His Protege My Ruin

The surgery was over, but one vial of Propofol was missing. After two hours of frantic searching, I looked at the team’s ashen faces. “We have to report this to Risk Management.” That’s when Brooke Allen, Dr. Logan Pierce’s intern, piped up. “Oh, chill out, Tessa! I took it!” She tossed the empty, warm vial onto the stainless steel tray. The anesthetic was gone. I felt the blood drain from my head, but Logan immediately stepped in front of her, placing his body between his star student and me. “Brooke is just a kid, Tessa. Don’t make a scene.” He gave her an indulgent look. “Forget it. Log that vial as normal surgical consumption.” Brooke, hiding behind his broad shoulders, snickered. “I poured it out. I just wanted to see how important it really was! I call that intellectual curiosity, Professor. Where’s my reward?” Logan, Chief of Surgery and my husband, actually nodded in approval. As they turned to leave, I pressed the emergency alert bell, the sound slicing through the sterile air. They both flinched. “Dr. Pierce,” I said, my voice low and lethal. “In a patient, this is anesthesia. But when Dr. Allen illegally diverts and disposes of a controlled substance, it’s felony drug evidence.” I tilted my head, my eyes narrowed. “A reward? You’ll be talking to the police.”

Brooke’s face went pale. She gripped Logan’s arm, whining in a tight, high-pitched voice. “I was just playing a joke! It didn’t affect the patient!” I ignored her and looked directly at Logan. “You think this is just a joke?” “Tessa, it’s a line-item adjustment. Don’t be dramatic.” He strode over and cut the alarm off. Even behind his mask, I could feel the familiar wave of impatience and veiled contempt emanating from him. I felt a surge of disbelief so sharp it stole my breath. “Surgical medications require triple-check verification and dual-party log entries, Logan. They are legally binding documents. Anesthesia outside of protocol is a Schedule IV narcotic! This is serious misconduct.” I leaned forward. “Silence is complicity, Doctor. Do you want the entire team to lose their licenses because you want to protect your student?” A tense silence descended on the OR. Brooke’s face was now flushed bright red. She stomped her foot, a pathetic, fabricated sob entering her voice. “Tessa! I know you hate me because I’m younger, but I didn’t hurt anyone! Why are you trying to put me in prison? Fine! I’ll apologize!” “Enough!” Logan hauled Brooke back and glared at me. “I’ll discipline my resident. You, however, have wasted everyone’s valuable time over this nonsense. My time is precious.” He lowered his voice. “We’ll stick to my plan. You’ll just need to add a line saying Brooke showed exemplary initiative and seamless coordination with the attending physician.” My blood ran cold. Brooke hadn’t contributed anything to that surgery except wiping sweat off Logan’s brow. The girl now looked up at him with a gaze of utter devotion and gratitude that felt like a needle in my eye. We’d been married five and a half years. Logan gave his time and patience to his patients, his colleagues, his students. I was always last. I had rationalized it for years. He was the youngest Chief of Surgery in the state; I was just the Charge Nurse. I sacrificed my specialist training and took the high-pressure OR post just to avoid ‘conflict of interest,’ as he’d put it. My body was screaming for a break, and the pressure of not conceiving had been crushing me. But staring at him now, defending his little protégé, I finally understood the cold, hard truth: he wasn’t not worried about us having a child. He simply didn’t care. My voice was flat, emotionless. “I will report you for falsifying surgical records.” Logan lost his patience completely. He grabbed my wrist and hissed. “Tessa! Are you ever going to stop?” Before I could answer, Brooke started wailing, a full-on, theatrical cry. “I’m sorry, Tessa! I’ll never touch anything again! Just please don’t be mad at Professor Pierce because of me! He’s already so tired!” My head was ringing. Logan brutally shoved me away. “A Charge Nurse thinking she can dictate terms to the Chief of Surgery?” He snatched the logbook and scrawled an addition—Propofol, 1 vial, used in procedure—in his sloppy, self-important doctor’s handwriting. He then scanned the room, his eyes hardened. “Everyone, keep your mouths shut and get back to work. This is over.” The team exchanged nervous glances, silently cleaning up the mess. I stood in the middle, a phantom. The spot where he’d pushed me was throbbing, as if he’d just punched all the energy out of my body. Finally, Dr. Kim, the anesthesiologist, whispered, “Chief Pierce, the surgical log still needs the Nurse Manager’s signature on the last page.” Logan’s face was grim. He dragged me into a corner and pulled down his mask. His eyes were heavy with calculated fatigue. “Can we talk about this at home, Tessa?” He took my hand, his thumb stroking my skin. “Just sign it, baby. Please.” His usually chiseled face looked terrifyingly alien. Baby. He never called me that at the hospital. Keep our professional lives separate, was his first