The Intern - Book 3 E-Book

Chain Emily

• Herausgeber: So Romance
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The Intern
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 200

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

The truth about Dean and James’s past is finally revealed...

A deadly epidemic strikes the emergency room, forcing Julia and Dean to work side by side. As tensions rise, Dean is plunged back into the shadows of his past—uncovering secrets that expose James’s true nature. Manipulation, blackmail, violence, threats...
Who is James really? Where does his power, wealth, and influence come from? Is it finally time to tell Julia everything?

In this explosive third volume, uncover the hidden pasts of your favorite characters. Mystery, suspense, lost loves, and emotional intensity lie ahead!

WHAT READERS ARE SAYING

From Book 1:

"The writing is fluid, the medical scenes are vivid, and the love scenes are subtle—refreshingly different from other romances, which I really appreciated." – Cindy R. on Babelio

"If you love roller-coaster love stories... go go go! You’ll devour it as quickly as I did." – Di Anna on Booknode

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Emily Chain has always loved writing across diverse genres—from fantasy and thrillers to, of course, romance. She crafts characters readers easily connect with, like Julia.

Leseprobe

Cover

Title page

Prologue

Julia

I walk down the street, hoping not to trip in my high heels.

“Run, Julia, don’t stop.”

I turn my head to the right, then to the left. It’s impossible to identify the voice. My long hair brushes against my cheeks, and the light rain dampening my body sticks it to my skin. I have to wrestle with these wild strands to see what’s ahead of me. I nearly forget about the red light and stop just in time to avoid colliding with a taxi. I lose my breath and sigh in relief.

“You’re not out of danger yet,” the voice chuckles. l

This time, fear grips me, and I start running as soon as the light turns green. On tiptoes, I dash through several neighborhoods, out of breath. I don’t know what’s chasing me, but I feel hunted.

“I’ll always find you,” the voice teases.

“Stop!”

My shoulders jerk up from the mattress, and I glance around, disoriented. A nightmare… Again. I can’t take it anymore. Ever since I returned to L.A. after our romantic weekend, they haven’t stopped.

“James?” I whisper, needing comfort.

I turn toward his side of the bed, but it’s empty. The clock reads nearly 4 a.m. I frown and get out of bed. I’m wearing a nightgown, and it clings to my skin. I must have been sweating from running in my dream because I’m drenched. I want to slip into the shower, but James’s absence worries me, so I decide to go downstairs to see why he’s not sleeping. Barefoot, I nearly slip on the staircase’s cement when I hear his voice. I stop, gripping the railing, and listen.

“Unacceptable,” he says, clearly irritated.

No one answers, so I assume he’s on the phone.

“I don’t want this case dragging on for months,” he snaps. “We have other matters to deal with afterward, and…”

I freeze when the landline rings. I see it on the dresser in front of me and am surprised it’s ringing at this hour. But if James comes to answer it, he’ll think I was spying on him, and I know he hates that. For him, trust is the foundation of our relationship. We shouldn’t snoop on each other like that.

I quickly retreat to the bedroom and turn on the shower. I close the bathroom door just as the ringing stops. I strain to hear and catch the sound of my husband coming upstairs. Why am I hiding as if I’ve done something wrong? I don’t know, and suddenly, I feel a bit foolish.

I unlock the door and open it, only to see James’s silhouette standing there, his brows furrowed. He glances back and forth between the running shower and my damp nightgown.

“I was sweating from the heat,” I blurt out. I felt like taking a shower before going back to sleep.

My explanation sounds odd, but I sense he wants one.

“It was your mother. She must have mixed up the time zones again,” he frowns.

“Oh… I say, glancing at his other phone, which might still be in use. Did she wake you?

“No, I was already up dealing with a case that’s proving trickier than I thought,” he says.

His answer pleases me and aligns with what I overheard earlier. I pick up the receiver and thank him for bringing it to me.

“Sweetheart?”

“Yes, Mom. You know it’s…”

I watch James leave and wait for him to go downstairs before continuing the conversation:

“Very early here,” I add. James was working, and I was sleeping, believe it or not.

She apologizes before telling me she had a strange visitor. A man who seemed interested in buying her house.

“He said it was his wife’s dream home and that he was ready to offer me a generous sum,” she says excitedly.

I frown. My mother is incredibly naive, and I don’t like the idea of her trusting a stranger.

