Dying On Our Wedding Week He Saved Her Instead

A week before my wedding to Julian Hayes, I was deliberately rear-ended on the Boston Harbor Bridge by his late wife's sister, Chloe Scott.

She rammed my car eighteen times, hitting speeds of 120 miles per hour.

When Julian arrived with the ambulance, I was being pulled from the mangled wreckage.

But he rushed past me, straight to the Range Rover that had only lost its bumper.

He cradled Chloe, who was unharmed but trembling uncontrollably.

A paramedic said urgently, "Dr. Hayes, your fiancée is in critical condition. We need to get her to the hospital immediately."

Julian blocked my stretcher, his eyes brushing past me. "It's just superficial. Chloe's having a panic attack—that's the priority. Take her first."

As they started to leave me behind, I summoned the last of my strength and clutched at Julian's sleeve.

He frowned, prying my limp hand off him. "Chloe didn't do it on purpose; she was having an episode. You're a doctor, Ava. You of all people should understand."

After that, he used my blood-smeared fingerprint to forcibly unlock my phone.

Using my phone, he sent a text message to the police as me, clearing Chloe of all blame.

"The next ambulance will be here soon. Try to hang on."

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1

I didn't make it to the next ambulance.

When I opened my eyes again, I was floating in mid-air.

The cold rain poured down on my body below, and I wanted to wrap my arms around myself.

But my arms passed right through me.

I smiled bitterly.

So, I was dead.

Julian was right. I *am* a doctor. And I knew exactly what hitting 120 miles per hour and taking eighteen merciless impacts truly meant.

Chloe never intended for me to live.

And yet he, the esteemed Chief of Neurosurgery at Boston General Hospital, had dismissed my injuries as "superficial" with a single glance.

I should have given up on him long ago.

Whenever it came to Chloe, everything else became insignificant.

Including my life.

In the distance, the wail of sirens grew closer.

Doctors and nurses leaped from the vehicle, rushing toward my body in the downpour.

I watched as my limp, broken form was lifted onto a stretcher.

Amidst the doctor's shouts, they kept pushing epinephrine, and the defibrillator paddles whined and thumped against my chest again and again.

But nothing could stop the ECG from flatlining.

The doctor roared, "Notify traffic police to clear a path! Tell the hospital to prep the top OR immediately—the patient is critical!"

But the three calls the nurse made to the hospital were all rejected.

Her eyes blazed with anger. "On what grounds? Dr. Chen is Chief Hayes's fiancée! How can he reserve the top OR for a woman without a single scratch on her?"

She choked up, unable to continue. "Dr. Chen is dying..."

The paramedics in the ambulance fell silent.

They all knew that Chloe Scott was the sister of Julian's late wife.

She had witnessed her sister, Serena, die on a stormy night while trying to save her, and had suffered from severe panic attacks ever since.

Whenever it stormed, she would lose control, and only Julian's presence could calm her.

And I, his fiancée, had finally reached my breaking point after he'd postponed our wedding ten times for Chloe's constant crises. "A light drizzle triggers an attack, a thunderstorm triggers an attack. Do you really think she only sees you as a brother-in-law?"

Julian's gaze turned instantly icy, and he seemed taken aback by his own reaction.

Averting his eyes, he said, his voice stiff, "If you can't tolerate Chloe, Ava, then maybe you're not the woman I thought you were."