Page 11 of Doctor’s Forbidden Match

I look down. Blood has spread well beyond the tear at my shin. The scrape underneath must be worse than I thought. “Do you have spare clothes?”

“I’ll run to the boutique and grab you something,” Karyn offers.

“Just another pair of dark jeans. Please.”

She nods, her mouth opening like she wants to argue, but then she thinks better of it. Her lips press into a thin line, and she turns, hurrying out.

I close my eyes and lean back in the chair. The throbbing in my ankle doesn’t ease, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. The pills haven’t kicked in yet. Every breath feels like an effort.

“Hannah. You don’t have to do this,” Mia says softly.

“Yes, I do,” I whisper without opening my eyes.

Because what she doesn’t understand is that Dain was already looking for a reason. I saw it in his expression on the fourth take when I stumbled over the words. One moment of weakness, and he was ready to replace me.

And now? An injury, a hospital visit? Worse, a gap in the filming schedule.

That’s exactly the excuse he needs.

My contract is clear: I’m responsible for being on set and completing my hosting duties. If I can’t fulfill that obligation, they can bring in a replacement. And once they do, once someone else steps in and proves they can do the job, there’s no coming back for me. Not with this show. And not with the network.

I’ve spent my entire career building toward this moment, one role, one chance to prove I’m not just another reality contestant and influencer trying to pivot. And I’m not going to hand it away because of a rolled ankle.

Even if it might actually be broken.

I’m terrified that this is the moment everything falls apart.

Twenty minutes later, my makeup is refreshed, and Karyn is back with new jeans. I stand, gripping the edge of the counter, and hobble into the tiny back room. Collapsing onto the narrow bed, I start the agonizing process of peeling off my jeans.

They’re stuck to my shin where the blood has dried. I suck in a breath and pull the fabric away. The wound is three inches long, and I can see beneath the top layer of skin.

I dab it with a stack of napkins, cleaning away the worst of the blood. It needs to be properly washed and bandaged, but that can wait. Everything can wait a few hours.

The new jeans are softer, a brand I’ve never heard of, but they slide on easier than the other pair. I check myself in the small mirror noticing the medication is finally starting to work, making the pain more manageable. I can do this.

I walk—well, hobble—out the back room with my shoulders straight and a smile on my face. All three women stare at me.

“How do I look?” I ask, trying for light-hearted.

They exchange bewildered glances before schooling their expressions.

“As good as new,” Mia says.

“Let’s finish these interviews.”

“I’ll come with you,” Karyn says. “In case you need help.”

“Good idea. Thank you.”

Mia and Karyn help me down the stairs, one on either side. I grip their arms, hopping down one step at a time. The production crew is back from their break, and Dain is checking his watch, frowning.

I wave at him and call out, “Ready when you are.”

He nods, looking relieved.

The first interview is with an older couple renovating the house at the end of the street. It’s the farthest house from the trailers. Of course.

I hobble there with Karyn supporting me, her arm firm around my waist. Every step sends a shooting pain up my leg, and I focus on breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. The pain is so intense now that I feel prickles behind my eyes.