Marry My Rival's Uncle for Revenge

The announcement.

Christine's POV

The conference hall hums with anticipation. Rows of doctors, professors, and nurses fill the polished space, the air thick with chatter and speculation. The annual departmental announcements are always a grand affair, but this year feels heavier, more significant. Everyone knows Doctor Jackson is stepping down as the head of the surgical department. The question that hangs over the crowd like a storm cloud is who will replace him. I sit near the front, my father on one side, Professor Stevens on the other. My chest is tight, my fingers restless against the folds of my dress. I can feel eyes darting toward me, whispers swelling and fading like waves. The revelation at the ball that I am Dr. Baxter’s daughter hasn’t faded. It still echoes in every hallway and corner. People look at me differently now. Some with respect, some with envy, others with open resentment. And then, there is Mike. I catch him out of the corner of my eye as he enters with Emma. He looks smug, polished in a suit that is just a little too expensive for his usual budget. Emma clings to his arm like a trophy, her chin lifted, her eyes daring anyone to doubt their place here. I know that look well, it’s the same look she wore when she paraded herself around town with him while I was still picking up the pieces of our marriage.

Mike believes this moment belongs to him. I can see it in the swagger of his stride, the way he barely greets his colleagues, as though they are already beneath him. He takes a seat not far from the stage, his posture stiff with pride. Emma whispers something in his ear, and he smirks, nodding as if everything is already decided. My stomach churns, but I keep my face carefully composed.

“Christine, remember what we discussed. Hold your head high. This isn’t only about your achievements. It’s about showing them who you are,” My father says. My father leans toward me, his voice low but steady.

I nod, though my throat feels dry. I’ve worked hard, harder than most. Long hours in operating theatres, research published in respected journals, endless sacrifices. This isn’t something handed to me. I’ve earned it. Still, I know how it looks, a daughter stepping into her father’s world. I know Emma will use that narrative like a knife. Professor Stevens rises, his presence immediately silencing the crowd. His reputation commands respect, and even those who mutter under their breath straighten in their seats. He adjusts his glasses, surveying the sea of expectant faces.

“As you all know, this year marks Dr Jackson’s retirement as Head of the Surgical Department. It has been an honour to serve alongside such a dedicated and brilliant colleague. But the time has come for him to pass the torch to a new generation.” Jonathan says, his voice calm. The room stiffens with anticipation. I can practically feel Mike vibrating beside Emma, his hand tightening around hers, his eyes fixed on Stevens with ravenous hunger.

“Dr Baxter and I have given this decision a great deal of thought. It is not one we take lightly. The next Head of the Department must embody not only skill and knowledge, but also integrity, resilience, and the ability to inspire others. That is why I have chosen…” Jonathan continues. Mike stands. He actually rises from his chair as though Jonathan has already said his name. Emma beams, her grip on his arm triumphant, her chin lifting even higher. A few heads turn, murmurs ripple through the room. I feel my pulse spike, heat rushing to my cheeks. Jonathan pauses mid-sentence, his brows lifting ever so slightly. The silence is deafening. Mike clears his throat and steps forward, his smile wide and confident.

“Thank you, Professor. It’s an honour.” Mike says. A gasp breaks through the hall, followed by a few awkward laughs. My heart twists painfully in my chest. Embarrassment radiates off the crowd like heat from a flame. Jonathan stares at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

“Sit down, Dr Waltz,” Jonathan says, in a tone that cuts sharper than any scalpel. The room freezes.

“But …” Mike falters, his smile slipping.

“I have not yet finished. Nor did I call your name,” Jonathan interrupts, steel in his voice. A ripple of whispers surges through the crowd, louder now, tinged with amusement and disbelief. Emma’s face flushes crimson, her fingers tightening on Mike’s sleeve as if willing him back into his seat. He hesitates, his pride refusing to bend, but the weight of the stares around him finally pushes him down. His jaw clenches, his eyes burning holes into Jonathan, then flicking briefly toward me with barely concealed hatred. Jonathan adjusts his notes calmly, as though swatting away an irritating fly.

“As I was saying, the person we have chosen to lead this department is someone whose skill and dedication have already made a profound impact. Someone who has faced adversity with strength, who has proven time and again that they will rise above personal trials and put the patients, the research, and the future of this field first.” Jonathan continues, his voice deliberate. My heart hammers so loudly I can barely hear the rest. Every word feels like it pulls the spotlight closer, until it is almost blinding.

“Therefore, I am honoured to announce that the next Head of the Surgical Department will be… Dr. Waltz,” Jonathan says. Mike jumps up again. Triumph of his face.

“Sorry, Dr Mike Waltz. Not you. Please sit down! Dr. Christine Waltz Baxter,” Jonathan says. Did he do it on purpose to humiliate Mike one last time? I don’t know as I smirk at Mike. For a moment, the world holds still. The name hangs in the air like a thunderclap. Then the whispers return, louder this time, clashing, clattering like waves breaking against rock. Some faces are stunned, others nod knowingly as though they should have guessed. A few frown, jealousy plain in their eyes. My father’s hand closes warmly over mine, grounding me. Jonathan looks directly at me and inclines his head, his approval shining clear. But the one face I cannot ignore is Mike’s.

His expression is priceless, shock carved into every feature, disbelief twisting his mouth open. He looks from Jonathan to me, then back again, his mind scrambling to make sense of it. He was so certain. So sure that Emma’s whispers in his ear and her manipulation had paved his path. He never once considered that this moment didn’t belong to him. Emma leans toward him, her face pale now, her lips pressed tightly together as though she can hold back the humiliation by sheer force. Her eyes dart to me, filled with venom. I rise slowly, forcing myself to remain steady. Every step toward the stage feels monumental, each one reminding me that this is real. This is my moment. Not his. Not theirs. Mine. As I take the place beside Jonathan, I let my gaze sweep the hall. I see admiration in some eyes, envy in others. But most of all, I see Mike, slumped in his seat, his pride shattered, his world crashing around him.