Stand-In Bride Becomes a Medical Legend

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I made ninety-nine calls.

My brother, Caleb Reed, lay in the emergency room.

He had a rare blood type, and only my husband, Nathaniel Thorne's, private medical facility's blood bank had a matching supply.

Every call went unanswered.

Finally, his phone went straight to voicemail.

At 3 AM, Caleb stopped breathing.

I knelt in the hallway, my hands still stained with his blood, when my phone screen lit upNate Thorne's assistant had sent me a photo.

In the picture, Nate was embracing his assistant, kissing her hair, with a fervor in his eyes I'd never seen in our three years of marriage.

Her name was Sophia Smith.

She was his first love, the student he'd funded for ten years, "the only woman he ever wanted to marry" in his diary.

And I? I was just a stand-in who resembled her, a free, top-tier private physician, used to prolong Sophia's life.

The next day, he rushed back, apologizing while holding me: "Evelyn, my phone fell in the water, I didn't see your calls."

I didn't make a scene. I just smiled and handed him two documents.

He signed them without even looking.

He didn't know they were divorce papers.

Evelyn Reed POV

I had just finished a surgery. I peeled off my gloves, wearily rubbing my temples.

As the youngest Associate Director of Urology at a top New York hospital, I was long accustomed to high-intensity work.

The moment I pushed open my office door, a jacket with a familiar perfume scent was draped over my shoulders.

Nate Thorne stood behind me, holding a lunchbox, his eyes so tender they could drown you: "Evelyn, did the surgery go well? Did you skip lunch again?"

For three years, Nate had doted on me, making me the envy of every socialite in New York.

He would cancel transnational meetings to be with me when I worked night shifts. If I casually mentioned "wanting to see the ocean," he'd charter a private jet that very night to take me to Los Angeles. He respected my profession, even donating an entire urology research center in my name.

Aside from the fact that during intimacy he always preferred to hold me tightly from behind, insistently demanding I repeat his name and never close my eyes, he was almost a perfect husband.

I once believed I was the luckiest woman in the world.

Until three days ago, when my younger brother, Caleb, suffered acute renal failure complicated by cardiac arrest.

That day, New York was hit by a rare torrential downpour. I knelt outside the emergency room, my hands covered in Caleb's blood, trembling as I dialed Nate's number.

Caleb had a rare blood type, and only Nate's private medical facility's blood bank had a matching supply.

I made ninety-nine calls.

Every single one was cut off. Finally, his phone went straight to voicemail.

Caleb stopped breathing at 3 AM. I didn't even have the strength to cry, sitting stiffly outside the door like a shell drained of its soul.

My phone screen lit up. It was a photo from Nate's personal assistant. Perhaps an accident, perhaps intentional.

In the picture, the streets of San Francisco were bathed in bright sunshine. Nate had shed his suit, wearing a casual white shirt, tightly embracing a woman in a white dress.

Her face was buried in his chest, and Nate, head bowed, was kissing her hair. The fervor in his eyes, the relief of having something lost finally found, was something I'd never witnessed in our three years together.

The woman's name was Sophia Smith.

She was Nate's first love, and the student he had funded for ten years.

The cold draft in the hallway chilled my thin dress to the bone. I repeatedly zoomed in on the photo, meticulously examining every detail, suddenly feeling a wave of nausea. I leaned against the wall, dry-heaving.

So that was it.

He wasn't busy.

He was simply with the woman he truly loved.

Nate returned to New York the day after Caleb's funeral.

He pushed open the front door and saw me sitting on the sofa, noticeably thinner, with sunken eyes. I saw a flicker of panic in Nate's eyes.

He hurried over, pulling me into his embrace, his voice thick with self-reproach: "Evelyn, I'm so sorry. There was an emergency at the San Francisco branch; I flew over immediately. My phone fell in the water and broke. I couldn't be with you for Caleb's funeral, and it's all my fault."

He kissed my forehead, his tone humble: "You can hit me, yell at me, whatever you want, any compensation, I'll give it to you."

I didn't struggle, letting him hold me. My face rested against his expensive shirt, and I caught a faint scent of rose perfume that wasn't mine.

It was Sophia's favorite scent.