“You didn’t let him in, did you?” I ask, panicked.

“Of course I did. He wanted to take a tour and snap some photos. If I could sell this house…” she says.

“Mom, he could have been dangerous!”

“Oh, nonsense, she whispers, too thrilled to consider the potential threat.

“What if he was armed or…”

“Stop always assuming the worst.”

“But Mom, this man is a complete stranger, and you took down the ‘For Sale’ sign months ago.”

She says nothing, then abruptly changes the subject to my relationship. I cut her off, unwilling to let her sidetrack me with her veiled concerns about my life. For weeks, she’s been suggesting I visit her alone to take a break. She doesn’t understand that neither the hospital nor James would allow me to do such a thing. I have a family now. Especially since we’re planning to adopt, even if it might take years.

“I have to go, Mom. My shift starts in a few hours.”

I frown as I say it. It’s 5 a.m already., too late to go back to bed after hanging up with her.

“A good shower, and I’ll hit the ground running,” I mutter, yawning.

Let’s hope it’s a calm day.

Dean

My fists freeze mid-air when I see the teasing look on Tara’s face as she stares at my bare, sweat-soaked chest, the result of the intense training I’ve been forcing myself through these past few days.

“Looking good. Shouldn’t you be saving lives instead of beating up that poor punching bag?”

“And shouldn’t your butt be on a plane?” I snap, landing one last punch on my sparring partner.

“Actually, I came to give you a kiss goodbye and to remind you that Julia needs to know the truth,” she says.

She’s relentless when she gets an idea in her head. I sigh in exasperation, rolling my eyes as I unwrap the bandages protecting my knuckles.

“‘You know gloves exist, right?” she says, eyeing my battered hands.

“‘I’m not operating anytime soon,” I reply.

“‘But you’ve been cleared,” she growls.

I laugh at her simplistic view of the situation. The board, however, has used this minor issue as an excuse to scrutinize my stats and reports, searching for a reason to let me go. ­Probably James’s doing, which I expected. It’s all part of the game, as Sy would say.

“Tara, go enjoy Europe, I say, taking a sip of cold water from my bottle.”

She stretches, and I notice her casual outfit. She catches my gaze on her sweatpants tied at the hips and her oversized t-shirt, barely concealing her lack of a bra.

“I like flying without wardrobe constraints,” she quips.

I smile and walk her to the exit. I don’t like her coming to this gym, especially since I’ve been under surveillance for a while now. Tara needs to leave the country–and fast.

“Julia needs to know,” she repeats as I open the first glass door leading to the outer corridor.

“She… I’m trying to find the right moment,” I say.

“There will never be a right moment, Dean. Not for what you’re about to tell her. You just have to stop waiting. What are you afraid of?”

I lift my impassive eyes to hers, but inside, I’m trembling. She doesn’t know half the story and yet despises James enough to push me to confess to Julia. But Julia returned from a mountain getaway happy and clearly in love with her husband.

I haven’t been able to talk to her, and she’s been avoiding me. Soon, I won’t have any chance to see her at the hospital, since I’ve heard rumors about schedule changes.

Tara’s right–I need to tell her, but I lack the courage. My friend doesn’t realize how close she is to the truth when she talks about fear. Every time I imagine an honest conversation with Julia, it ends badly. No matter what I do, I can’t protect her enough.

Perplexed by my silence, Tara steps back.

“Don’t forget she knows nothing about the man she shares her home with. You owe her that much! If she doesn’t know by the time I return, I won’t be as patient, Dean, believe me.”

I pull her into a hug to shut her up, and she shrieks in disgust at my sweaty, smelly skin.

“No! I was clean, Dean!”

She steps back, sighing when she sees I haven’t answered her threat.

“Please, Dean. She’ll forgive you for not telling her sooner, trust me.”

I nod, unwilling to dive into a messy explanation. Tara’s silhouette disappears through the doors, and I return to my punching bag to release the last of my negative energy.

I crack my neck and hear my most loyal friend whispering something from behind the steel beam where he’s been hiding since Tara arrived.

“You can’t tell Julia just yet,” he mumbles.

“Why not? Tara’s right. She has no idea who she’s living with, and…”

“It’s not part of the plan, Dean. You know that.”

“But we haven’t heard from the guys in days,” I point out. “What makes you think the plan hasn’t fallen apart?”

