The Intern - Book 4 E-Book

Chain Emily

• Herausgeber: So Romance
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: The Intern
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 213

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Can you untangle truth from lies?

Right after learning the truth about the men in her life, Julia vanishes without a trace. James tells everyone she simply needed time alone... but Dean feels otherwise. His suspicions deepen when he begins receiving torn pages from a mysterious journal—fragments of a woman’s suffering. Who is she? A patient? A colleague? One thing is clear: Dean knows her—better than he realizes.

What if it’s all connected? What if the person behind everything is someone no one ever suspected? After all, it’s easy to pull strings from the shadows…

Emily Chain masterfully concludes her acclaimed saga between a doctor and a lawyer with a final chapter full of twists, betrayal, and emotional suspense.

From the author: Emily Chain has always written across genres—from fantasy and thrillers to emotionally charged romance. Her stories spotlight characters like Julia, who face both personal and professional battles. She is also the author of the holiday trilogy Aux délices d’Amsterdam.

Leseprobe

Cover

Title page

Part 1

“A single being is missing, and the world is empty.” — Alphonse de Lamartine

Chapter 1

Dean

Wednesday, 19°C — heavy rain along the coast.

I stare at the rain streaming down the windows in front of me and shiver. The moment I see droplets of water on glass, I see her again. Walking in the night, under a torrent of rain, her stride is calm and steady.

In my memory, she turns back to me several times, offering a confident smile.

She wanted to prove to me that she was strong. Maybe even to convince herself. Jaw clenched, I couldn’t hold her back in the car against her will, even though I wanted to with every fiber of my being. Tara had called me while Julia walked toward her home, ignoring my advice. I had answered without taking my eyes off her.

“What?”

“Are you with Julia? Is everything okay? I haven’t heard from her and...”

The clinking of glasses made it hard to hear her voice clearly.

“Where are you?”

“In... Milan.”

Her tone had immediately shifted, and the part of me that was her close friend instantly sensed something was wrong.

“What’s going on? Everything okay with your French guy?”

“Let’s just say I’m not a supermodel, and I should’ve expected...”

Her sentence had been cut off, probably due to the heavy rain and the storm brewing on my end.

“Tara?”

“... Sunday, and I think I’ll... but you know it’s not so... thought of you and... news about Julia.”

Her words made no sense to me, and the conversation ended there. Since then, I’ve received a few messages from her, most of which I’ve ignored, not knowing what to say.

When I hung up, Julia’s silhouette was nothing but a memory. The apartment lights were on in front of me, and I hesitated to stay there all night. But Julia had been very clear.

“You’re leaving. I don’t want James to think my words come from you. We’ll meet tomorrow at the hospital.”

I don’t know why, but I obeyed at that moment. I started the car and drove off.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” I muttered as I tore my eyes away from the building and merged into traffic.

But the future proved her wrong. She thought she was smarter and more prepared than that damned reality. And in the end, I also believed we could fix things easily. Was that a mistake on my part? Yes. A terrible one. My love for her made me listen to her.

Sometimes my mind replays the scene differently, just to hold onto another piece of her memory. In those moments, I’m powerless and foolish, watching her turn back to the car to signal that I can leave. Every time, I nod and start the engine.

Last night, the end of my nightmare was unlike any of the dozens before it. Instead of driving aimlessly and crashing into a wall without pain, plunging into a void as unbearable as the pain that’s consumed me for weeks, I didn’t leave right away. I wanted to watch her enter her loft. To observe closely the place where she disappeared from my view. As if I needed to be a hundred percent sure she had made it inside. It was vital to me, and it’s what’s killing me slowly today.

I didn’t see her. I have no certainty that she entered that building. Tara’s phone call prevented me from making sure.

I have nothing solid to hold onto, only guesses. Did she already have problems before I started the car, drove down the street, or passed the building?

I tremble. These possibilities churn my stomach. I can’t shake off this overwhelming guilt that’s been with me for weeks.

Twenty-seven days without news.

While James’s high-ranking position managed to sell everyone a story about her absence, I know very well she disappeared that night. How? Where and why? I have no idea.