It felt like a piece had been brutally gouged from my heart, a pain so profound it left me numb. I calmly pushed him away, took two documents from my bag, flipped to the last page, and handed him a pen.

"Nate, I just need you to sign these two documents."

Nate exhaled in relief. Without even glancing at them, he signed his name on both papers.

"Evelyn, what's mine is yours. Forget signing; I'd give you my life." He smiled, touching my stomach. "You've been throwing up a lot lately. Are you having stomach issues? I'll take you to the hospital for a check-up tomorrow."

I looked at the signed documents, my eyes devoid of all emotion.

"No need," I stood up, my voice as light as a whisper, "I'll go by myself."

Evelyn Reed POV

The next morning, I went to the hospital alone. Not to my urology department, but to obstetrics and gynecology.

On the ultrasound report, a tiny gestational sac was securely implanted.

Four weeks.

This was Nate's and my child. For three years of marriage, Nate had been meticulous about birth control. He said he couldn't bear for me to suffer through childbirth, wanting a few more years of just the two of us. This unexpected pregnancy was because of his birthday a month ago; he'd gotten drunk and uncontrollably made love to me all night.

I sat on a bench in the hospital corridor, holding the report, my hand gently resting on my flat abdomen.

If Caleb were still alive, if I hadn't seen that photo, I would probably be excitedly throwing myself into Nate's arms right now, telling him the good news.

But now, I only felt a bitter irony.

My phone vibrated. It was Nate calling.

"Evelyn, are your tests done? I'll come pick you up." His voice was still gentle.

Before I could speak, a delicate female voice suddenly came from the other end: "Nate, I can't find my medicine..."

Nate's breathing hitched, and he immediately covered the mouthpiece, but I still caught his hushed cooing: "Don't worry, it's in the second drawer on the left. I'll be right there."

When he spoke to me again, his tone held a hint of urgency: "Evelyn, there's an emergency company meeting. Can you go home by yourself? Be careful."

"Okay." I hung up abruptly.

I didn't go home. Instead, I went to Nate's private apartment downtown.

It was Nate's forbidden territory, cleaned only by trusted hourly workers. I had never interfered with his privacy before, but today, I used a spare key Nate had casually left in his car to open that door.

The apartment was spotless, arranged warmly and full of a lived-in feel.

I pushed open the bedroom door, and my whole body froze.

The walls were covered with photos of Nate and Sophia. From high school to college, from innocent to mature. In every photo, Nate's smile was so unrestrained, a vivacity I had never seen in him.

The dresser was laden with Sophia's favorite rose perfumes; the closet held custom-made dresses in Sophia's size.

My hands trembling, I pulled open the nightstand drawer. Inside lay a thick diary and a stack of medical records.

The name on the medical records was Sophia Smith. Diagnosis: Congenital renal insufficiency.

My breath caught in my throat. As a urologist, I was all too familiar with this condition.

I opened the diary, Nate's handwriting stinging my eyes.

"Sophia got married and moved to San Francisco with that man. She said she didn't want to burden me. How could I ever resent her?"

"I met a woman named Evelyn Reed. She wore a white coat, and in some ways, she resembled Sophia. More importantly, she was the best urologist in New York."

"I married Evelyn Reed. I funded a research center for her, established a dedicated fund. As long as her team could achieve this medical breakthrough, Sophia would be saved."

"Every day, I hold Evelyn Reed, closing my eyes and imagining the person in my arms is Sophia. Only then can I endure the nights without Sophia."

The last page of the diary was dated three days ago.

"Sophia got divorced, and her illness flared up. I flew to San Francisco to pick her up. I just need her to be alive."

*Smack!* The diary fell to the floor.

I covered my mouth, gasping for air, tears scalding as they hit my hand.

So that was it.

No wonder he always held me from behind. No wonder he poured money into my research. No wonder he never let me into his private circle.

I wasn't a wife; I was just a free, top-tier private physician who resembled his first love.

I wasn't even a stand-in; I was just a tool he meticulously cultivated to save Sophia!

I laughed, my body shaking, tears streaming down my face.

I stood up, stumbling down the stairs, preparing to leave. Suddenly, my foot slipped, and I tumbled headfirst down the stairs, hitting each step with brutal force.

The moment my body slammed against the steps, a tearing pain erupted in my abdomen.

