Eternally Yours

The early morning hours were always the most serene at the hospital. Hana relished these peaceful moments before the daily rush, using the quiet to get herself centered before her shift truly began.

She made her rounds, checking vitals and ensuring her patients were resting comfortably after being handed off by the night nurse. With a hot cup of herbal tea in hand, Hana settled at the nurses’ station to input her findings into the computer.

The familiar clickety-clack of computer keys and the low murmur of hushed voices created a soothing white noise. Hana felt her shoulders instinctively unlatch some of their tension as she sipped her tea. Moments like these were all too rare. Waking up early for morning shifts was still hard to get used to.

A sudden burst of movement in her peripheral vision shattered the peaceful atmosphere. Hana’s head swiveled just in time to see Dr. Ren burst through the doors of the ER like a man possessed.

His razor-sharp jaw was set in a hard line, eyes blazing with an emotion she couldn’t quite place. Urgency and agitation seemed to roll off him in waves as he walked forward with decisive strides.

The few nurses lounging about the station froze, exchanging shocked looks. In all the time Hana had known the perpetually composed Dr. Ren, she couldn’t recall ever seeing him in such an unsettled state.

He rushed past without sparing them so much as a glance, his broad shoulders tense and posture radiating a nearly palpable intensity. Hana’s breath hitched in her throat as he reached the automatic doors and smacked them impatiently, waiting just long enough for them to slide open before disappearing outside.

A heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the ambient noises of floors being waxed and the distant ringing of phones. Hana slowly turned back to her abandoned terminal, fingers frozen over the keys as her mind whirred.

Her gaze flickered to the ER doors through which he’d stormed out.

*********************

The phone call hit Ren hard, like a punch to the gut. He came barreling out of the hospital doors, his usual cool and calm gone. His white doctor’s coat flapped behind him as he rushed across the parking lot, constantly running his hands through his messy hair out of pure frustration.

Not up to 5 minutes ago, he had let out a deep, weary sigh as he sank onto the worn couch in his office, finally able to grab a moment to himself after a grueling overnight shift. He fished his phone out from the pocket of his wrinkled white coat, squinting against the harsh glare of the screen as it lit up.

5 missed calls from his mother.

He rolled his eyes reflexively, not even needing to check the call log to know exactly who had been blowing up his phone. Just as he moved to silence the ringer, the device began vibrating in his palm with another incoming call from her. Without a second thought, he declined it and dropped the phone face-down beside him, desperate to cling to these fleeting moments of peace.

Ren took a deep, steadying breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, unconsciously attempting to physically push away the growing tension headache. He knew ignoring his mother’s incessant calls was only delaying the inevitable eruption, but he allowed himself to indulge in the brief respite.

The shrill beep of an incoming text message pinged through the blessed silence, shattering Ren’s hard-won tranquility like a pebble through glass. He scooped up the phone, fully expecting another terse demand from his relentless mother.

Instead, the message on the bright screen was as icy as it was curt: “I am in front of the hospital. Meet me at L’Heritiere or else.”

Ren felt his jaw tighten unwittingly. Of course, his mother would stoop to such underhanded ultimatums to ensure his compliance. Raking a hand roughly through his tousled hair, he fought the urge to hurl the phone across the room in a momentary lapse of self-control.

Without a minute to waste, Ren surged to his feet and snatched his coat from where it lay crumpled. He bolted out of the door, hands quickly working to shrug on his coat as he moved with purposeful strides. His phone remained clutched in his other hand, calls and texts now being fired off to his mother in rapid succession.

He got into his car and zoomed out of the parking lot. Ren didn’t slow until he reached the discreet side entrance of an upscale restaurant nearby.

Ren was burning up inside, but you’d never know it just by looking at his face. He managed to keep himself together, at least on the outside, as he shoved his way into the fancy restaurant nearby. A few staff members gave him weird looks with how worked up he seemed, but Ren paid them no mind. He knew exactly where he was heading.

As soon as he stepped into the private dining room, it was like entering a different world - quiet, classy, and dripping with money. Everything from the heavy curtains to the antique decorations on the walls screamed “old money elegance.” Ren’s agitated state seemed completely out of place here.

“Ah, there you are, Ren.” The crisp, refined voice cut through the silence like a knife.

Sitting at the head of the long dining table, back perfectly straight, was an impeccably dressed woman in her mid-fifties. Her graying chestnut hair and regal features were eerily similar to Ren’s, but she gave off this undeniable upper-class vibe that felt the opposite of how disheveled her son looked right now.

Her judging eyes slowly looked Ren up and down before landing on the intimidating female attendant hovering at her side. “That will be all for now, Greta. Give us the room, please.”

