3: A Secret Delivery: Bouquets, Bites, and a Dash of Mystery

The morning air was sterile and humming with the rhythm of heart monitors, distant footsteps, and the low murmur of busy medics. St. Gabriel’s Hospital was alive again, and so was she—or at least pretending to be. Her long white coat fluttered slightly behind her as she strode past the nurse’s station, dark hair pulled back into a no-nonsense bun, her ID badge catching the light with every step.

It had been three weeks since her last surgery. Three weeks since she’d left for her wedding.

Three weeks since she married a man she barely knew.

“Dr. Thorne!” called a voice, chipper and annoyingly familiar.

"Actually, it's Dr. Vale now," the other one chimed in with a mischievous grin, correcting her last name as if she'd just made a rookie mistake.

Aria slowed, brows tightening with a sigh before glancing sideways. Lila, the resident nurse with too much curiosity and too little filter, leaned across the counter with a wide grin.

“You’re glowing! Married life suits you.”

Behind her, two other nurses perked up. Even Dr. Jason—the insufferable orthopedic surgeon—popped his head out from around the corner.

“About time you showed up,” he smirked. “So, how was the honeymoon? Maldives? Santorini? Or some exclusive billionaire hideout we plebs can’t pronounce?”

Aria didn’t miss a beat. She planted her hands on the counter, leaned slightly forward, and deadpanned, “Ah, yes. The highlight of my romantic honeymoon was walking down the aisle toward a golden retriever in a tuxedo because the actual groom had to attend via Zoom.”

A stunned silence fell over them before Lila let out a stifled gasp. Jason coughed awkwardly.

“You’re kidding, right?” he asked, incredulously.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Aria said with a saccharine smile. She spun on her heel and added over her shoulder, “Now, unless you want to scrub in on an emergency bowel reconstruction, stop talking about my canine-centric wedding.”

Chuckles and whispers followed her down the hallway, but Aria didn’t care. If she could survive a wedding where the groom sent his regrets five hours before the ceremony, she could survive the gossip. Still, the memory stung. Her husband, the mysterious and absurdly secretive Rehan Alvi—whom she married through a contract her father arranged—was more phantom than man. He hadn’t even made it to the ceremony, sending a stand-in video and a dog. A dog. Dressed. In. A. Tux.

Aria threw herself into her work that morning with a vengeance. Sutures were precise, diagnoses rapid-fire, and her bedside manner had all the warmth of liquid nitrogen. By noon, she’d already signed off on three successful post-ops and consulted on a rare spinal case. The hum of medicine drowned out the irritation curled deep in her chest.

She finally stopped moving for a moment in the break room, rubbing her temples when the door swung open and a delivery man peeked inside.

“Uh—Dr. Aria Vale?” he asked, holding a large bouquet of wildflowers and a tidy black lunchbox.

She looked up, surprised. “Yes?”

He shuffled forward and offered the items. “These are for you. Delivered about ten minutes ago. And said it was important.”

Aria blinked, taking them with slight hesitation. The bouquet was fresh—wild peonies, lavender, and little white daisies tied with twine. A small note was nestled in the blooms.

She pulled it free.

“You’re probably running on caffeine and sarcasm. Eat something real. – L.”

Her fingers tightened on the card as she reads the note.

Your husband, Lucien Vale

The husband she had barely spoken to since the wedding—who hadn’t even shown his face—had sent her flowers and lunch? She frowned, peeling open the lunchbox. Inside was perfectly packed chicken korma with basmati rice, a slice of mango, and a small container of homemade truffle mushroom soup. She knew the scent before she even opened the box—it was her mother’s recipe.

Her eyes narrowed.

There was no way he could’ve known that. Not unless…

She stepped into the hallway and glanced down the corridor, heart starting to pound just slightly. Her eyes scanned the flood of bodies—interns in scrubs, gurneys rolling past, a code blue being paged overhead. And then, through the shifting crowd, she saw a mysterious man.

He stood halfway down the corridor, half-hidden behind a group of surgical residents chatting near the elevators. His face was obscured by a black KN95, and a baseball cap sat low on his brow, but even through the layers, something about his presence felt… familiar.

As if he knew she was watching, he turned slightly. Not enough to reveal his face—but just enough for her to catch the sculpted line of his jaw, the precision of his stance. Then, silently, he turned and walked away.

Aria stepped forward instinctively, clutching the bouquet.

“Hey—” she started, but her voice barely carried.

By the time she reached the end of the hallway, he was gone. Vanished around a corner, like a whisper she couldn’t quite catch.

She stood there for a moment, breath caught somewhere between confusion and intrigue. For a man who couldn’t even show up to his own wedding, Lucien Vale was proving to be frustratingly elusive and unexpectedly… thoughtful?

Aria turned the card over again. The handwriting was sharp and angular, slanted just slightly to the left.

It made her chest tighten in a way she wasn’t ready to unpack.

Back in the break room, Jason popped his head in again and noticed the flowers.

“Ooooh,” he said, amused. “Is that from the Zoom groom?”

Aria didn’t even look up as she unwrapped her fork. “Keep talking, and I’ll schedule you for a colonoscopy—with no anesthesia.”

He raised both hands. “Damn, okay. Romantic and terrifying. Good to have you back.”

When she was finally alone again, she looked at the food, then the note. The scent of saffron and cardamom filled the room.

“Who are you really, Lucas?” she murmured.

And why does part of me want to find out?