With my years of medical experience, I instantly realized my baby might be in danger.

Panic flooded my heart. I clenched my teeth against the dull pain throughout my body, pulled out my phone, and dialed 911. My consciousness began to fade amidst waves of agonizing pain.

Evelyn Reed POV

After being rushed to the hospital, I was immediately pushed into the emergency room. Doctors quickly began resuscitation and hemorrhage control. Cold examination instruments probed my body, each touch pulling at the searing pain.

I bit my lip, feeling the dull ache of life draining from within me. As a doctor, I'd seen countless deaths, but when the knife cut into my own flesh, that tearing sensation almost ripped me apart.

After a long and grueling rescue, the devastating news finally came: the baby couldn't be saved.

Half an hour later, supported by a colleague, I walked out of the emergency treatment room, my face pale.

I refused my colleague's help and went home alone.

The empty mansion was cold as an icebox. I swallowed two painkillers, forced myself to drag a suitcase from the storage room.

I packed up all the jewelry and custom-made dresses Nate had bought me, contacted a luxury consignment shop, and sold them off that very night.

Looking at the suddenly empty walk-in closet, I felt like I could breathe easier.

At ten o'clock that night, Nate returned.

He brought in the cold air with him, holding a cake from my favorite restaurant.

"Evelyn, I'm home. The meeting ran late today; you must be starving, right?" He changed his shoes, intending to embrace me.

I turned away, my gaze falling on the faint smudge of lipstick on his shirt collar.

"I'm not hungry." My voice was flat, without a hint of emotion.

Nate paused, seemingly noticing my coolness. He put down the cake, walked over, and forcibly took my hand, his brows furrowed: "Why are your hands so cold? And you look so pale. Are you sick?"

"No," I pulled my hand away, "Just a little tired."

Nate sighed, his eyes full of helpless affection: "Are you still mad at me for not making it back for Caleb's funeral? Evelyn, don't be difficult. The dead can't be brought back. You still have me. It's the weekend tomorrow, I'll take you out to clear your head, okay?"

He was always like this, using the gentlest tone to say the cruelest things.

Caleb was dead, and in his mouth, it was just "the dead can't be brought back."

I looked at his handsome face, suddenly feeling utterly estranged.

"Nate," I called his name, "Tomorrow night, the department has a get-together. I won't be home."

A flicker of guilt crossed Nate's eyes, but he quickly concealed it: "Okay, don't drink too much, and come home early."

He especially wanted me not to be home, so he could go be with Sophia.

The next evening, I didn't go to the department dinner. I put on elegant makeup to conceal my post-miscarriage pallor and went to a Michelin-starred restaurant.

This was the address Nate's assistant had inadvertently revealed over the phone.

I pushed open the slightly ajar private room door and, through the gap, coldly watched the scene inside.

Nate had taken off his suit jacket and was patiently peeling a shrimp. He dipped the peeled shrimp into a sauce and naturally fed it to the woman beside him.

Sophia, in a white knit sweater, looked pale, exuding a sickly fragility. She took the shrimp from Nate's hand, her eyes slightly red: "Nate, am I just a burden? I'm divorced, and now I'm sick. I can only come back to you..."

"Don't talk nonsense." Nate's voice was dripping with tenderness, laced with undisguised heartache. "Your return makes me happier than anyone. I'll find a way to treat your illness. New York has the best urology specialists; I'll make sure she cures you."

"But you're married," Sophia bit her lip, tears threatening to fall, "Won't Evelyn be angry if she knows about me?"

Nate scoffed, his tone chillingly indifferent: "She doesn't need to know. She's just a doctor. She took my money, so she should do her job well. Once your illness is cured, I'll give her a sum of money and send her away."

Outside the door, I clutched the doorknob, my nails almost digging into my flesh.

Though I had long guessed the truth, hearing him say those words shattered my heart like a sledgehammer, making every breath taste of blood.

"Give her money and send her away?" I silently repeated the phrase to myself.

Nate, you think you control everything, but you don't know, I stopped wanting you a long time ago.

I didn't storm in to confront him. I took out my phone and snapped a photo of their intimate backs in the private room.

Then, I turned and walked into the night.

Soon. Just twenty more days, and I would leave him.