marriage rule. I had lived by it for five years. Now, he was breaking it, all to protect this girl. I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound, and jerked my hand away. “I won’t sign a thing.” I leveled my gaze at him. “A phantom vial of Propofol is your problem to solve. I’m not committing fraud for you.” His face tightened, his eyes flashing a silent, dangerous warning. Brooke sidled back over, her voice timid but her eyes glittering with anticipation. “Professor, this is all my fault…” “Yes. It is,” I cut her off. I didn’t want to hear one more word of Logan’s sickening platitudes. “Dr. Allen, you can probably kiss your white coat goodbye.” She gasped. “You’re a nurse! You can’t touch me!” Logan put his arm around her shoulders in a comforting, proprietary gesture. He scoffed, “She’s just trying to scare you. What’s she going to do?” He steered her out of the room. Watching them, my heart felt heavy, a dull ache settling deep in my chest. Alone in my office, exhaustion washed over me. I opened my drawer and saw the brand-new deep-tissue massager. I’d bought it for his upcoming birthday, knowing how his shoulders ached after twelve hours hunched over a laptop. He doesn’t need it. The image of Brooke’s hands playfully massaging his neck in the OR flashed behind my eyes. I slammed the drawer shut. “Tessa?” Someone tapped lightly on the door. It was Dr. Kim, looking distraught. She was young, and today’s scene had clearly rattled her. “Brooke has done this before, Tessa. She’s a menace.” Dr. Kim’s voice trembled as she recounted other incidents, ending with, “She almost caused an incision blowout on the closure because she kept messing up the suture line! She’s going to get us all in trouble. Only you have the authority to do something.” I lowered my eyes. The fact that a resident with zero professional ethics could remain at Logan’s side spoke volumes. My phone lit up. Two texts from our family group chat. Logan: Late tonight. Don’t wait up. Marilyn (MIL): @Tessa, Drink that herbal tonic in the fridge. Time to push through, sweetie! My mother-in-law had been pushing increasingly absurd “fertility tonics” for months. Logan, the doctor, had never once stopped her. A wave of intense irritation washed over me. I turned off the screen and looked at Dr. Kim. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll take this straight to the top.” I began drafting my formal complaint against Brooke and Logan. I worked through the night, eventually crashing on the office sofa. The next morning, I was heading for Hospital Compliance when Brooke walked in. She was holding a piece of paper. “Here you go, Nurse,” she smirked, dangling my suspension notice. The reason: Improper Surgical Procedure. She leaned in close. “It’s all your fault. Logan had to comfort me all night. He said you were a jealous, manipulative witch, and he signed this suspension right before dawn just to protect me. You’re out.” A cold rage, sharper than the sterile steel of the OR, flooded me. Logan knew exactly what it had taken for me to become a Nurse Manager. There were times I hadn’t slept at home for three months. And now, for this girl, he was throwing my career away. I grabbed her arm, my grip like iron. She yelped and tried to pull away. “You’re crazy! Let go of me!” I dragged her past the stunned nurses and up the stairs, all the way to the CEO’s office. I slapped my evidence report onto his desk. “I am formally reporting intern Brooke Allen for diverting a Schedule IV narcotic and compromising patient safety.” The CEO’s face changed instantly. He picked up my report, his brow furrowing as he read. Brooke was silent now, glaring at me. “Sir, I trust your judgment on right and wrong,” I stated. Before he could answer, the door flew open. Logan burst in, his collar flipped up, revealing a faint, telltale red mark at his neckline. Behind him were the three other staff members from the night before. “Ah, Logan,” the CEO said, setting the report down. “What is going on? Tessa is reporting misconduct, and the OR time log was two hours over.” Logan moved quickly to shield Brooke. “She’s lying. Dr. Allen did nothing wrong. The anesthesia log is fine, and everyone here can vouch for Brooke’s exemplary conduct.” I looked at the others, shocked. Dr. Kim quickly looked away. The other two were cold and remote. “Dr. Kim!” I called out. “You told me a very different story yesterday!” She jumped, her face turning scarlet as she faced the CEO. “I said nothing! The reason the OR was delayed was because Tessa was harassing Dr. Pierce with personal matters! Dr. Allen is excellent; she’s always covering shifts for us.” She took a shaky breath. “During the surgery, the patient showed signs of awakening, and Dr. Allen was the one who spotted it and suggested an additional vial of Propofol!” I stared at her, utterly floored. This airtight lie was Logan’s work, polished and perfected. I looked at the man I had loved for so many years. To protect her, his golden girl, and to destroy me, he was willing to drag my name through the mud. My eyes stung with unshed tears as I looked at the CEO, who was nodding