Did she have time to tell him she knew everything? I can’t answer that.

Staring at the water pooling on the edges of the break room window, I try to imagine where she might be. Somewhere cold, or is she nearby?

Is the possibility of seeing her again even conceivable? I don’t want to resign myself to believing it’s impossible, yet it’s inevitable to think so.

Twenty-seven days of barely sleeping. No one is worried, and I haven’t been able to bring myself to call Julia’s mother, who’s probably being fed false updates from her son-in-law. What’s the point of telling her that her daughter is missing if I don’t know more?

My stomach twists with anxiety over this new reality as I move toward a small sink to splash water on my sweat-­dampened forehead. When was the last time I showered? When did I last sleep? Am I even fit to work?

Yes. That last answer is obvious. If I’m not at the hospital, I pace like a caged lion, and that’s unthinkable. I can’t stare at the ceiling anymore, screaming that I’m responsible for this situation. And punching a boxing bag isn’t a useful reaction either.

Instead, I try to act like everyone else. I ignore Julia’s disappearance in the most plausible way possible.

If Harold weren’t here, things would be simpler. But my friend has grown attached to Julia and wants answers. He tried to contact her, and I had to invent the worst—a violent argument between us that made her decide never to return to this hospital.

This lie could cost me dearly if her body were found and James tried to pin her murder on me, but I couldn’t bear to hear him question me about her anymore.

Since I told him that, he’s stopped asking questions, and I think, secretly, he resents me. He’d probably prefer if I had left in her place, and so would I. If I could’ve taken her place that night, no matter what happened to her, I would’ve.

But that’s impossible.

I let her go alone, and until she’s back in my arms, the guilt will eat away at me. That’s certain, and I’ve accepted it.

I see her last brave smile as she stepped out of my SUV. It was pouring, but she didn’t care. She locked her eyes on mine, and I hope to see them reflected in the glass today, in vain.

Nausea washes over me as the image of that relentless rain on the windowpane invades my mind. It reminds me that days pass but that they aren’t so different from that night. Somewhere, the same cycle must be repeating. Julia’s eyes must be watching, like mine, raindrops falling on a window. At least, that’s what I hope deep down.

I sigh. I still have time before my shift. I have several hours ahead of me, a packed bag, and a mind fixated on one goal: her.

When I open my eyes, I leave the dreams where she resides only to find her in my thoughts. Not a single minute passes without Julia consuming me.

“Stop seeing her everywhere,” Sy murmured.

Usually, he never gives advice. He just observes and listens. So when he said that to me last Monday during training, I struggled to hide my surprise. The others did too, for that matter. We all stared at him, and instead of explaining, he came at me harder. His blows were powerful, and I ended up on the mat in no time.

“See that?” he said. “A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have been on the ground. My face would’ve been against the mat for talking to you like that. You’re getting soft, slow... kind.”

He said it as if it were a flaw. The others grimaced before I glared at him.

“If you’re worried I’ll go easy on him, you’re wrong. The day I face him, he’ll regret it deeply.”

“I’m not worried about you holding back,” he said. “What worries me is that all you think about is her. Every night is spent in the gym or on your shifts. During the day, you investigate, work, or train. Not a single second is spent on anything else.”

“Do you think I enjoy waiting for who knows what? That I like having only these activities every day?”

I was cold, trying to make him understand that this wasn’t fun for me. That being a wreck wasn’t intentional. But no matter how hard I try to pull myself out of this fog, I can’t.

“We could go right now, stop wasting time here whispering...”

His impatience only raised eyebrows from everyone. Mark put things back into perspective, asking us to calm down, and that was that. We fell back in line.

However, I’m starting to feel like Sy. I’m on edge, and I need to move forward.

I don’t feel like I’m breathing. The hours blur together, all the same. Well, almost.

I don’t know if I’ll find another odd surprise in my locker, but it’s becoming a pattern. A guardian angel or a cruel joke, I have no idea. But it gives me something else to think about, even if just for a moment.

I know I should tell someone. The guys would probably find it suspicious, but I’ve chosen to stay silent until I have even the smallest explanation.