Then, I would give him a big surprise.

Evelyn Reed POV

My body was severely weakened after the miscarriage. After performing two surgeries back-to-back at the hospital, I almost fainted at the washbasin.

The head nurse lovingly held me: "Dr. Reed, you've looked so pale lately. Mr. Thorne cares about you so much, why doesn't he get you some tonics to help you recover?"

I forced a smile, saying nothing.

Nate had been "very busy" lately. Busy finding a kidney donor for Sophia, busy accompanying her to dialysis, busy holding and comforting her when she cried in pain.

He hadn't been home for three consecutive days. Each time I called, his assistant answered, always with the same excuse: "Mr. Thorne is in a transnational video conference."

I changed out of my white coat and walked out of the hospital entrance.

A black Maybach was parked by the roadside. Nate leaned against the car door, a cigarette between his fingers, looking somewhat fatigued. Seeing me, he immediately stubbed out the cigarette and quickly walked over, pulling me into his embrace.

"Evelyn, you're off work. Things have been too hectic at the company these past few days; I've neglected you." He pressed a kiss to my forehead, the gesture as practiced as a ritual.

I caught the strong scent of disinfectant on him. It wasn't the smell of our hospital; it was the scent of Sophia's private hospital.

"It's fine," I said flatly, pushing him away. "Let's go home."

The atmosphere in the car was heavy. Nate tried to strike up a conversation several times, but I deflected him each time.

As we passed a newly opened restaurant, Nate suddenly slammed on the brakes.

"This restaurant's desserts are famous; I remember you used to love them. Shall we go down for a bite?" Nate looked at me, a hint of pleading in his eyes.

I looked at the restaurant, feeling a wave of nausea. Sophia had posted its location on Ins.

"I'm not hungry."

"Just a little bit. You've lost too much weight lately." Nate unbuckled my seatbelt directly, half-forcing me out of the car.

The restaurant's lighting was dim, and the atmosphere intimate.

Nate ordered a table full of dishes, all light and bland. He solicitously pushed the food towards me, as if returning to his role as the perfect husband.

Just then, a waiter approached, carrying a fresh pot of hot soup.

Perhaps the floor was slippery; the waiter tripped, and the entire pot of scalding soup splashed directly towards Nate and me.

"Watch out!"

In a split second, Nate sprang to his feet.

I thought he would protect himself as he always had. But Nate's body instinctively lunged to the leftwhere Sophia, who had just returned from the restroom, was standing.

Nate shielded Sophia tightly in his arms, his back to me.

"Splash!"

Most of the scalding soup landed on my lower leg.

"Ah!" I gasped in pain, collapsing back into my chair. Through the thin fabric of my pants, my skin instantly turned bright red, blistering in large patches. The piercing pain made me break out in a cold sweat.

Meanwhile, Nate was anxiously cradling Sophia's face, examining her up and down: "Sophia, did you get burned? Are you uncomfortable anywhere?"

Sophia had only a few drops of soup on her skirt, but she was visibly shaken, her face pale, clinging to Nate's sleeve, trembling: "Nate, I'm scared..."

"Don't be scared, I'm here." Nate cooed softly, his eyes filled with urgency.

The waiter repeatedly apologized, bringing ice and towels.

I gritted my teeth, rolling up my pant leg myself. The shocking redness and blisters alarmed the people around us.

Only then did Nate suddenly snap back to reality. He turned, saw my lower leg, and his pupils constricted.

"Evelyn!" He released Sophia, intending to check my injuries.

"Don't touch me!" I violently swatted his hand away, my eyes as cold as ice.

Nate's hand froze in mid-air, his face grim. He looked at the trembling Sophia, then at me, drenched in cold sweat, and gritted his teeth: "Evelyn, just put some ice on it for now. I need to take Sophia to the hospital first; she's not well and can't handle shocks. I'll be right back to pick you up!"

With that, he unhesitatingly scooped Sophia into his arms and strode out of the restaurant.

I sat there, watching their retreating backs, and suddenly let out a low laugh.

I laughed until tears streamed down my face.

The pain in my leg was nothing compared to the agony in my heart.

I was a doctor; I knew perfectly well that Sophia hadn't been hurt at all. I had suffered second-degree burns.