along with Logan’s narrative. “Logan is exceptional, Tessa, but you’re getting older. You need to know your place. It’s good that Logan decided to stop this. People like you don’t belong in this team.” The last flicker of hope died. Only pure disgust remained—for the hospital, for the people in it, and for Logan. Logan gave a practiced, humble smile. “Brooke is a hard worker, Sir. She’ll be Attending material soon.” Brooke, meanwhile, giggled and hid her face. “I still have so much to learn! I can’t live without Professor Pierce!” The CEO and the other two doctors laughed with them. Logan glanced at me, his eyes dismissive. “Brooke is sweet and compliant. Not like some people, who are rigid and only cause trouble.” “Ha. Tessa is the old guard, Chief Pierce. You’re too right,” one of the others sneered. I didn’t care about their insults. I only wanted to leave. As I turned, his hand clamped down on my wrist. “Tessa, apologize to Brooke. I’ll rescind the suspension.” His eyes held a look of utter condescension, as if he were granting a boon. I looked him straight in the eye, saying slowly, “Don’t suspend me.” He smiled, waiting for the apology he felt he deserved. “Just process my resignation. I quit.” I ripped my ID badge from my scrub top and threw it—not gently—at his face. “What the hell, Tessa!” His voice cracked with rage, but I walked away, shutting the door firmly behind me. Six months ago, a high-end private medical center had courted me for the Nurse Manager position. The salary and benefits were exponentially better than this place. But I hadn’t taken it because I wanted to stay with Logan. That loyalty felt like a cosmic joke now. On the way home, I called the private center and confirmed my availability. They were thrilled. Our house was sterile and cold. A house I had called home for five years felt utterly alien. In the fridge, the large bowl of my mother-in-law’s repulsive, fishy-smelling “fertility tonic” sat waiting. I poured it all down the drain and started packing. Two hours later, all my life’s possessions fit neatly into a few suitcases. I opened the door, expecting the takeout I’d ordered. Instead, a hand lashed out, slapping me across the face. “This is the murderous nurse!” the man screamed. “The one who OD’d my father on anesthesia! My dad is still comatose!” My head spun. “Anesthesia overdose? That’s impossible—” Before I could finish, I was overwhelmed by punches and kicks. The Propofol was dumped, but even if it hadn’t been, Brooke was the one who handled it. But I was the one pushed down the stairs, the sharp pain from my forehead searing through my skull. “Stop this now!” A familiar voice cut through the chaos. Logan arrived and shielded me. “Sir, the hospital will release an official statement! If you touch her again, I’m calling the police!” Logan scooped me up and put me in his car. My head was throbbing, but my mind was clearer than it had ever been. I knocked away the hand he extended to stop the bleeding. “Why me? Why did they say it was me?” His eyes darkened. He silently put the gauze down and started the engine. “Who touched the Propofol doesn’t matter, Tessa,” he said, his voice dropping. “Someone has to take the fall.” He sighed. “Brooke is a rising star. You’re a community college nurse. The hospital will protect her. You need to be the scapegoat.” He paused, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just take the hit. Admit it was an operational error at the press conference. I’ll give you a child. You want one, don’t you? A fresh start. You can finally stay home, and I’ll support you.” I felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in my throat. “All this time… you were on birth control? That’s why I couldn’t get pregnant?” His silence was the only confirmation I needed. I laughed until the tears finally came. At the hospital, Logan personally stitched up my injuries. His gestures were solicitous, but I felt no warmth from him at all. At the press conference, Brooke and the others spun their lies about my negligence. Camera lenses focused solely on me. When it was finally my turn, I walked calmly to the microphone. In front of the hospital board and the police, I pulled up the sleeve of my blouse. The angry, stitched line of my injury—a seven-inch gash—was starkly visible on my forearm. “I am Tessa Pierce, OR Supervisor. I sustained this injury one week ago from an agitated patient.” I paused, letting the silence draw out. “As you can see, I am physically incapable of manipulating a syringe. So, Dr. Pierce, please explain how I administered the lethal dose of anesthesia? When did I violate sterile protocol? What time, and from what angle, did I insert the needle?” The room exploded into stunned whispers, and all eyes shifted to Brooke. She was speechless, and Dr. Kim’s face was fiery red. I smiled and circled the forged entry on the projected logbook. “Dr. Allen is too ‘silly’ to answer, I suppose.” My smile hardened. “But this new log entry was written by her mentor, Chief of Surgery Logan Pierce, himself.” I looked straight at my husband. “Chief Pierce, where exactly did that vial of Propofol go?”