The doctor friend by the boss’s side

Chapter 1

I chose the only doctor amongst a sea of trust fund bros for my arranged marriage.

It wasn’t until after the wedding that it hit me: wasn’t he just like that doctor friend in all those romance novels, the one always getting called away in the middle of the night to patch up the heroine?

After witnessing this firsthand a few times, I dropped the idea of trying to develop any real feelings for him.

Seriously, who knows, one day I might end up having to fight one of his billionaire buddies for his attention.

But I didn’t expect him to develop mind-reading abilities.

…

For people like us, arranged marriages are inevitable.

It’s fine, I guess. After enjoying so many privileges, it’s normal to have to give something back.

I was actually pretty lucky; I got to choose my own partner.

From the pool of eligible bachelors in our circle.

Honestly, it didn’t really matter who I chose. Everyone knows arranged marriages are just for show, a strategic alliance between families for business purposes.

But since I had a choice, I still wanted to pick someone normal.

Based on my intel, one guy was head over heels for his high school sweetheart, so he was out.

Another was playing hard to get with some Instagram model, so nope.

And yet another had just hooked up with a pop star, so definitely not.

After sifting through the options, I thought of Ethan Shaw.

My few memories of him were of a polite and refined man.

The name sounded like typical rich-guy material, but he was the only one in the bunch who wasn’t a CEO.

Ethan was a doctor, a genuine scholar who got into the country’s top medical school and breezed through his MD-PhD program.

His appearance matched the image of a doctor perfectly. He spoke gently and politely, and had a calm and clean aura about him.

Every time I saw him, he was in a light-colored suit. Combined with the occupational halo effect, he had an almost saintly air.

Our engagement went smoothly; our parents practically sealed the deal after a single conversation.

I asked Ethan, and I heard he agreed immediately.

So, within a month, I went from being perpetually single to a married woman.

On our wedding day, I moved into the house he bought. The beige decor suited him.

That day, after showing me around, Ethan led me to the master bedroom door. His voice was warm as he said, “Even though this is an arranged marriage, I don’t want it to be just a formality. I hope we can take things slowly, get to know each other, and build a real relationship.”

He pointed to the guest room across the hall. “I’ll stay here,” he continued. “Don’t feel pressured. Until we both feel ready, I won’t force anything on you.”

I went back to my room and closed the door.

Honestly, he was better than I expected.

After all, I always thought, even though I’d never heard any gossip about him, that his friends were all those playboy types, almost all of them with girlfriends on the side.

Birds of a feather flock together.

Even though he seemed different from them, I didn’t have any strong feelings for him either. I just hoped we could be respectful and cordial. As long as no one caused any drama, I wouldn’t interfere in his affairs.

Two months passed in a blink.

One night, after showering, I lay in bed, looking at the rather revealing nightgown I’d laid out. My heart started racing.

Ethan was a gentleman, with no apparent interest in that sort of thing.

But I wasn’t!

Single for over twenty years, I’d barely held a man’s hand, but my mind was anything but innocent.

With a legitimate husband right here, so attractive and charming, I didn’t want to live a life devoid of passion.

And over these past few months, with him coming home at 6 pm sharp every day, the cozy dinners, the leisurely weekend shopping trips, him patiently waiting while I got my nails done and my hair styled, cuddling on the sofa watching cheesy rom-coms together…

I had to admit, I was starting to fall for him.

Chapter 2

One day, I was out shopping with friends when I suddenly realized it was 5:30 pm.

The thought of going home popped into my head almost instinctively.

I was taken aback at first, and then a complex feeling washed over me.

I realized I was truly treating this place as my home.

I had developed unexpected feelings of belonging for this house, for Ethan.

I thought that after seeing all the drama in our circle, including my own parents’ questionable behavior – a mistress here, a child demanding recognition there – I’d become disillusioned with love and family.

But the power of those quiet, everyday moments had surpassed my expectations.

Thinking about my time with Ethan, about the kind of person he was, gave me the confidence to gamble.

Maybe trusting someone, trusting in love, could actually lead to something good?

Weren’t Ethan’s parents a rare example of a loving and harmonious couple in our social circle?

Ethan, raised by them, should at least… be trustworthy, right?

If this was a trap, wasn’t it something everyone had to go through at some point?

I changed into a black lace nightgown, quietly went to Ethan’s door, posed in what I thought was the most alluring angle according to the internet, and gently knocked.

The door opened, and Ethan visibly froze.

He looked around, dazed, as if searching for something to cover me with, but gave up.

After a few moments of eye contact, his gaze deepened. His voice was husky as he finally asked, “Amelia, are you sure?”

After I nodded, he lifted me and carried me to the bed.

The dim room was lit only by a warm yellow bedside lamp.

I felt the weight of another person on top of me.

His warmth spread across my face, shoulders, back, and waist. His hands, his kisses, ignited a burning sensation wherever they touched. I felt like my whole body was on fire.

My mind was a blur, my body limp as I let him do as he pleased.

Turning my head, I saw the pristine white sheets and had the absurd thought: these sheets are so white, it’ll be really obvious if they get stained.

But I never got to find out.

Because just as I finished melting into a puddle, and Ethan was about to take his clothes off, his phone rang.

Ethan took a few deep breaths, his breath hot against my skin. He propped himself up on one arm, reaching for his phone on the nightstand.

“Dr. Shaw, Mr. Fuller has been drinking heavily and is in a lot of pain. Can you come over?”

A worried male voice came from the other end. It sounded familiar, like someone I’d heard around one of the trust fund guys before.

Ethan paused for a moment. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “I understand. I’ll be there soon.”

I snapped back to reality, grabbing his half-removed shirt. A strange emotion welled up inside me as I mumbled, “Don’t go!”