The attendant nodded stiffly before leaving without a word. Only once the door clicked shut did Ren’s mother’s prim and proper mask slip ever so slightly, her expression morphing into one of cold disappointment.

“Ren. This over-dramatic entrance is unbecoming, even for you...” Her tone carried a lifetime of bottled-up critiques.

Ren held his tongue, refusing to get roped into another useless argument. Ren’s jaw clenched tightly as he stared his mother down. He hated how she always pulled these power moves - using threats and mind games to summon him whenever she wanted. Disrupting his workplace like this was a new low, even for her. It risked exposing too much of his private life to his colleagues.

The tense silence stretched between them until a waiter mercifully interrupted by setting down a fresh cup of tea across from Ren’s mother. She seized the moment to level a pointed look at her son.

“I thought maybe you could use some proper tea instead of whatever cheap, bitter crap you’ve no doubt been drinking,” she said, perfectly arched brow raised.

Ren opened his mouth, ready to shut down another snippy commentary about his habits. But his mother charged ahead before he could get a word in.

“Oh, don’t look so put out, dear. You know I only want what’s best.” Her tone held a mix of exasperation and watered-down concern, like critiquing his life was just tough love.

With an exaggerated sigh, Ren yanked out the chair and heavily dropped into it. His mother’s sharp eyes did a once-over of his rumpled blue scrubs, mouth twisting in distaste before she took a pointed sip of her tea.

“Ren, surely you could have left the...grunt work to your inferiors,” she finally said, disdain dripping from her words. “You were meant for loftier roles than dashing about in those...well, I’m sure they’re quite comfortable.”

“Enough games, Mother,” Ren ground out, cutting off her assessment of his career before it gathered steam. “Why did you insist on seeing me like this?”

She leveled him a sardonic look over her china cup’s rim. “Must a mother have a reason to see her only son?”

Ren’s flat stare said it all - he could see through such transparent ploys from a mile away.

Rolling her eyes ever so slightly, his mother set her tea down with a clink and folded her hands atop the lace-trimmed tablecloth. “Oh, very well. Let’s drop the pretenses...”

She fixed him with an inscrutable look. “You must attend the family gathering this weekend. It’s non-negotiable.”

“Why exactly do I have to attend?” Ren couldn’t keep the edgy impatience from his voice. “It’s just your wedding anniversary, is it not?”

His mother’s perfectly sculpted features twitched ever so slightly, a brief lapse in her usual airtight poise. But she swiftly recovered, bringing a delicately embroidered handkerchief to her lips as if to smooth away any cracks in her facade.

“Your attendance is of great importance, Ren,” she replied, dismissive tone making it clear the matter wasn’t up for debate. “It’s a family gathering, which by definition means all family members will be present.”

The ominous emphasis on those last words wasn’t lost on Ren. Of course the dreaded event would devolve into a cesspool of obligations and underhanded agendas - it was precisely why he’d been avoiding these “gatherings” like the plague in recent years.

His stony silence seemed to be all the acceptance his mother required. With a self-satisfied sniff, she smoothed her hands over the finely-tailored fabric of her skirt suit and rose gracefully from her chair.

But just before sweeping toward the door, she couldn’t resist one final parting remark laced with transparent cunning.

“Oh, and Ren?” She glanced over her shoulder, lips curved in the barest hint of a Mona Lisa smile. “I’ve arranged for you to bring a...lady friend to the event. Don’t come unaccompanied.”

The unmistakable implication hung blazingly in the air even after she excused herself from the private dining room. Ren was left sitting amid the opulent surroundings, a hollow sense of dread expanding in his chest.

His mother’s words - it was the oldest trick in her arsenal. Trying to reassert control over his life by meddling and making ridiculous demands.

Ren felt the telltale buzz of his phone against his thigh and instinctively reached for it, tension coiling in his gut. Sure enough, an email from his mother was already waiting - attached was a formal-looking event invitation, a PDF file and...

He felt his jaw tick as the attachment photo loaded. It was a headshot of an attractive young woman, all sleek blonde hair and a camera-ready smile. Of course, his mother wouldn’t have settled for anything less than putting him on display with arm candy she deemed appropriately polished.

With a disgusted snort, Ren tossed his phone onto the table, the muted clatter satisfying on some primal level. He raked a hand through his already disheveled hair, suddenly feeling an overwhelming need to be anywhere other than this suffocating den of oppressive wealth and his family’s toxic expectations.

After a minute of thought, Ren reached over to pick up his phone and tapped on a seldom-contact, jabbing the call button with more force than necessary. It rang only once before a familiar voice answered.

“Where are you?” Ren didn’t bother with too much talk. Whatever the reply was must have satisfied him, because he ended the call and got up from his seat.