Today is just like the dozens of others that force me to pretend. I straighten up and head to my locker to start my shift earlier than planned. A soft voice startles me just as I place my hand on the locker.

“You’re here already, Dean?”

I look at Lucy staring at me and smile. She just got her diploma. She’s stepping into the big leagues, and it stirs something in me.

At this time of year, I should know everything about the new recruits in front of me. But I have no idea who they are. I can’t pick the best for an operation or delegate my rounds to the ideal person. It’s like I’ve disconnected from what made me the best. I’ve let my emotions take over.

Allie, one of my former interns, should be in her place and would undoubtedly yell at me for letting her down by forgetting what’s important—the patients.

Before Julia, I was the superior everyone dreamed of having. Interns wanted to watch me save lives without following protocol, see me diagnose the impossible, and follow me into surgery with grins from ear to ear...

Instead, I have a team I don’t know and a diminished focus on my part. Overly eager rookies and a string of beginner mistakes.

Because being a helping hand is much easier than owning your medical decisions once you’re in charge. They act before thinking, and I’ll have to teach them that every decision carries consequences.

“I prefer to take a look around before my shift starts, yes,” I say.

She nods, though she doesn’t seem to fully grasp how important it is to familiarize yourself with your surroundings before diving into a chaotic stream of tasks.¿

I’ve always loved being in the hospital when I’m not on duty. To see what I normally miss during the ceaseless rush.y.

When I open the locker, I can’t help but think about what I might find. In fact, I catch myself hoping to see something there. Yet it’s unhealthy and wrong to have a secret admirer leaving me scraps of letters. I still haven’t made sense of half of them. They’re always torn leaving only bits of unrelated stories behind.However, when my hand touches the aged paper, I feel that this one is different. Indeed, three pages torn from a notebook lie before me, their content still intact.

Trembling, I skim the first lines. I’m captivated by the writing and can’t look away. The words flow smoothly and strike deeply. I feel like I’m being drawn into the story of this person, because yes, today I’m certain—it’s a woman. But who is she?

A nurse in need of a confidant? A patient? A caregiver? A doctor? Who could have such easy access to my locker to slip in these letters?

Questions swirl in a corner of my mind as I read the words spilling across the paper. The black ink is sometimes smudged by tear stains. I imagine her crying as she pours her heart out into a notebook, pen in hand.

Did she know these words would end up in my locker? Am I the target of some elaborate prank?

I have no answers, and I don’t care.

Chapter 2

Julia

The first thing I do every morning lately is take stock of what I know. The smell, the analysis of what I see, my memories, the state of my body, and my thoughts. It’s become a ritual to keep myself grounded.

The smell is the most striking. My nose recoils every morning from the strong scent of cleaning products. White foam, bleach, and that miracle cleaner my mother loved so much.

“If you want the best carpet possible, use this!”

She would proudly display her jug of toxic chemicals, oblivious to how dangerous it was.

Even though I’ve never used such a product, I’ve smelled it countless times, especially in the tower of James’s law office. Now I know where he gets such products.

As for other smells, I couldn’t say, as my nose seems burned by the acidity of the cleaners.

Step two: describe my surroundings. That’s fairly easy.

Since I’ve been here for weeks, I’m starting to know every inch of this room by heart. I could almost call it a “bedroom” if it weren’t for the lack of charm and comfort. In my mind, I remind myself it’s nothing more than a cell.

In this gilded prison, there are many elements. On one side, a hideous orange wall, stained with brownish shadows that I imagine to be dried blood, though I can’t be sure. The other walls are a uniform, aged cream white. The furniture contrasts sharply with the overall state of the room. Each piece seems carefully chosen, and I’m still surprised by how well the furniture matches. It’s as if someone spent hours lovingly and thoughtfully designing this room. Except its purpose is far from that.

I try not to lose focus and return to listing the room’s elements. Doing this every day helps me anchor facts in my mind and also notice if anything has changed.

At the back of the room, there’s a sort of crib. I haven’t been able to get close, but from a distance, with the small bars I can see, that’s what it reminds me of. The lighting isn’t great, and several parts of the room are shrouded in semi-darkness.