Ethan’s eyes met mine. He bent down and gently nibbled my lip, soothingly saying, “Be good. I’ll just go check on him.”

As he dressed to leave, my anger flared. I stared at his back, cursing him silently: “Be good? Go check on him? Yeah, right. Who knows if it’s a ‘bro’ or a ‘bae’ you’re checking on.”

He paused mid-motion, turning back to look at me with a complicated expression.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He shook his head and continued getting dressed.

I continued my inner monologue: “Go ahead, go! No one can stop you, you saint! Ambulances are useless, hospitals are useless, it’s like you have magic powers, only you can help…”

After venting, I felt a strange satisfaction, but as he walked out, I noticed him stumble slightly. I must have been mistaken.

After all, he was known in our circle for his unwavering composure, seemingly unflappable by anything.

As he closed the door, he said, “Amelia, I’ll be back soon.”

I don’t know when I fell asleep, only that he wasn’t back yet.

When I woke up, he was sleeping beside me, already changed back into the pajamas he’d worn last night.

It made me even angrier.

Seriously? He managed to change clothes and go out in that situation?!

Even when he reached over me to grab his phone, I could feel the heat radiating from his body.

I angrily bit into my toast.

Ethan came out of the bedroom sometime later.

Seeing my expression, he chuckled softly, then hugged me from behind, whispering in my ear, “I’m sorry. Nathan has been having a tough time lately. He had a bleeding ulcer not long ago from drinking, so I was a little worried and went to check on him.”

What was done was done. I didn’t want to dwell on it.

However, after he left for work, I was watching a soap opera on TV.

It was a classic rich-guy-chases-poor-girl plot, and the heroine had just gotten injured, prompting the hero to call his doctor friend to treat her.

Suddenly, it hit me. All the romance novels I’d read came flooding back.

Hey, wasn’t Ethan just like that stereotypical doctor friend, constantly being summoned in the middle of the night by the hero?

We were surrounded by trust fund babies, bleeding ulcers, doctor friends, middle-of-the-night house calls – it all fit.

The image of Ethan being used as a tool, a pathetic little puppy running around at the beck and call of every rich guy in town, made me laugh.

That evening, I made no move, but Ethan knocked on my door.

His hair was obviously styled, and he wore a faint scent of cologne.

His eyes twinkled as he looked at me, a smile playing on his lips. “Can I crash here tonight?”

Chapter 3

I raised an eyebrow. “What, no emergency house calls tonight?”

He didn’t answer, just cupped my face in his hands and lowered his head, kissing me softly.

This time, things went much smoother, thanks to last night’s experience.

Until he took off his shirt and we both froze, suddenly afraid of another phone call.

We both glanced at his phone, then at each other, and almost burst out laughing.

He leaned in close, his voice laced with amusement, his warm breath tickling my ear. “I’m not leaving tonight.”

My face flushed instantly.

What was that supposed to mean? As if I was the one desperate for it.

…

That night reminded me of the saying: you can’t judge a book by its cover.

Ethan was a good person.

Objectively speaking.

Dedicated to his work, researching treatments for incurable diseases.

Incredibly kind, devoted to his family, sincere with his friends, and consistently caring towards me.

However, being too good of a person also had its drawbacks.

It wasn’t the first time our plans – an anniversary celebration, a weekend getaway – were interrupted by a call from one of his friends.

It didn’t happen often, but it always came at the most inconvenient times.

The assistants’ voices on the other end were always trembling, filled with desperation.

Sometimes, it was a trust fund bro with a bleeding ulcer.

Other times, it was a possessive jerk who’d pushed his latest conquest too far, leaving her weak and pale.

What could I do? They always made it sound like a life-or-death situation. Could I really stop him from going?

I might joke about him being a stereotypical tool in a romance novel, but this was real life, not fiction. They couldn’t call the police or go to a hospital.

Even though he always came back to me as soon as possible, my mood was always ruined, the initial excitement gone.

Today was our first wedding anniversary.

Last night, I specifically told Ethan that I didn’t want any interruptions today.

He had been working late every day recently due to a breakthrough in his research.

This was a rare occasion for us to leisurely stroll through the grocery store together.

For my last birthday, Ethan surprised me by coming home early and cooking dinner. It was as good as anything our family chef with decades of experience could make, and everything was tailored to my taste.

When we first opened up to each other, committed to making this real, we were so excited, wanting to celebrate every big and small occasion.

Now, for our anniversary, we just wanted to shop together and cook a cozy dinner at home.

I sat at the dining table, watching Ethan’s busy figure in the kitchen, lost in thought.

A year ago, I never would have imagined my married life would be like this.

Not passionate or dramatic, but warm and comforting.

I walked over and hugged his strong waist from behind, nuzzling against him.

He chuckled, about to say something.

Then the phone rang.

I pursed my lips. I was practically traumatized by his ringtone after a year of this.

I pressed myself against his back and listened.

On the other end, it was another assistant, their voice anxious, saying, “Dr. Shaw, please come quickly…”

My anger flared. I bit my lip and snatched the phone from him, genuinely confused. “Can’t you call an ambulance? Or drive him to the hospital yourself?”

There was a noticeable pause on the other end.

I hung up the phone, still fuming.

“That was Andrew Zhou’s assistant, wasn’t it? I recognize his voice after all the times he’s called you. You think that playboy is actually drowning his sorrows over some woman?!”

Ethan frowned hesitantly. “I heard he’s been really into someone lately…”

“He’s been ‘really into’ a whole busload of women over the years!” I clenched my teeth, then bit my lip again. “Anyway, if you go, we’re done. Let’s forget about this whole ‘relationship’ thing. Clearly, your bros are more important. Go live with your bros.”

He still left.