He started heading for the door as he rapidly fired off a text message to someone else. Before exiting the room, his gaze drifted briefly over to the chair where his mother had been seat, a cold mask firmly in place as always. His fist clenched against the knob of the door and strode out.

By the time he reached his car in the parking lot, a familiar flow of adrenaline had taken over him. He peeled out of the parking lot and greeted the road with speed until he reached his destination: JK Luxe.

He didn’t even pause at the front entrance, taking his car around the back to the underground reserved lot accessible only to special guest. Killing the engine, Ren exited and moved towards the backdoor.

Ren moved with powerful strides down the dimly lit hallways with a thumping bass-line echoing through the club’s wall. His didn’t break stride until he reached a door leading into a private lounge.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Dr. McSteamy himself! Thank you for finally gracing us with your presence” The familiar jovial voice caused Ren’s eye to twitch ever-so-lightly.

Rowan lounged on one of the plush couches to face him fully, whiskey glass in hand and his trademark grin plastered across his face. His eyes roamed over Ren in one slow, assessing sweep.

“Though I gotta say, Dr. Jenkins, scrubs are a…bold fashion choice for a place like this,” Rowan commented with and exaggerated wiggle of his brows.

A snort of laughter sounded from the other side of the room. “Only Ren would be interesting enough to show up here dressed like that.”

Jiro emerged from the door, eternally styled in designer casual outfit befitting the wealthy playboy persona he’d embraced. He threw an arm around his cousin’s shoulder, either oblivious to or deliberately ignoring the dangerous energy practically vibrating off Ren.

“What’s the matter, cuz? Mother dearest riled you up again?”

At the mention of his mother, Ren shrugged Jiro’s arm off him with a cutting glare, promise of violence hanging in the air.

Jiro’s hand flew up in surrender, lips twitching in amusement even as he backed off a step. “Okay, okay, touchy subject, got it.” He jerked his chin towards the hallway on the far side of the lounge. “Why don’t you get changed in my office, hm?”

Ren stared at his cousin for a stretched beat, the muscle in his jaw ticked. Giving a tense nod, he turned on his heel and stalked off towards the hallway without a word.

Ren emerged a short while later, having changed int a sleek black dress shirt and dark pants. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, still damp from the quick shower that he’d taken to rinse off the day’s stress.

His gaze landed on the crystal decanter sitting on the sideboard, amber liquid sloshing invitingly. It had been far too long since he last indulged in that particular habit.

Pushing abruptly away from the table, Ren crossed the room in a few long strides and poured himself a generous amount of the top-shelf scotch. He spare a minute to chance and, just threw back a healthy swig directly from the bottle.

“Figure you could use this, buddy,” Jiro said lightly, though his eyes danced with curiosity.

The fiery liquid blazed a path down his throat, briefly overwhelming his senses with its smoky burn. Ren welcomed the distraction from the pit of dread rapidly festering in his gut over having to face his toxic family once again. Dread...and a nagging sense that their nonsense would soon entangle some unsuspecting woman, all for the sake of appearances.

Jiro, never one to exercise tact, jumped right to interrogating Ren. “Alright, out with it then. What fresh hell did Mother Dearest unleash on you this time?”

Ren didn’t bother looking at his cousin, just dug his phone out and tossed it at Jiro, who snatched it from the air with poise.

Rowan leaned over a s Jiro thumbed through to the phone and message, letting out a low whistle. “Well, shit, no wonder you’re wound tighter than--”

“A set-up, pure and simple. She even got you a wife,” Jiro interjected with a bark of laughter, tossing the phone back. It landed squarely in Ren’s lap. “A perfect wife. Lucky you, coz. I don’t wish to be you.”

Ren’s hands clenched around his glass, his memories trail back to the photo of the plastic, over-groomed socialite his mother had clearly handpicked as arm candy. The though of being paraded around with such a woman made his skin crawl.

“So, what’s your plan now?” Rowan asked, more soberly this time. “You have no choice but to go now”

Jiro scoffed at that. “Please, like the great Dr. Jenkins would willingly show up to that circus gathering with this…barbie doll on his arm.” He eyed Ren cautiously. “Right, Ren?”

When Ren merely took another brooding pull from his scotch, Jiro’s smile dimmed momentarily. “…You’re not actually considering it, are you?”

The heavy silence that met his question was tense. Ren’s jaw worked wordlessly as he spun the glass around, eyes glossy and unfocused.

Truth was, he had no idea what he planned to do - outside of drinking himself into oblivion for the night to avoid it altogether. But Ren was determined - he wouldn’t be a willing victim to their manipulations any longer.