Right next to me, there’s a double bed with reinforced sides. Maybe at first, they thought of tying me to it instead of leaving me stupidly on the floor like an animal.

It often tempts me, and I regret not being able to stretch out on it. The bedding looks impeccable and brand new. There’s a blanket with white dots on it, and the background color seems a bit yellow. But I don’t know if that’s because of the tinted lamp that’s always on.

To my right, there’s a small vanity where I spotted a brush a few days ago. But it’s gone now, like everything else; things come and go in this room while I sleep. In front of me, on the floor, there are three cushions.

One is blue, another purple, and the third I’d say is brown or black; I can’t quite tell. They’re mostly used when the person arrives. . She sits on them and watches me. At least, that’s what she does when I’m awake, because I’ve caught her several times sitting at the vanity, staring at herself in the mirror, thinking I was still asleep.

One day, she was over the crib, and I thought she was sobbing. Then reality set in, and she turned around with such a cold and condescending look that I understood someone like her couldn’t possibly cry.

Many times, I’ve been afraid to fall asleep, imagining this woman might harm me in my sleep.

But the human body can’t go indefinitely without rest.

At first, I would collapse from exhaustion, my head literally pressed against my knees, and I’d lose consciousness.

When I woke up, I was completely disoriented. I’d tug at my chains, often discovering I wasn’t alone, and then I’d stay silent.

Indeed, the unknown woman is often there when I wake up. It’s as if she schedules my sleep, and it’s unsettling.

I’ve never wanted to play her game. She talks to me, tries to make conversation as if we were old friends, without the slightest remorse in her voice. It’s as if she’s perfectly fine with knowing I’m James’s prisoner. There’s no doubt, this woman knows.

If I were still in a room, without her being allowed to speak to me and without me being restrained, I might give her the benefit of the doubt. But a woman chained in a room is suspicious. It’s unthinkable that she doesn’t know I’m here against my will, but it doesn’t seem to bother her.

At first, I thought she was scared. Then, on the third day, I think, I opened my eyes to find her staring at me. In the pupil of her right eye, I remember seeing something terrifying. She tried to hide that lack of compassion, but it wasn’t enough. Her efforts fell short. I feel like part of her resents me. I’ve never been able to pinpoint the reason for the anger I see in her, almost a hatred.

Maybe before me, she was the one chained in this room, and now she’s forced to do something else. It’s one theory among many. I have nothing else to do with my days but think and imagine all sorts of possible scenarios. James also frequently invades my thoughts, and sometimes so do my mother or Tara.

The hardest part is when I think about my future. I know I shouldn’t try to imagine such things in my state. I try to force myself to take it one day at a time.

However, the only visitor I get is this woman. So my mind quickly goes in circles. I have no external stimuli or information.

If I had a newspaper, I could at least know the date... I’d have news stories to read, imagine, think about, and ponder. But here, I have nothing. No news of my family, my loved ones, or even the outside world.

I try to keep track of the days passing by watching the night fall through the skylight above me. I know that since I woke up in this room, there have been twelve rainy days, seven overcast ones, and more than ten sunny ones.

The problem is, I can’t be sure of anything I know. I’ve noticed that the lack of sleep is starting to make me doubt certain things. I don’t know if I woke up today or if it was many hours ago.

I can’t remember if I saw the woman today or if it was two or three days ago. But with no spatial or temporal reference points, apart from the skylight, I don’t know anymore.

I’m afraid of falling asleep and losing track of a day.

The food they give me is barely enough to keep me alive. I can feel my body starting to suffer from deficiencies.

How much longer can I last in this state? That’s the big question I keep asking myself.

So since last night, I’ve been trying to recreate the dreams I used to have. The ones where Dean was my husband. But the fatigue makes them a bit darker than before. They’re less bright and fluid. I often get lost in useless details and wake up anxious.

Still, just living with my handsome doctor in my dreams helps me hold on. I imagine him out there, moving mountains to find me. Sometimes, in a fit of anxiety, I see him being caught by James’s men. Maybe he was already in trouble before I even got out of that van. That’s what scares me the most, I think.

