Marry My Rival's Uncle for Revenge

First day at work.

Christine’s POV

The morning air feels crisp as I step out of the car, the tall glass front of West View Hospital gleaming under the sun. My heart is racing, not from nerves exactly, but from the weight of what this day means. My first official day as the Head of the Surgical Department. My father’s influence, Professor Stevens’ trust, and my own years of hard work have all led me here. However, Mike and Emma are also here. I square my shoulders, gripping the strap of my bag a little tighter as I walk toward the revolving doors. The hospital lobby is buzzing, patients at reception, nurses hurrying, doctors exchanging quick updates, but I can feel the eyes turning toward me. A few whispers. A few curious stares. Word travels quickly when someone young, someone like me, is given a department head position. I keep my chin high. I won’t let them see hesitation.

“Christine,” I hear Mike says. His voice cuts through the noise like a knife. I stop, pulse jumping, and turn to find Mike standing a few feet away. My husband. My estranged husband, more accurately. He’s in his pristine white coat, hair styled immaculately, that arrogant little smirk tugging at his lips.

“You look prepared,” Mike says, his eyes dragging over me in a way that feels more like inspection than admiration.

“I am prepared,” I answer flatly. He chuckles, low and derisive.

“We’ll see. West View isn’t your cosy little charity hospital. People here expect results. Leadership. Authority. Let’s hope you don’t crack under the pressure,” Mike says. I inhale slowly, resisting the urge to snap back. This is exactly what he wants. He wants me to lose my cool before I’ve even started. Before I can reply, another voice joins in.

“Well, well. If it isn’t our new queen of the department,” Emma says as she appears at Mike’s side, her hair perfectly curled, her heels clicking against the polished floor as though the entire hospital is her runway. She gives me a smile dripping with poison.

“Congratulations, Christine, it must be nice to have doors opened for you that others actually earn,” Emma says sweetly, though her eyes glitter with mockery. My stomach tightens, but I keep my expression neutral.

“Thank you, Emma. I’ll do my best to prove myself worthy,” I say. Her smirk widens, as though she hears only weakness.

“Oh, I’m sure you will. Though some of us have been working here for years, building credibility. But what’s the point of credibility when you’ve got connections, right?” Emma asks. Mike chuckles under his breath, clearly entertained by her jab. I bite down on my tongue, forcing myself to move past them.

“Excuse me. I have a department to run,” I say. I don’t look back, even though I can feel their eyes boring into me. The elevator ride feels suffocating. By the time I step out onto the surgery floor, my nerves are taut, every sense alert. The staff is already gathered: residents, attendings, nurses, all waiting to meet their new head. Some faces are curious, others sceptical, a few openly hostile. I introduce myself, keeping my voice steady and professional, laying out my vision for the team: collaborative, innovative, focused on patient care above politics.

But even as I speak, I notice Emma leaning against the wall at the back, arms crossed, a subtle roll of her eyes whenever I say something. She’s making sure the others notice. Undermining me without words. I finish, thanking them for their time, and dismiss the group. The residents disperse, some approaching me politely, others keeping a distance. Emma lingers just long enough to smirk again before strutting out. My chest feels tight, frustration clawing at the edges of my composure. They want me to fail. Mike and Emma both, and if I let them get under my skin, I will. I retreat into my new office, closing the door and pressing my palms against the desk.

“Breathe, Christine. You’ve survived worse,” I whisper. But the knot in my chest doesn’t loosen. Not until the door opens again.

“Quite the welcome committee,” Jonathan’s voice says. I whirl around, startled. He stands in the doorway, tall and imposing, his dark eyes locking on mine with an intensity that makes my knees feel weak. He doesn’t wear a white coat like the others, but he doesn’t need it. His presence alone commands authority.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice a little breathless.

“Checking on you, I knew Mike wouldn’t make it easy,” Jonathan says simply, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. I shake my head, trying to gather myself.

“He’s already started. Emma is ….” I start.

“—is his shadow,” Jonathan finishes, his jaw tightening.

“Let them try. They underestimate you,” Jonathan assures me. I stare at him, caught between gratitude and the dangerous pull I feel whenever he’s near.

“You make it sound simple,” I say.

“It is. You belong here, Christine. No one can take that from you,” Jonathan says, taking a slow step closer. Something in his tone wraps around me like armour. The knot in my chest begins to loosen.

“You always know what to say,” I whisper, almost more to myself than to him. His eyes soften, though the intensity never fades.

“That’s because I mean it,” Jonathan says. The silence that follows screams with unspoken words. My pulse races, every nerve alive. His gaze flicks briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes, and I know, if we were anywhere but this office, if the walls weren’t so thin, if the world weren’t watching, we would already have crossed that line. I take a shaky breath, forcing myself to step back.

“Thank you, Jonathan. For coming,” I say. He inclines his head, but I see the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. He doesn’t push, though.

“I’ll be around. If they try anything, let me handle it.” Jonathan says. A protective edge sharpens his voice, and I realise again how dangerous this is.

“I can handle them,” I whisper. He studies me for a long moment before finally nodding.

“I know you can. But you don’t have to handle them alone,” He says. With that, he turns and leaves, leaving me both steadier and more unmoored than before.

The rest of the day is a test. Emma subtly delays paperwork. Mike “forgets” to mention a meeting with senior staff, forcing me to scramble at the last minute. Whispers follow me down the hallways, comparisons to Mike’s years of service, speculation about why I was chosen over him. But every time my confidence wavers, I remember Jonathan’s voice. You belong here. No one can take that from you. I stand taller. I speak clearly. I push back when Mike tries to undermine me during a case review, and when Emma’s passive-aggressive remarks cut a little too deep, I give her a professional but firm reminder: I am her superior now. By the end of the day, I am exhausted but unbroken. As I gather my things, I glance toward the glass window of my office, and there he is, Jonathan, leaning casually against the far wall of the corridor, arms crossed, watching. Protecting. Our eyes meet through the glass, and for a heartbeat, it feels like the chaos, the hostility, the endless politics fade away. It’s just us. He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t need to. His presence is enough.