Max and Caroline's apartment was permanently infused with the smell of buttercream—
sweet like dreams, poor like reality.
Ethan woke up lazily and, out of habit, reached an arm to the side of the bed.
Nothing.
Max was gone again.
He squinted at his phone. 3:15 a.m.
At this hour, Max usually slept like the dead. There was no way she'd be up baking cupcakes already.
"Damn it," he muttered. "How is this still a thing?"
Noises drifted in from the living room. Curious, Ethan pulled on a shirt and stepped out of the bedroom.
In the kitchen, Max and Caroline were both up—either they hadn't slept at all, or they'd both woken early. Counters were cluttered with bowls, pans, and half-assembled cupcakes.
The moment Caroline saw him, she reached out like a drowning victim.
"Ethan, please talk some sense into her! It's after three. My brain has started drafting its farewell letter."
Max shot her a glare. "Don't talk, Caroline! I am extremely mad at you right now."
"What did I even do?!" Caroline clutched her pajama top. "All I said was your cupcakes could use a little… tidying."
"That! That exact sentence!" Max's eyes practically glowed.
"I used to love baking. It was the one thing that let me zone out and forget everything else.
"Now when I look at these, all I can think is maybe I should quit and apply to the city demolition department!"
Ethan leaned over the counter, staring at a cupcake with a particularly tragic shape.
"…This one does look like it got halfway condemned. Like the bulldozer didn't even have time to pull out."
Caroline immediately hissed, "Shh—! You're a doctor. You're not allowed to say that to a woman actively losing her mind."
"Thank you, my ex," Max snapped, biting hard on the last two words.
"I'm being judged at three in the morning by the guy I literally just slept with."
"That's not— I didn't mean—" Ethan raised both hands in surrender.
"I'm just saying they're… distinctive."
"Right! My cupcakes have character. They have souls. They have attitude!" Max's voice climbed higher with each word.
"But apparently that's still not enough to satisfy certain beauty-obsessed rich ladies."
"Max, stop." Caroline softened her tone, trying to calm her down.
"Who cares what they think? Those people don't know a damn thing about aesthetics."
She added quickly, "We don't have to take that order."
Max didn't answer. She just stared at the cupcakes, jaw tight, hands clenched—angry not at the criticism, but at the fact that it had landed.
The buttercream smell hung thick in the air, sweet and heavy, like something that had started as a dream and was slowly turning into pressure.
Ethan offered his suggestion quietly, as if proposing it to the universe rather than to Max:
"Or maybe you could change the angle? Call them 'Realist Cakes.'
The imperfect appearance proves they're genuinely handmade—"
Max snapped her head around. "Shut up."
"Okay."
She took a deep breath.
"I may not be a saint, but I am not a coward. If I don't make these cupcakes good enough to shut everyone up, I'm not stopping. Period."
Caroline sighed. "You're really going with the 'die on this hill' option."
"Correct." Max nodded. "Tonight, frosting and I are fighting to the death."
Then she pointed at Ethan. "And you—since you're awake now, congratulations. You're helping."
"I just came out to drink some water," Ethan protested.
"Drink it later. You don't want your patients saying you serve ugly cupcakes, do you?" Max said flatly.
"You're now the official taste tester and emotional support doctor of our 3 a.m. dessert task force."
"…I'm a surgeon," Ethan muttered.
"Details," Max waved him off. "If you can save lives, you can save cupcakes and my self-esteem."
She shoved a cupcake into his hand. "Eat it. Be honest."
Ethan took a bite.
His eyes lit up instantly.
"…This is insanely good."
For the first time that night, Max smiled—just a little.
"Exactly! I know they taste amazing! If I can make the flavor this good, there's no way I'm losing on looks! I'll make cupcakes that are both beautiful and delicious. I'll shove them right in the face of whoever dared to trash-talk us!"
Caroline was instantly fired up too.
"Fine! I'm in! Tomorrow we sign up for classes! We'll make her so mad her makeup melts off!"