“I…”

He stops, and I punch the bag barehanded, channeling all the anger this situation stirs in me. I’m trapped, both hands and feet tied in this mess.

I don’t want to keep lying to Julia, but throwing away months of preparation out of impatience isn’t wise either.

“If you’re in a tough spot, tell her. Otherwise, keep quiet,” he says before leaving.

His hulking figure vanishes through the back door, and I’m certain no one saw him come or go. The man’s a ghost, and I trust him.

If I have to keep the secret a little longer, I will. No matter the cost, Julia’s safety is at stake too.

Chapter 1

Julia

Present

My hair hastily tied back, the pager incessantly buzzing, and the traffic worse than ever–it could only mean one thing. Today, I should have stayed in bed.

James hasn’t stopped telling me lately that I’m slipping. That I’m defending the wrong people and heading straight for trouble at the hospital. I don’t listen to him. What matters is exposing that sleazy so-called surgeon and clearing Dean’s name. I’ve erased that man’s name from my vocabulary.

It’s decided–starting now, I won’t think about or talk about that insufferable charmer. Today is our last shift together. After this, I’ll take Nina’s shifts. She owes me after her screw-up last year.

I take a deep breath before pushing open the ER doors. If today is going to be exasperating, it’s off to a great start. Not even ten minutes into my shift, and we’ve already been informed that a factory has shut down due to suspected gas leaks.

According to our ER chief, the fumes are highly toxic, and we need to assess the damage to the employees immediately. Some are already showing symptoms. No danger to us, thankfully, but my stomach knots as my resident moves closer and whispers a few words.

“School trip… warehouse study… potential infections.”

There’s nothing worse in our line of work than seeing children suffer and being unable to help them. Teams on-site are trying to identify the leaked substance, but for now, we’ll be treating blindly, and we’re bound to lose patients.

“Julia, you’re the best at talking to kids. The bus is arriving first. I want you to take the most critical cases. You need to put them at ease and gather as much information as possible about what they saw or touched in the past few hours. They might have clues for us.”

“And the adults?”

The doctor makes that familiar frown I’ve come to recognize.

“Most are unconscious. Their condition is deteriorating rapidly, according to the paramedics. We don’t have much time. Station 21 is coming in. Eight vehicles, from what we’ve been told.”

He starts his stopwatch, and I do the same. In moments like these, every second counts. Since the beginning of the year, Dr. Swen has taught me one thing: always keep an eye on the clock. We’re racing against the one thing that never stops.

We’ll never be as fast as time, but we can’t lose sight of it–otherwise, the patient dies.

I never intended to choose emergency medicine during my training. In fact, I should be stopping this year if James and I stick to our plans. Still, part of me is considering continuing. There are so many different specialties. The ER is too nerve-wracking for me to imagine working here my entire career, but I admire the strength of our lead physician.

He’s methodical and unifying. It’s inspiring to work alongside someone like him. Swen specializes in trauma care. With just one glance, he often delivers an accurate diagnosis. Precise, keen-eyed–I’ve learned so much from him, and I wouldn’t trade this department for cardiology. Even if my tasks here aren’t glamorous, at least I don’t risk running into Mr. Handsome everywhere or befriending a predatory surgeon. The ER is my safe zone at the hospital.

But in moments like these, I miss the calm of the upper floors, where surgeries are scheduled and organized in advance. Here, it’s a whirlwind of surprises.

And today’s surprise is no exception.

A bit unnerved at the thought of diagnosing children on my own, I catch myself biting my nails. No sign of Harold–that’s the problem with the ER ; he’s rarely here. Not that I’d want to bother him with my stress, given what he’s dealing with. I pass several familiar interns. They’re here to pick up a patient for a femur surgery.

Osteopathic surgery has never appealed to me, and I don’t envy them heading off with the charming Olga, a.retiree who decided to make a funny video with a skateboard. Problem is, in her 75 years, she’d never been on one.

According to her grandson, the video of her fall has gone viral. It delighted her, though I doubt she knows what that word means. I could see the love and pride in her grandson’s eyes, worth all the pain in the world.

After surgery, she’ll need months of rehab, but I haven’t heard her complain once. Patients like her are rare in this department. Usually, it’s moans, screams, or tears until we administer enough painkillers.