But in Nate's eyes, a single strand of Sophia's hair was more important than my life.

I didn't wait for Nate to return. I took a cab to the hospital myself, saw to my own treatment, cleaned the wound myself, and endured the excruciating pain of having the blisters clipped.

I didn't take any anesthetic. I wanted to remember this pain.

Remember the pain Nate had given me.

Evelyn Reed POV

I was admitted to the hospital's burn unit.

The burn on my leg was extensive, and coupled with my weakened state after the miscarriage, I developed a high fever.

In a daze, I felt someone wiping my forehead with a warm towel. The touch was light, carrying a cautious, almost pleading, gentleness.

I opened my eyes and saw Nate's bloodshot eyes.

"Evelyn, you're awake?" Nate's voice was hoarse, his hand shaking slightly as he held mine. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know your burn was so severe. After I took Sophia to the hospital yesterday, I came back for you, but you were already gone..."

I looked at him coldly, as if at a stranger.

"Is Sophia okay?" I suddenly asked, my voice hoarse.

Nate paused, seemingly unprepared for my question, and his eyes darted away: "She's fine, just a little shaken."

"Is that so?" I forced a smile, a trace of mockery in my voice. "Being shaken requires you to stay with her all night? Nate, you truly disgust me."

Nate's face instantly turned ashen. He abruptly stood up, trying to explain: "Evelyn, listen to me. Sophia has a severe kidney condition; she can't handle any stress. It was just an instinctive reaction at the time..."

"Instinctive reaction?" I cut him off, my gaze as sharp as a knife. "Your instinct was to abandon your wife, scalded by hot soup, to embrace a woman who was completely unharmed. Nate, don't use her illness as an excuse; you simply don't love me."

"No, that's not it!" Nate desperately refuted, taking a step forward to embrace me. "I love you, Evelyn, I truly do. Sophia is just like my sister; my care for her is purely out of responsibility..."

"Enough!" I violently swatted his hand away, pointing towards the door. "Get out. I don't want to see you."

Nate stood frozen, his face ashen.

"Okay, I'll go out. You get some rest; I'll come back later to see you." Nate conceded, turning and walking out of the ward.

The moment the door closed, I shut my eyes, a single cold tear tracing a path down my cheek.

For the next few days, Nate stayed by my side in the hospital like a madman. He canceled all his work, personally feeding me, wiping me down, and changing my dressings. He humbled himself to dust, trying to atone for his mistakes in this way.

But I remained silent, treating him as if he were invisible.

On the fifth day, the ward door opened, and Sophia walked in.

She wore a patient gown, her face pale, carrying a fruit basket, looking utterly pathetic.

"Dr. Reed, I'm so sorry." Sophia walked to the bedside, her eyes red. "It's all because of me that you got such serious injuries. Nate has been taking care of you these past few days; he feels terrible. Please don't be mad at him, okay?"

I leaned against the headboard, coldly watching her performance.

"Sophia, your acting is quite good," I said, my voice flat. "It's a shame you're not an actress."

Sophia's face stiffened, then she bit her lower lip, tears falling: "Dr. Reed, I know you hate me. But Nate and I really have nothing going on; we're just like siblings who grew up together. Please don't let me ruin your marriage."

"Siblings?" I scoffed. "Do siblings plaster each other's photos all over their bedroom? Do siblings fill their diaries with declarations of love for each other?"

Sophia's face instantly turned deathly pale. She looked at me in disbelief, clearly not expecting me to know so much.

"You snooped in Nate's diary?"

"That's my husband's home. Why shouldn't I look?" I looked at her, my eyes disdainful. "Sophia, you're truly pathetic. You think Nate loves you? If he truly loved you, why didn't he marry you back then? He married me, using my professional expertise to save your life. In his eyes, you're nothing more than a beggar in need of charity."

This remark struck Sophia's sore spot with precision. She lunged forward, grabbing my wrist, her voice sharp: "You're lying! Nate loves me! You're just a stand-in!"

My leg injury hadn't healed. Her sudden tug made me gasp in pain. I forcefully shook Sophia's hand off: "Get away from me!"

Sophia, seizing the opportunity, stumbled backward and fell heavily to the floor, letting out a cry of pain.

"Sophia!"

