

"Because you're important." He finally spoke, his voice soft as a feather. "To me."

My heart hammered against my ribs.

What did that mean? I was important? To a man who treated marriage like a career strategy, how could I possibly matter?

But I didn't have the courage to ask.

At 4 AM, Zachary dozed lightly in his chair. I studied his exhausted profile, truly observing this man who'd signed a marriage contract with me for the first time.

Sharp nose, thin lips pressed together, even in sleep his brow was slightly furrowed. His hands were long and clean, still carrying the scent of surgical disinfectant.

These hands had just given my father a chance at life.

In that moment, I suddenly realized I might never have truly known this man at all.

Time crawled by as I watched his weary sleeping face, my emotions a tangled mess.

6 AM, the first rays of sunlight streamed through the corridor windows.

The operating room doors finally opened.

"The surgery was successful." The lead surgeon emerged, pulling off his mask with a tired but satisfied smile. "The patient is stable, cardiac function has recovered well. He'll need 48 hours of observation in the CCU, but he's essentially out of danger."

"Oh my God!" I jumped up, tears flowing again. "Really? Dad's really going to be okay?"

"Yes, Dr. Palmer's immediate intervention and subsequent arrangements were very professional, buying precious time for the surgery."

I turned to Zachary, gratitude flooding through me like a tide. I rushed over and grabbed his hands without hesitation.

"Thank you..." My voice broke. "I don't know how to thank you... If it weren't for you, if you hadn't immediately arranged the best doctors... I really wouldn't have known what to do..."

Zachary looked down at my hands clasping his, something complex flickering in those usually composed eyes.

"It's what I should do," he said quietly. "He's my family."

Family.

The word exploded in my chest.

Not "father-in-law," not "Professor Peterson," but "family."

In that moment, I suddenly understood—this man truly considered me family. And I had been planning to run away all along.

On the drive home, I sat in the passenger seat of Zachary's Mercedes, stealing glances at his profile as he drove.

Morning light filtered through the windows onto his face as he focused intently on the road ahead, his grip on the steering wheel as steady and reliable as his hands in the operating room.

"He's my family."

Those words echoed repeatedly in my mind.

Three days ago, I'd firmly demanded a divorce, convinced he was just a cold-blooded, career-obsessed control freak. But tonight... tonight I'd seen a completely different Zachary Palmer.

Professional, authoritative, dependable, gentle.

Maybe this contract marriage was more complicated than I'd imagined.

The car stopped at a red light, and Zachary turned to look at me.

"Are you okay?"

I nodded, my emotions too complex for words.

I thought back to that night in the living room three days ago—his gesture of rolling up his sleeves, his awkward attempts, his embarrassed expression...

Maybe I should give this marriage a chance.