My Fiancé's Countdown Mistress

I peeled off my latex gloves with a satisfying snap and tossed them into the biohazard bin. Thirty-six hours on my feet, four cardiac arrests, one multi-car pileup, and a toddler who'd swallowed his mother's wedding ring. Just another marathon shift at San Francisco General.

"You're still standing. Impressive," Dr. Ramirez said, passing me in the hallway.

I managed a tired smile. "Barely."

But exhaustion couldn't touch the flutter of excitement in my chest. I pulled out my phone and texted Marcus:

*Still on for City Hall at 2? Can't wait to make this official! ❤️*

His response came quickly: *Wouldn't miss it. See you soon, beautiful.*

Five years together, and his messages still made me smile. I stared at the three dots that appeared, then disappeared without another text following. Probably just got distracted with work. Marcus was always juggling a dozen things at once—the curse of being a tech entrepreneur in San Francisco.

I gathered my things from my locker, changing from scrubs into a simple navy dress I'd brought specially for our appointment. The marriage license was just paperwork, but it felt momentous—the first official step toward becoming Dr. Natalie Sterling.

"There's the blushing bride!" Sarah's voice rang out as I entered the staff lounge. My best friend and fellow ER physician was pouring herself coffee, dark circles under her eyes matching mine.

"Not a bride yet," I corrected, but couldn't help the smile spreading across my face.

"Let me see that rock again," Sarah demanded, grabbing my left hand. The emerald-cut diamond caught the fluorescent light. "God, Marcus has good taste. One month to go, huh?"

"Twenty-nine days," I corrected, accepting the coffee she offered. "But who's counting?"

"Everyone is," Dr. Chen, a passing nurse chimed in with a wink. "Hospital's favorite love story. The doctor who healed the broken bad boy."

I rolled my eyes but couldn't suppress my smile. It wasn't far from the truth. Marcus had come into my ER five years ago after a motorcycle accident—reckless driving after a brutal breakup, I'd later learn. I'd put twelve stitches in his forehead while he'd flirted through his concussion. Three days later, flowers arrived at the nurses' station with a note asking me to dinner.

"I still can't believe you're marrying a guy who crashed his bike because his girlfriend dumped him," Sarah teased.

"Ex-girlfriend," I corrected. "Ancient history."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Victoria Hayes, right? Wasn't she some marketing executive or something?"

"Something like that," I murmured, the name sending an inexplicable chill through me. Marcus rarely spoke about Victoria, but when he did, there was always something in his voice—a tension that made me change the subject.

"Well, he traded up," Sarah declared, squeezing my shoulder. "You saved his life, Nat. Literally and figuratively."

I checked my watch. "I should get going. Don't want to be late."

The hospital lobby was crowded with the usual afternoon chaos—visitors, discharged patients, staff changing shifts. I was halfway across when I spotted him through the