Suddenly, the department falls silent until the next wave.

And here it comes. This one’s likely to overwhelm us quickly. With my pristine white coat on, I step toward the first paramedic stretcher.

“Boy, 12 years old, chest pain and difficulty breathing. On oxygen for three minutes…”

The paramedic continues, and I mentally write down the critical details. I consider him a priority until the next patient arrives–a 12-year-old girl on a stretcher, writhing in pain and coughing up large amounts of blood.

“How long has this been happening?”

“Not long. She started as soon as we got her out of the ambulance…”

He stops, glancing at the boy beside us, who’s now filling his oxygen mask with blood.

“Damn it,” I curse. “He’s choking.”

I spin toward the boy’s stretcher and remove his mask. His eyes roll back, and he’s coughing up blood.

“We need to intubate him.”

In seconds, the hallway transforms into a makeshift room. Two nurses assist me while the paramedic moves us away from the curious eyes of other ER patients. As soon as air fills his lungs again, the boy’s color returns.

A rebellious strand of my hair falls onto my cheek. I try to brush it away with my wrist when one of the nurses points toward me, awkwardly.

“You’ve got blood near your mouth,” says paramedic Alton, explaining my colleague’s gesture.

I quickly wipe it off with my coat, but my anxiety spikes. I hope that blood wasn’t carrying anything viral.

“Let’s check on the other girl,” I say to the two nurses.

They nod and follow me. The paramedic is heading back to fetch more victims.

“We’ll be back soon,” he says. “Liss, let’s go!”

His colleague signs a form before running to their vehicle. Part of me hopes they’ll be okay, while the other focuses on our crisis.

“Dean, we need you in Room 3. A father, 30 years old, no medical history, convulsing and coughing up blood.”

I overhear this, not because of Dean, but because of the symptoms. They sound identical to my patient’s. I don’t have time to learn more before I find the girl. She’s better off than the boy. The blood she’s coughing up weakens her, but her airways don’t seem obstructed.

“Do you often cough up blood?” I ask casually as I begin my examination.

“No. I never throw up… I held it in for a long time, though.”

“A long time? Since when?”

She thinks for a moment as I insert a wooden spatula into her mouth to check her throat. Nothing unusual, aside from the blood reflux.

“Since the man this morning.”

I glance at my watch. It’s still early ; she must mean the factory, but I want to be sure.

“What man?”

“The one before we went to the factory. Our teacher said we had to share the bus because of money. And he threw up blood into his bag. I felt like throwing up a bit after, but I held it in.”

“Did you touch his skin?”

“No… but Monica did,” she recalls.

“Where’s Monica?”

“I don’t know. The ambulance men separated us. I got into the colorful one, and she didn’t.”

I swallow hard and signal one of the nurses to stay with her.

“Swen!”

I stop my resident mid-stride.

“Are there any dead children?”

“One so far. A little girl.”

He’s moving away as I return to my patient, more anxious than ever.

“Monica is…”

She coughs up more blood into the basin provided by the nurses before continuing:

“Where?”

Working with kids is complicated. As doctors, we always feel like they understand everything before we even explain. And hiding things from them often proves harder than with adults. I have a theory: either they’re more keen-eyed, or they’re so used to adults lying that they don’t believe them anymore.

“I have no idea where she is right now. Probably in a truck on her way here.”

I’m not lying. Technically, I don’t know where she is. And even if my instinct is right, she’s in a truck. Though perhaps not one as reassuring as the ambulances.

“I need you to tell me if you touched Monica after the bus.”

The little girl looks at me, confused, before obediently answering.

“Yes, we had to pair up. We held hands.”

Her innocent reply breaks my heart. How could she have known what was happening? I resist the urge to hug her and discreetly signal the nurse not to get too close to the girl.

“Okay. Did you or Monica have any other contact after that?”

“Yes. We had a big fight because she wanted to sit next to Tomy on the way back. I told her she wasn’t my friend anymore, and she went off to a part of the factory the teacher hadn’t seen. She panicked when she realized she had no one to hold hands with.”

“Did you hold your teacher’s hand?”

“Yes. And I got punished. I wasn’t allowed to play during recess.”

“Who found Monica?”

“Some men…”

“How many?”

“Maybe ten…”

It’s vague and terrifying.

“Okay. Can you tell me if the teacher held anyone else’s hand?”