I’m so afraid of finding out that it’s over for him too. That our fates are intertwined, but not in the way I’d hoped.

This morning, when I woke up, I also thought of Tara.She’s in Paris with her charming Frenchman and must not be worrying about me at all. I picture her completely radiant, in lovely dresses, exploring one of the most beautiful cities on this planet.

It makes me happy thinking that the world keeps turning without me.

I’ve never been the self-centered type, thinking I’m needed by everyone. I want the people I love to be happy, but I doubt Dean is living a perfectly peaceful life on his own. He must be worried, brooding, and maybe even regretting not forcing me to listen to him.

“I don’t know where you are, but I hope you’re okay.”

My whisper drifts as my eyelids close, once again too heavy to get through this day.

Chapter 3

Dean

I’ve just finished my quick rounds of the department before starting my shift. Since I’m not fully dressed in uniform, no one bothered me, and I was able to check on my patients without much trouble.

However, as I come up to a very young woman, I realize my chance of starting a peaceful day has just come to an abrupt end.

“Are you alright?”

I stare at this nurse, someone I don’t know at all, asking me something as personal as how I’m doing.

“What does it matter to you?”

“You should know that we’re not just the helping hands of the respected doctors. We see, hear, and observe others. And forgive me for saying this, but you’ve become a ghost wandering the halls of this hospital. It’s absolutely unsettling for the staff and the patients.

“Oh, really?”

I make sure we’re alone in the corridor before responding with all the honesty and lack of kindness I can muster at the moment.

“I’m truly sorry if I’m disrupting your little routines or if I don’t have a foolish grin plastered on my face all day. Is that a problem for you? I couldn’t care less. I’m absolutely not in the mood to put on a facade.”

The nurse starts laughing. I’m both annoyed and offended by her behavior. Why is she so persistent?

“Let me tell you something, we all loved Julia. Her strange departure has affected all of us. You’re not the only one suffering. And by the way, we all think you’re responsible for her leaving. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you were the main issue for that woman here. And believe me, we’d much rather have her here than you.”

This attitude is quite new. If I was once quite popular with the nurses, I understand that those days are over.

Julia’s departure has turned my allies against me. At the same time, I can’t really blame them.

Since the official reason for her absence is vague and I can’t defend myself without lying, I know very well that Julia didn’t leave of her own free will—it’s impossible. She would have told me. Or Tara would have known.

Her disappearance makes sense. It’s just that I’m the only one who knows it. Everyone else here is completely convinced that I’m to blame.

In a way, they’re right because I failed to protect her properly. But I’m not responsible for her absence. The real villain in this story is James. I have absolutely no idea what he’s done to Julia, but one thing is certain—pretending is the hardest part.

My friends told me to keep my distance. I know they’re right, but I’m getting tired of hearing remarks like that.

In the end, it was much simpler when I was being flirted with left and right.

“Listen, Miss. I don’t know you at all. Which means you don’t know me either. You’ve simply heard rumors. Do you know that in a hospital, there’s a lot of gossip spread without a shred of evidence? If you’re also aware of my reputation, you know I was falsely accused of horrendous acts last year. And without Julia, I wouldn’t be here today. Which means there’s absolutely no chance I’m responsible for her leaving, because her presence protected me. So instead of repeating nonsense, learn to think before coming to me.”

I start to walk away, but then I remember a small detail. I turn back to her, meet her slightly wary gaze, and add:

“One more thing. You said seeing me like this isn’t good for the patients. I haven’t received a single complaint or comment from them or their families. In fact, I go out of my way to spare them from seeing the face I see every morning in the mirror. So never doubt that I’m a good doctor. We don’t need to be emotionally well to be medically competent. I’m not a psychologist or a life coach. I treat people. I diagnose. You might need a silly smile on your face to feel beautiful, fine, but that doesn’t change whether you’re a good or bad nurse. The facade you put on doesn’t reflect who you truly are.”

My little speech leaves her stunned. Normally, I’d have been a bit more polite, but enough is enough.

As the unknown woman in her journal said, you have to say stop at some point.