The Main Character's Doctor

I’m the CEO’s doctor friend.

The very first day I get back from my residency in Germany, his girlfriend points a tear-streaked face at me and wails:

“I thought you were different from all those other alpha-male CEOs, but I can’t believe you sponsored a charity case, too. Are you trying to replace me with her?”

I just stand there, completely baffled.

I look over at my friend, the CEO in question.

“Dude,” I say. “You sponsored me? Where’s the money? Because I sure as hell never saw a dime.”

1

Before Leo could get a word in, the girl he’d put on a pedestal for years, Clara Monroe, steamrolled right on.

“It all makes sense now! All those trips you took overseas every month, you said they were for business. You were going to see her!”

“And now she’s back. So what’s next, Leo? Are you going to bring your little charity case home, hide behind some flimsy excuse of pity, and then start sneaking around with her right under my nose?”

Her voice wasn’t quiet. The usual rush of travelers in the arrivals hall at JFK slowed, then stopped. A small crowd was forming, their curious gazes bouncing between the three of us like a tennis match.

Clara, however, seemed completely oblivious, lost in her own tragic performance, tears streaming down her cheeks like something out of an old movie.

My toes were threatening to permanently cramp from the sheer awkwardness of it all.

What in the world was happening?

All I did was finish my residency and ask my oldest friend, Leo Sterling, to pick me up from the airport.

How did that morph into me being his sponsored student from the wrong side of the tracks? And where did this whole plotline about moving into his house and having a secret affair come from?

Leo looked just as stunned as I felt. It took him a second to find his voice, his brow furrowing.

“Clara, what are you talking about? My monthly trips abroad were for work. You were with me on almost every single one of them. You know exactly what I was doing.”

“And this,” he said, gesturing toward me, “is Wren. Wren Miller. My friend the doctor, the one I told you about who was doing her residency in Germany. She’s finally back. She is not, and has never been, a ‘sponsored student.’”

Clara’s eyes raked over me, from my worn-out travel sweats to my messy bun. A fat, perfect tear rolled down her cheek. Her expression crumpled into one of profound heartbreak.

“Leo, darling,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “You don’t have to lie to protect my feelings. If she was really your doctor friend, how could she possibly be back from a German program so soon?”

I, the German-residency-survivor, felt that dig deep in my jet-lagged soul. Thank you for that.

I sighed, deciding to intervene. “Miss Monroe, I really did just graduate. I can show you my diploma if you’d like.”

I tried a small, reassuring smile. “And I have my own place. I have absolutely no plans to move in with Leo.”

Her face twisted as if I’d just slapped her. She stared at me in disbelief.

“You call him by his full name, so intimately. And he bought you a house? Of course, he did.” She let out a watery, bitter laugh. “True love really is fickle. And here I am, like a fool, still drowning in this fantasy.”

I felt my eyelid twitch.

Honey, what alternate reality are you writing in your head right now?

Leo ran a hand through his hair, looking exasperated. “Clara, just tell me. What will it take for you to believe that Wren is just my friend?”

Clara wiped a tear away, her demeanor shifting. Suddenly, she looked like she held all the cards. “In the novels, the CEO’s doctor friend is always on call. 24/7. No questions asked.” She crossed her arms. “Give me one week. Let me test her. If she passes, I’ll believe you.”

Leo’s frown deepened. He shot a hesitant look in my direction.

I shook my head. Vigorously. No. Absolutely not. Forget it. There was no way on God’s green earth I was going to be at anyone’s beck and call.

Leo knew me well enough to know that, but he also knew Clara. It was clear she wasn't going to let this go.

After a long, tense moment, he squared his shoulders and walked over to me, ignoring my silent, murderous glare.

“Wren,” he started, his voice low. “I know this is insane. But I’m out of options here.”

He leaned in closer. “You know that limited edition SSC Tuatara in my garage? The one you drool over? It’s yours. And I’ll throw in the villa next door to mine. That way, if you do get a midnight call, it’s the shortest possible commute.”

