“Evelyn…”
His voice melted like chocolate, warm enough to make her shiver.
After three years of marriage, Evelyn Carter still found Alexander Hamilton a completely different man between day and night.
By daylight, Dr. Hamilton was the picture of refinement—polite, measured in speech, every word perfectly calibrated. But when night fell, those eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses turned dangerously intense.
“No more…” She curled into the sheets, her voice trembling. “I have rounds tomorrow…”
Alexander chuckled, brushing damp strands from her forehead with slender fingers. “One last time.”
By the time it ended, Evelyn’s fingertips were trembling.
Drowsy, she closed her eyes—only to feel warm hands settle on her waist.
“Don’t—”
“Relax,” his voice softened back to its daytime gentleness. “Just a massage.”
Those surgeon’s fingers found her sore muscles with precision, pressure perfectly controlled. A soft sigh escaped her as tension unwound from her body.
“When did you learn this?”
“Took a course in therapeutic massage during med school.” Amusement colored his tone. “Seems I haven’t forgotten.”
Evelyn turned, studying her husband in the moonlight.
At thirty, Alexander Hamilton had everything to envy—an illustrious family, surgical brilliance, and the face that made nurses blush behind clipboards.
She’d never imagined marrying someone like him during their first blind date.
“Next weekend’s your birthday,” she murmured. “I have a gift for you.”
Alexander opened his mouth—then froze as his phone vibrated.
One glance at the screen, and his expression shattered.
“What’s wrong?”
“Emergency at the hospital.” He dressed with uncharacteristic haste, his tie askew.
“Should I come?”
“No.” Already at the door. “Rest.”
The slam of the door echoed.
Evelyn stared at the still-vibrating handle, unease coiling in her chest. Alexander never lost composure like this.
Her phone rang.
“Dr. Carter! Pregnant patient hemorrhaging—OR now!”
Fifteen minutes later, Evelyn burst into the ER.
Her assistant Olivia Lightfoot thrust scrubs at her. “Six months pregnant, placental abruption from car crash, already in shock.”
Six hours later, she emerged from surgery, legs barely functional.
“Dr. Carter!” Olivia caught her elbow, whispering, “You’re pregnant too—you shouldn’t have—”
Evelyn’s hand drifted to her abdomen. This secret was meant for Alexander’s birthday.
“The family’s been demanding entry,” Olivia frowned.
“I’ll explain.”
Pushing through the OR doors, Evelyn froze.
The disheveled man with bloodshot eyes—still in the same rumpled suit—was the husband who’d rushed out an hour ago.
“Doctor! How’s my wife?”
Their eyes met. The air turned to ice.
“…Evelyn?”
Alexander’s face went deathly pale.
