(Liam's POV )
The rhythmic beep of the cardiac monitor was Liam's metronome. In OR 2, bathed in the stark white light, the world existed only in the magnified field of the laparoscope. A complex pancreaticoduodenectomy – a Whipple procedure – demanded absolute focus. Sweat beaded on his forehead beneath the surgical cap, ignored. His hands, steady extensions of his will, manipulated the micro-instruments with precise, economical movements. Dissecting around the superior mesenteric artery felt like defusing a bomb; one tremor, one misjudgment, and the patient bled out.
"Suction, Carol," Liam murmured, his voice calm through the mask. "Dr. Evans, retract gently… yes, perfect. Clamp." His eyes never left the screen. This was sanctuary. Order. Predictability. Cause and effect. A stark contrast to the messy, unpredictable world waiting outside these doors.
Beside him, Dr. Anya Evans, his sharp new fellow, adjusted the retractor with practiced ease. "Beautiful exposure, Dr. Vega," she commented, her own focus unwavering. "Tumor's nicely delineated."
"Let's hope it stays that way," Liam replied, carefully isolating the diseased tissue. "Okay, Carol, ready for the GIA stapler…"
Three hours later, the tumor was out, margins clear, the intricate reconstruction of bile duct, pancreas, and stomach underway. The tension in the room eased palpably. As Evans began the meticulous closure, Liam stepped back, rolling the stiffness from his neck.
"Excellent work, team," he said, genuine appreciation warming his voice. "Dr. Evans, finish up. Textbook." He stripped off his gloves and gown, the ritual signaling a return to the world. The post-op briefing was efficient. Checking on the patient in recovery – stable, vitals strong – brought its own quiet satisfaction. This he could fix. This he controlled.
Walking back to his office through the bustling corridors of his nascent practice, "Vega Surgical Associates," he exchanged nods and brief greetings. Sarah, his head nurse, fell into step. "Patient in Room 3 is ready for his pre-op consult, Dr. Vega. Charts are on your desk. And Mr. Henderson's daughter called again, anxious about tomorrow's bypass."
"Tell her we'll call her back by four, Sarah. Reassure her," Liam said, already mentally shifting gears. "And remind her Dr. Chen is one of the best cardiothoracic surgeons on the coast."
"Will do. Oh, and flowers arrived for you. Big bouquet. From a 'D.O.'?" Sarah raised an eyebrow, a knowing glint in her eye. Danika had sent flowers after significant events for years.
Liam felt a familiar, complicated warmth. "Ah. Thanks, Sarah. Put them in my office, please." He pushed open his office door. The space was modern, clean lines, dominated by a large window overlooking the city. The bouquet of vibrant sunflowers and deep blue delphiniums sat on his desk, bright against the grey. A simple card: 'For the conquering hero. Brunch soon? – D.O.'
He sank into his chair, the scent of the flowers mingling with the sterile office air. Sunflowers. Danika knew they were his mother's favorite, a subtle nod to family amidst the chaos. He picked up the card, tracing the familiar handwriting. The gala felt like months ago, not weeks. Dante's meltdown, Danika's choice to follow him… and now this. Flowers. Normalcy. Or a prelude?
He remembered the coat room. Her hesitation. His own hand, outstretched, offering escape. And her walking away. Back to Dante. A familiar ache, dulled by time but never gone, throbbed beneath his ribs. He'd watched them orbit each other for years, Dante's possessiveness a constant hum. Liam had told himself it was just another of Dante's intense, fleeting obsessions. Danika was different, sure, but Dante didn't do lasting. Liam had been younger then, less sure of himself, still overshadowed by his brother's louder existence. He hadn't fought for her, convinced Dante would inevitably self-destruct and let go. He hadn't anticipated Dante's capacity to cling, especially to something he saw as his anchor. He hadn't foreseen… a proposal.
The thought was a cold shock, even days later. A proposal. Dante, commitment-phobe extraordinaire, offering marriage? It felt surreal, like a bad joke. Yet, the flowers on his desk were real. Danika reaching out was real. What state was she in now? Had Dante's apology been genuine, or just another performance to reel her back in?
His phone buzzed – a text from Dani confirming a time for brunch tomorrow. He replied with a simple 'See you then,' his mind already churning.
***
Sunday morning found Liam at "The Grind," a popular, slightly noisy brunch spot far from the hushed tones of his world. He spotted Dani at a small table near the window, sunlight catching her hair. She looked… surprisingly okay. Rested. Dressed in comfortable jeans and a soft cream sweater, minimal makeup. The brittle tension from the gala aftermath seemed eased.
"Hey," she greeted, standing for a quick, warm hug. "You survived the week, Dr. Vega? No surgical mishaps involving rogue staplers?"
"Only metaphorical ones involving insurance forms," he quipped, sliding into the seat opposite. "You look good. Less like you'd been through a rockstar tornado."
She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Recovery sleep is a powerful thing. Dante's… functional. Buried in his studio, which is his version of processing." She picked up a menu. "So, tell me about the Whipple. Sarah mentioned it was tricky."
Liam seized the lifeline. They talked shop. He described the procedure's challenges, the tense moments near the artery, Evans' capable assistance. Danika listened intently, asking smart questions, her PR mind perhaps seeing parallels in crisis management. He asked about her week – averted a minor scandal for a rising tech CEO who'd tweeted something unfortunate after too many cocktails. ("Turned it into a conversation about digital responsibility," she shrugged, a hint of pride there). They caught up on Alex's wedding plans, Sarah's pregnancy, the new Thai place that had opened near Liam's apartment.
