Marked by the Monsters I Created

Maya Cross had blood on her hands again.

Not hers this time.

The young man on the trauma bed was barely twenty, maybe younger. His motorcycle jacket had been cut open, his ribs were cracked, and his left leg was a mess of torn denim, broken bone, and blood. The monitors screamed above him while two nurses worked fast on either side of the gurney.

"BP dropping," Nurse Patel called out.

Maya did not blink. "Two units O-negative. Now. Get respiratory ready. He's losing volume faster than we can replace it."

Detroit General Hospital's emergency room was chaos on a normal Friday night. Tonight was worse. Rain had turned the freeway into a metal graveyard, and every ambulance in the city seemed to be headed straight for her bay.

Maya had been on her feet for fourteen hours.

Her back ached. Her eyes burned. Her coffee had gone cold sometime around midnight, and the protein bar in her scrub pocket had been crushed flat by accident. She still moved like she had energy left, because patients did not care whether their doctor was tired.

They cared whether they lived.

"He's crashing," someone said.

"Not if I can help it." Maya pressed down on the bleeding wound and lifted her eyes to the intern frozen at the foot of the bed. "Either move, or learn. Standing there won't save him."

The intern snapped out of it and rushed forward.

Thirty-eight minutes later, the patient was alive.

Barely, but alive.

Maya stripped off her bloody gloves and dropped them into the biohazard bin. Her hands trembled for two seconds, then steadied. That was how it always went. Panic after the danger passed. Never during.

"Dr. Cross," Nurse Patel said, leaning against the counter with a tired smile, "your fiance called three times."

Maya glanced at the clock. 11:47 p.m.

Damn.

Ryan had been asking her to come over all week. Dinner, wine, some ridiculous speech about how they needed to spend more time together before the wedding. Maya had promised she would try.

Trying, apparently, meant forgetting the entire concept of time while keeping strangers alive.

"Did he sound mad?" Maya asked.

"He sounded like a man who has never worked an ER shift in his life," Patel said dryly.

Maya huffed a laugh. "So yes."

Patel's expression softened. "Go home. Seriously. The next attending is already here. You saved three people tonight. Let someone else be the hero for once."

Maya should have gone straight to her apartment, showered, and passed out face-first on her bed.

Instead, she looked down at her scrubs, then at the small diamond ring on her finger.

Maybe she really had been neglecting Ryan.

Maybe surprise mattered.

Maybe showing up, even exhausted, would prove she was trying.

Forty minutes later, Maya stood outside Ryan Hale's apartment holding a bottle of expensive red wine and a takeout bag from the Italian place he loved. She had changed into jeans, a black sweater, and a camel coat, but her hair was still damp from a rushed hospital shower.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Lena: Did you finish the alien beast husband book yet???

Maya smiled despite herself.

She had stayed up way too late last night reading that trashy sci-fi reverse-harem novel Lena kept pushing on her. The villainess was named Maya Cross too.

The book Maya turned out to be a sadistic spoiled villain who tortured five powerful beastmen until all of them wanted her dead.

Maya had texted Lena three separate times just to ask why anyone would create five future kings and then abuse them like free punching bags.

Before she could reply, a soft laugh came from inside Ryan's apartment.

A woman's laugh.

Maya went still.

The sound was not loud. It slipped through the door like a secret that had gotten careless.

Then Ryan's voice followed, low and amused.

"Relax, babe. Maya's at the hospital. She always is."

Maya's fingers tightened around the wine bottle.

For a moment, her brain refused to understand the words.

Then the woman laughed again, closer this time. "You're terrible. What if she surprises you?"

Ryan snorted. "Maya doesn't do surprises. She does trauma charts, twelve-hour shifts, and bank transfers."

The takeout bag rustled in Maya's hand.

Something cold and clean settled in her chest.

She took out the spare key Ryan had begged her for months ago, slid it into the lock, and opened the door.

Ryan Hale was standing in the middle of the living room with his shirt half open.

A blonde woman sat on Maya's cream sofa with one bare leg crossed over the other. She wore a red silk dress Maya recognized immediately because she had paid for it.

The diamond bracelet on the woman's wrist? Maya's card.

The silver heels by the rug? Maya's card.

The little pearl clutch on the coffee table? Also Maya's card.

Dress. Bracelet. Shoes. Bag. This unfamiliar blonde woman had tried to steal everything from her through her foolish fiancé.

Ryan's face turned white. "Maya. You're... early."

"Technically, I'm late." Maya stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Her voice sounded calm enough to scare even herself. "You said dinner was at eight."

The blonde woman slowly stood. She looked Maya up and down, taking in the tired eyes, the plain sweater, the hospital badge still clipped to her coat pocket.

Then she smiled.

"So this is the famous Maya Cross." Her hand touched the diamond bracelet. "I pictured someone more glamorous."

Ryan dragged a hand through his hair. "Maya, don't make this dramatic."

Maya stared at him. "You're cheating on me in the apartment I helped you lease, with a woman wearing clothes bought with my money, and your opening line is don't make this dramatic?"

His shame lasted about three seconds before turning into irritation.

"Maybe if you acted like a fiancee instead of a walking hospital schedule, this wouldn't have happened."

Ryan kept going, voice sharpening now that cruelty had given him courage. "Do you know what it's like being engaged to you? You're never around. You're always exhausted. And when you are here, all you talk about is blood pressure and intubation and who almost died."

The blonde woman tilted her head. "Some men want a woman, not a paycheck with a medical degree."

Maya's eyes moved to her. "And some women want a man, not a parasite in designer shoes."

The smile vanished.

Ryan's jaw tightened. "See? This is what I mean. You think being rich makes you better than everyone. But honestly, Maya, money is the only easy thing to love about you. Without it, what do you even have?"

For one heartbeat, the room went silent.