Max whirled around and shouted, "Your job is to shut up and not talk to me."
Caroline: "???"
Ethan watched the two of them bicker their way back into piping practice, and suddenly realized—
Brooklyn's 3 a.m. madness and passion probably fermented from exactly this:
sweet cake smells, crushing poverty, and an absolutely unyielding refusal to lose.
---
Monday morning at the clinic was unusually calm.
Thanks to Max and Caroline's overnight cupcake-reconstruction campaign, Ethan overslept.
After finally producing one flawless cupcake, Max had mercifully allowed Ethan and Caroline to sleep—while she stayed up alone to prepare thirty cupcakes for the Rayne Clinic.
In the kitchen, Max had left breakfast, thirty boxed cupcakes, and a note:
Since you stayed over last night, you're delivering the cupcakes yourself.
Congrats, you just saved thirty dollars in delivery fees.
Sometimes Ethan genuinely admired Max's sheer grind.
He didn't arrive at the clinic until after eleven, dropped off the cupcakes, and let the late-morning sunlight spill lazily across the floor.
Enjoying the rare peace, he started debating lunch—Turkish kebab or pizza?
A knock at the door interrupted him.
Mary stood outside, holding several documents.
Her walk was still slightly stiff.
"Dr. Rayne, I need to talk to you."
Ethan snapped out of his food dilemma and immediately noticed her movement.
"How's your wound? No infection after removing the stitches?"
"The incision's fine," Mary replied.
"There's still some pulling if I move too much, but it doesn't affect normal activity."
She walked to the desk, sat carefully, and slid a blue-covered document toward him.
"I'm here to resign—and to bring you a contract."
"Resign?" Ethan blinked. Then, processing the second part, "A contract? What kind of contract?"
He opened it. The title jumped out immediately:
Deferred Employment Agreement (Including PGY-1 Transition Clause)
Ethan stared.
"…You didn't seriously take my 'nine-to-nine until sixty' joke as a real offer, did you?"
"Of course not," Mary said calmly.
"I don't plan on being exploited by you for the rest of my life. This is a formal employment agreement and letter of intent."
"This really looks like an actual hiring process," Ethan said, flipping pages.
"Shouldn't you think this through? Like… working at a major hospital?"
"This is a personal choice, not a moral debt," Mary replied decisively.
"And I do have my own conditions—but none of them affect my decision to work here."
She continued, "There's also a prerequisite. I need to complete one year of residency at a teaching hospital first. That's why I'm resigning—to start early."
Ethan nodded.
"Right. First-year residency has to be at an accredited teaching hospital. I can teach, but they wouldn't recognize it."
Mary laid it out clearly:
"I graduate medical school → complete one year of residency → pass the final independent practice exam → apply for my license → then formally join your clinic."
Ethan closed the folder and looked at her.
"That's… very well thought out."
"Because I want certainty," Mary said, tapping the contract.
"I agreed verbally, but contracts are how things actually happen.
This is a legal, consensual employment relationship—not the half-baked offer you tossed out that day."
"…That hurts," Ethan sighed. "What are the terms?"
Mary flipped through the pages and summarized:
Official start date: after licensure
Salary: New York physician standard
Working hours: compliant with labor laws
During residency: clinic retains position but no employment relationship
Minimum service period: three years
Breach penalties for both parties
Ethan listened, impressed.
"This is a very professional contract."
"Verbal promises have no legal standing," Mary said, pulling out the signature page.
"If you agree, sign now. You keep the position. I complete my training. Once licensed, I report here."
Ethan picked up the pen and signed both copies without hesitation.
"Then I'll be waiting for you to come back after your residency."
It felt strangely surreal.
His tiny clinic was actually getting a second employee.
And not just anyone—but Mary. An excellent medical student. Even if it took a year, this was an absolute win.
Mary signed as well, handed one copy to Ethan, and neatly filed the other.
"Good. From this moment on, I am a future surgeon at the Rayne Clinic—
pending legal licensure, of course."