The ward door was violently flung open, and Nate rushed in. Seeing Sophia on the floor, he scooped her into his arms.

"Nate, I'm in so much pain..." Sophia clutched her stomach, cold sweat beading on her forehead.

Nate's head snapped up, his gaze fixed on me, filled with anger and disgust: "Evelyn Reed, are you insane? She's a patient! If anything happens to her kidney, I swear I won't let you off!"

I looked at his murderous expression, and my heart died completely.

"Fine," I said to him coldly. "Nate, I'll be waiting."

Evelyn Reed POV

Sophia was rushed to the emergency room.

The look Nate gave me before he left was as if he were looking at an enemy.

Silence returned to the ward. I sat quietly on the hospital bed, watching the yellowed leaves outside the window being carried away by the autumn wind, feeling an unusual sense of peace.

No anger, no grievance, only a kind of liberation.

Two hours later, Nate's assistant pushed open the ward door. He looked at me with a complicated expression and handed me a document.

"Mrs. Thorne, Mr. Thorne said... Miss Smith's condition has worsened, and she urgently needs a kidney donor. Your blood type and various indicators are a high match with Miss Smith's. Mr. Thorne hopes you can... donate a kidney to Miss Smith."

The assistant's voice grew softer and softer, almost inaudible by the end.

I looked at the "Organ Donation Consent Form" and suddenly laughed out loud.

My laughter echoed in the empty ward, tinged with boundless desolation and mockery.

"He wants me to donate a kidney?" I pointed to myself, tears streaming down my face from laughter. "Does he know I just had a miscarriage? Does he know my leg burns haven't healed? He wants me to save his mistress?"

The assistant lowered his head, not daring to meet my eyes: "Mr. Thorne said that if you agree, he is willing to transfer thirty percent of the company's shares to you and guarantees that he will never have any inappropriate contact with Miss Smith again."

"No more contact?" I scoffed as if I'd heard the biggest joke. "He means he wants to trade my life for Sophia's!"

I grabbed the consent form and, in front of the assistant, tore it into shreds.

"Go back and tell Nate that if he wants my kidney, it will be over my dead body."

The assistant sighed and silently backed out.

That same night, Nate came.

He looked utterly exhausted, with a five o'clock shadow on his jaw. He walked to the bedside, looking down at me, his tone carrying an unquestionable command.

"Evelyn Reed, Sophia can't wait. You can live with one less kidney, but she'll die without it."

I looked into his eyes, as if at a monster.

"Nate, do you think that because I loved you, I deserve to be trampled on?" My voice was soft, but full of disappointment in him. "When my brother died, you were with her. When I was pregnant and you drove me to a miscarriage, you were with her. When I was scalded by hot soup, you were still with her. Now, you even want to take my kidney to save her?"

Nate's eyes flickered with a hint of panic, but it was quickly masked by cold ruthlessness: "Miscarriage? When were you pregnant? Why didn't you tell me?"

"What's the use of telling you?" I sneered.

"Evelyn Reed!" Nate roared, suddenly grabbing my shoulders. "Don't be unreasonable! Sophia's illness can't be delayed! You're a doctor, are you just going to let her die?"

"I am a doctor, but I am not your tool!" I forcefully broke free from his grip, pointing to the door. "Get out! I never want to see you again in my life!"

Nate stared at me, his eyes terrifyingly sinister.

"Evelyn Reed, don't be stubborn. In New York, I have ways to get you onto that operating table to donate a kidney."

He flung those words at me, then turned and strode away.

I sat on the bed, trembling, my hands gripping the bedsheets tightly.

I knew Nate's words were real. He had money and power; if he truly went mad, I wouldn't be able to resist.

I had to leave. Immediately.

I pulled out the IV needle from the back of my hand, gritting my teeth against the searing pain in my leg, and changed into my clothes.

I pulled out my phone and dialed a number hidden at the very bottom of my contacts.

"Ethan Miller, it's me. Arrange for me to go to San Francisco. As soon as possible."

The other end was silent for two seconds, then a deep male voice replied: "Okay. See you at the hospital's back entrance in half an hour."

After hanging up, I looked at the ward that had held me captive for seven days, turning to leave without a single trace of nostalgia.

Nate Thorne, it's completely over between us.

I will never look back at you again.