Page 27 of Doctor’s Forbidden Match

I sink into the dining chair, relief flooding through me.

They want me. The network still wants me.

“Candace, does this…” I hesitate, hating how uncertain my voice sounds. “Does this change anything? For the permanent spot, I mean. Or am I just proving I can get through one more segment?”

She sighs, and it makes my heart race.

“Hannah, this is exactly the kind of thing that gets people permanent spots. Commitment like this doesn’t go unnoticed.” She pauses. “You found a good manager, by the way. Most people in this industry would’ve given up on you by now.”

I smile, disregarding the knot in my chest. It took months to find someone in LA who actually believed she could make me a host, instead of encouraging me to whatever brand deals or reality show came next. “Thanks for fighting for me.

“Always.”

I wake before my alarm, the painkillers making everything feel slightly muffled. But I’m awake and need to get ready. My ankle throbs with a dull, constant ache, but I’ve taken the pain medication. It needs time to work.

Getting dressed takes longer than it should. The crutches lean against the wall, and I eye them with resentment. But I still use them as instructed—not that I have a choice.

When Channing picks me up, he smiles. “How are you feeling, Miss Morgan?”

“Ready to work,” I say, settling into the back seat.

When I arrive, photographers are waiting. I keep my head down as Channing helps me to the trailer, where Mia and Jaina practically tackle me as they take over.

“Oh my God, you’re back.” Mia pulls me into a careful hug.

“I promised I would be.” I’m smiling, but inside, I’m calculating. Can I hide the scooter and crutches? Can I do the interviews standing? Can I fake my way through a full day of filming on pain medication?

Jaina squeezes my hand. “We missed you.”

“I missed you guys too. But we’ve got work to do.”

Mia’s expression shifts slightly, and I catch her muttering something under her breath.

“If Dain was actually a decent human being, you wouldn’t feel like you had to rush back—”

“It’s not about Dain,” I cut in gently. But it is. It’s about the insurance, the budget, the timeline, the fact that every day I’m not here is a day someone could decide I’m more trouble than I’m worth. “Production doesn’t stop for injuries. So I’m back. Let’s make this work.”

Channing returns with my scooter.

They work on my hair and makeup while I keep my leg elevated. The medications have kicked in, but the ache is still there.

Once I’m ready to go out on set, the girls help me out of the trailer. I reach for the crutches with gritted teeth, but I have to admit, they do help. Not weight bearing helps with pain and hopefully healing.

But then comes the real problem.

The girls help me swap the crutches for the scooter, and the moment I try to use it on set, I realize it’s a nightmare. The damn thing is clunky and slow, and I can’t steer it properly while also positioning myself for the camera. When Dain wants me to move to a different interview location, I have to awkwardly dismount, stabilize myself, and scoot across the gravel. It’s humiliating.

“Can we just do this from the chair?” I ask, frustrated after the third take where the scooter keeps catching on uneven ground.

Dain sighs. “We need wide shots. Just take the crutches. Work with what you have.”

But the crutches are worse. At least with the scooter, I can pretend I’m mobile. With crutches, every interview becomes about my injury instead of the renovation. Every shot is compromised.

I approach the set much slower than usual, fighting the urge to just ditch both and walk on my own. Which is stupid and dangerous, but so damn tempting.

Dain spots me, his eyes dropping to my ankle with a look I haven’t seen before. Concern, maybe?

Thinking the medications are making me see things that aren’t there, I shrug it off.