“I think she held Katy’s because she fell and was hurt. And she shook hands with a lot of old men in suits, like when my dad goes to work.”

I say nothing and step away. My mind races to piece everything together when Dean suddenly appears in front of me.

“Don’t touch me,” I say, almost threateningly.

“Julia, it’s okay. I never intended to hurt you,” he replies defensively.

I shiver at the sound of his voice–it’s been so long since I’ve heard it directly. Then I pull myself together.

“It’s not that. I might be contaminated,” I explain.

“What are you talking about? The experts said it was airborne at the factory.”

“Because they haven’t listened to the victims’ accounts. This little girl alone is a goldmine of information, and…”

My patient’s body starts convulsing, and her pulse skyrockets. I turn back, and Dean follows. The nurse arrives with the defibrillator paddles before Dean even asks. He exposes the girl’s chest and places the paddles, delivering shocks. One… two… three…

The patient’s death is confirmed after several minutes of trying to save her. Stunned, I stand motionless as nurses brush past me. Their arms bump into me, touch me, and it’s only when Dean grabs my forearm over my coat that I react.

“Don’t…”

I don’t finish my sentence when I see he’s wearing a glove on the hand holding me.

“Yes, you might be contagious, I get it. But now you need to explain why you think that.”

“Dean, we don’t have time for…”

“Julia, I’ve spent my life not taking the time to listen to those who needed it. I became a doctor to stop making that mistake. So you’re going to sit down, and I’m going to examine you.”

His eyes flash with determination, and I’m about to give in when another stretcher arrives.

“Man, 55 years old, respiratory arrest.”

Judging by the blood staining the paramedic’s jacket, I know he’s part of the group.

“Be careful ; he might be contagious,” I warn Owen and another intern.

The two doctors exchange a meaningful look before stepping away from the stretcher.

“Relwood, do you know something we don’t?”

I recall the face of the young girl who was alive just moments ago.

“Patient 6, 12 years old, cardiac arrest after expelling a significant amount of blood, was still able to speak,” Dean reports without me needing to explain. “It seems we might be dealing with an epidemic.”

“What kind?”

This time, he doesn’t know how to answer for me. I pull myself together before acknowledging the uncertainty of my suspicion.

“Likely contact-based transmission. Initial symptoms include chest pain and blood in the respiratory system. Most patients quickly cough up blood.”

I try to list the other parameters I’ve gathered when a woman, about thirty years old, stumbles into the hall.

“Help me, I…”

Her body collapses forward, and a nurse catches her just in time. As my colleague lifts her, Owen steps back. The woman’s face is partially covered in blood. Her chin is drenched, and her eyes dart around, a sign she’s barely conscious.

“We need to call the other floors. No one leaves this area,” he shouts, heading for the reception phone.

As the head of the ER, Owen walks up to us to see what’s happening. Briefly, the intern fills him in while I instruct the nurse to place the woman on a stretcher so she can quickly disinfect her hands.

“Ma’am, I know this is terrifying, but you need to stay calm,” I whisper to the patient. “We’re going to intubate you to prevent you from choking on the blood, but first, I need to know your name, what you do, and if you have any idea why you’re in this state.”

She stares at me, panicked, before opening her mouth, which she had been trying to keep closed to stop the blood from pouring out.

“Tea… cher…”

My eyes grow wide. The young girl’s earlier words echo in my mind. “I think Katy is”–Could this be the little girl who touched the teacher right after? At least, that’s what she believes.

The intern beside me says he needs to intubate her, and I step back.

“Do we have a Katy here?” I shout.

We’re not used to shouting here, let alone patient names, which we’re bound to keep confidential. But in cases of contagion, the rules change. We need to act fast and swiftly.

“A Katy here!”

A nurse raises her hand near a patient. I rush over, only to see it’s an older woman.

“I’m looking for a child,” I say.

“Sorry.”

She apologizes and goes back to her work. I turn in circles. Most of the ER boxes are overwhelmed with factory arrivals. Judging by my colleagues’ grim faces, I’m not the only one who’s lost a patient.

“Trauma 2,” says one of the surgeons who came down to handle cases. That’s when I remember what happened earlier.

My patient Olga went upstairs with her grandson. He touched the arm of that man sitting near Owen, who doesn’t look well at all.

“Sir?”