He even had the audacity to try for a charming grin. “Besides, midnight here is only six p.m. in Berlin. You’re not over your jet lag yet anyway. It’s perfect, right?”

My eyes went wide. I stared at him, aghast.

“Leo Sterling, do you really think I’m that easily bought? Do you honestly believe that just because you’re dangling my dream car and a multi-million-dollar piece of real estate in my face, I would actually agree to this madness?”

I took a deep, dramatic breath.

“I’m telling you, right now, that I absolutely would.”

Leo just gave me a flat, unimpressed look. “Next time, just nod. You don’t need the whole soliloquy.”

2

With the deal struck, Leo quickly relayed the verdict to a triumphant Clara.

A moment later, when Leo was busy with the luggage, Clara sauntered over to me, her chin held high. She let out a cold little scoff.

“So, Wren. You played the pity card and got Leo to fund you for all these years. Good for you,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “But in the end, to make me happy, he still agreed to put you on a 24/7 leash. See? In his heart, I’m the one who matters. You can flap your little wings all you want, but a sparrow will never be a swan.”

I just pictured the keys to that Tuatara in my hand, and suddenly, even Clara’s pathetic provocations seemed almost charming.

I smiled sweetly and played along. “You’re absolutely right. You’re everything to him. What am I? Nothing.”

She preened, lifting her chin even higher. “At least you know your place.” With a final, dismissive glance, she turned and glided back to Leo’s side.

Watching them walk away, I couldn’t help but marvel.

That kid’s life was never boring, was it? It was like living in a constant primetime drama.

After explaining the bizarre situation to my parents, I moved into the villa next to Leo’s that very day. He had already arranged for someone to come and clean the place.

It was Maria, a woman who had been the Sterlings’ housekeeper for decades. She’d watched both me and Leo grow up.

When I saw her, I was struck by how tired she looked, her face etched with a deep weariness I’d never seen before.

“Maria, has work been that stressful these past few years?” I asked gently. “You look exhausted.”

She let out a long, heavy sigh. “Don’t even get me started. Ever since Miss Monroe moved in two years ago, I haven’t had a single good night’s sleep.”

She lowered her voice. “Soon after she got here, she started asking me if I had a daughter. Said she could be a potential childhood sweetheart of Mr. Sterling’s, and that threat needed to be ‘dealt with early.’ Then she insisted he had a hundred secret illnesses—insomnia, stomach problems, night blindness, claustrophobia… she gave me a whole list of demands.”

Maria shook her head, a flicker of anger in her tired eyes. “But I wasn’t the worst of it. The worst was Arthur, the butler. All because he didn’t announce that she was ‘the first woman Mr. Sterling had ever brought home’ the moment she walked through the door, she threw a fit and had him fired.”

It was like a dam had broken. Maria, who I’d only ever known as quiet and composed, poured out two years of accumulated misery, a torrent of stories about Clara’s relentless torment.

As I listened to her go on and on, a sinking feeling settled in my stomach. I suddenly felt that my decision to agree to this whole 24/7 charade for a sports car had been, perhaps, a little reckless.

It turns out, I was right. It was incredibly reckless.

It began the very first night, at three in the morning, with a call from Leo telling me to come over and treat a two-millimeter cut on Clara’s hand. From that moment on, my life descended into a special kind of hell.

In less than a week, I understood Maria’s exhaustion on a profound, spiritual level. When she came over to bring me dinner one evening, we just grabbed each other’s hands and stared into each other’s eyes, a silent, shared trauma passing between us.

I sent a text to Leo:

I can’t do this anymore. Your girlfriend is a professional chaos agent. I’m out. Lose my number.

After hitting send, I started packing. I was done with the villa, done with the drama. I was going home.

My phone buzzed relentlessly as I threw my clothes into a suitcase. I figured it was Leo, dangling another shiny object to try and make me stay.

But when I finally checked, the messages weren't from Leo at all. They were from Clara.

Her tone was drenched in her usual melodrama:

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