It was easy. Comfortable. Almost like old times, before the engagement-shaped elephant entered the room. They ordered – avocado toast for her, a massive veggie omelet for him. As their food arrived, Dani gestured animatedly while describing a disastrous client photoshoot involving escaped doves. As she reached for her coffee cup, the sunlight streaming through the window caught the deep green emerald on her left hand. It wasn't flashy, but it was undeniably there – the dark, twisted band, the distinctive pear-cut stone. It winked, impossible to ignore.
Liam's fork froze halfway to his mouth. His breath hitched, a tiny, involuntary sound escaping before he could clamp down on it. He carefully set the fork down, taking a deliberate sip of water. He'd known, intellectually. But seeing it, gleaming on her finger in the cheerful brunch chaos… it made it devastatingly real. A cold wave washed over him, followed by a surge of something hot and ugly – jealousy, regret, profound disbelief – that he ruthlessly forced down. Keep it together. Be her friend.
Danika followed his gaze. Her animated story died mid-sentence. A flush crept up her neck. She slowly lowered her hand, her fingers curling slightly, then consciously relaxing. The easy flow evaporated, replaced by thick silence.
"He… proposed," she said quietly, her voice barely audible over the cafe din. She wasn't looking at him, but at the ring, her thumb brushing the dark platinum. "At the studio. After everything calmed down."
Liam nodded slowly. He kept his voice carefully neutral, though it took effort. "I see." He paused, choosing his words. "Isabella's ring. That's… significant." He couldn't bring himself to say 'congratulations'.
"It is," she whispered, finally meeting his eyes. Hers were wide, searching his face, braced for judgment. "More than just a ring. He… he meant it, Liam. In that moment, he truly meant it."
Liam felt a muscle jump in his jaw. In that moment. How many of Dante's passionate 'moments' had burned bright and fizzled? He took another sip of water, buying time to master his voice. "It surprised me," he admitted, keeping his tone level. "Dante and… permanence haven't exactly been synonymous." He met her gaze directly, his surgeon's mask firmly in place, hiding the turmoil beneath. "Are you… happy, Dani? Truly happy with this decision?" The question felt ripped from him, necessary despite the risk.
She looked down at the ring, her thumb tracing the emerald. The silence stretched. When she looked up, her eyes were bright with unshed tears, but her voice was steady. "It's complicated. It's Dante. Happiness isn't… it's not a constant state with him. It's intense highs and crushing lows. But…" She took a shaky breath. "When he gave me this, when he called me his partner, his equal in the chaos… yes. In that moment, and in moments since, when he's quiet and present… yes, I feel a kind of rightness. A terrifying, exhilarating rightness."
Partner. Equal. The words struck Liam. Was that possible? Could Dante ever see anyone as a true equal, not just a possession or an anchor? The image of Dante's possessive grip on her at the gala flashed in his mind. "It's a big step," Liam said carefully, neutrally. "A lifelong commitment to… well, to Dante." He couldn't keep the slight edge of disbelief entirely out of his tone.
"I know," she said, a flicker of defensiveness in her eyes now. "I know the risks. I know his history better than anyone. But people can change, Liam. Or at least… try. This feels like him trying. In his own chaotic way."
Liam thought of his younger self, watching Dante charm Danika, too unsure to step into his brother's spotlight, too convinced it wouldn't last. He'd underestimated Dante's capacity for obsession, his sheer will to hold onto what he claimed. He'd underestimated Danika's resilience, her ability to weather Dante's storms for years. And he'd certainly never foreseen Dante pulling out their formidable grandmother's ring as a pledge. It felt like a move from a playbook Liam didn't possess.
"I hope he is trying, Danika," Liam said, his voice softening slightly, the sincerity breaking through his professional reserve. "I truly do. For your sake." He paused, then added, the words feeling crucial, "Just… promise me you'll keep looking out for you. Don't lose yourself in his whirlwind. Keep your options open." He tapped the table lightly. "Skyline. Go to the interview. Hear them out. Know what's out there."
Danika held his gaze for a long moment, the conflict clear in her eyes – love, hope, fear, stubborn determination. Finally, she nodded. "I promise. I'll go to the interview. I owe myself that much."
Relief, bittersweet and fragile, washed over Liam. It was something. A small anchor she could cling to. "Good. I'm glad."
The waiter arrived with the check. Danika grabbed it. "My treat. Gala amends and… congratulations tax?" She offered a tentative, wry smile.
Liam managed a small smile in return, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Fair enough." He watched her handle her card, the Tempest's ring flashing. It wasn't just a piece of jewelry; it was a declaration. A line drawn. Dante had staked his claim, publicly and irrevocably, in a way Liam never had. The reality of it settled on Liam with a heavy finality as they stood to leave.
Walking out onto the sunny sidewalk, the city noise a jarring contrast to the intensity of their conversation, they paused. Danika hugged him, longer and tighter than usual. "Thank you, Liam," she murmured. "For listening. For… caring."
He hugged her back, the scent of her shampoo familiar and painful. "Always," he said, his voice thick. He watched her walk away, the ring on her hand a visible symbol of the future she'd chosen, a future irrevocably tied to his brother. The ache in his chest wasn't just jealousy; it was the profound sense of a door closing, a path not taken, and the unsettling knowledge that he'd been outmaneuvered by the brother he'd underestimated for far too long. The conquering hero of the OR walked back towards his sterile world, feeling like he'd just lost a battle he hadn't even known he was fully fighting until it was far too late.