From Substitute To Queen novel Chapter 111

Chapter 111

Sable’s POV

Friday night started like any other work week ending. My colleagues at the pack hospital had been pestering me for weeks to join their regular dinner gatherings, and tonight I’d finally caved.

Since Daisy’s kidnapping, Caetan’s injury, and our engagement ceremony turning into a nightmare, my nerves had been stretched thin as wire. Every shadow seemed to hide a threat. Every unexpected sound made me jump. The pressure coiled tight in my chest

like a spring ready to snap.

Then yesterday, Caelan had told me about Dad’s ultimatum, Two weeks to prove I’d be safe, or lose me forever. It increased my

anxiety.

So when my colleagues suggested drinks after our shift ended, I surprised everyone by saying yes.

Sable Crawford actually agreeing to socialize?” Dr. Lewis had joked. “Mark this day on the calendar.”

The dinner was exactly what I needed. Normal conversation about normal things, Hospital gossip, vacation plans, complaints about

the new electronic chart system.

By nine-thirty, half our group had headed home, but the remaining three of us weren’t ready to call it a night.

“There’s this place I love just a few blocks away,” suggested Stacey, one of the nurses. “They have live music on Friday nights.”

The bar turned out to be exactly the kind of cozy neighborhood spot I would have chosen myself. Warm wood paneling, soft lighting, mismatched vintage furniture that looked like it had stories to tell. In one corner sat a small stage where a comedian was wrapping up his set to scattered applause.

Open mic night,” our server explained as she brought our drinks. “Anyone can sign up. We get everything from comedy to poetry to really bad karaoke.”

I settled into the booth with my colleagues, letting the wine and easy conversation wash over me.

The alcohol was doing its job. The tight knot of anxiety in my chest had loosened considerably. When the comedian left the stage and the host announced that the mic was open, I barely paid attention.

“Come on, Sable!” Stacey nudged my shoulder. “You should go up there.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not? You’re funny when you want to be.”

I’m also sober enough to have good judgment.”

But as the wine continued flowing, my good judgment started to feel less important. The third glass hit different than the first two. My cheeks fell warm, my limbs loose and relaxed.

On stage, a woman in her forties was doing an enthusiastic but slightly off key rendition of Total Eclipse of the Heart.” The audience was eating it up, cheering and singing along to the chorus.

“Your turn next, Stacey declared, pointing at me.

‘I don’t sing.”

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“Then do comedy!”

The idea should have horrified me. Public speaking while tipsy? In front of strangers? The sober version of myself would have fled.

But sitting in that warm, dimly lit bar with wine coursing through my system and my colleagues egging me on, it suddenly seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

Before I could change my mind, I found myself walking toward the host.

“I’d like to try,” I heard myself saying.

The next thing I knew, I was standing on the small stage with a microphone in my hand, looking out at maybe thirty faces. The stage lights were warm on my skin. My colleagues were cheering from their booth.

“Hi everyone,” I began, surprised by how steady my voice sounded. “I’m a doctor, but lately, my job feels less about medicine and more like… professional therapy for men with severe emotional intelligence deficiencies.”

A few chuckles from the audience encouraged me to continue.

“You know what the hardest condition to treat is? Not cancer, not heart disease… it’s straight male emotional constipation. Especially the type where a guy likes you for years but insists on playing the ‘protective older brother’ role instead of just asking you

out.”

More laughter. The wine was making me bold, reckless in a way that felt dangerously good.

“I know this one guy…” I paused, swaying slightly. “Picture the most uptight man you’ve ever met. Always in expensive suits, runs a huge company, never has a hair out of place. I used to call him the King of Emotional Repression.”

The audience was engaged now, leaning forward slightly.

“For the longest time, I thought he wasn’t interested. You know the type? Super polite, maintains appropriate distance, acts like a perfect gentleman. So respectful that I started wondering if I was actually his long-lost sister.”

I exaggerated my confusion, making the audience laugh.

“But then I discovered the truth. This man isn’t emotionally repressed – he’s been hiding the soul of a starving wolf this entire time. All that gentleman behavior? Total act. Underneath, he’s been plotting like some kind of romantic strategist. The minute he finally made his move…” I fanned myself dramatically. “Let’s just say the transformation was shocking.

The laughter was getting louder. I felt drunk on more than just wine now – drunk on the attention, the validation, the freedom to finally say these things out loud.

‘So ladies, take note. Sometimes the guys who seem the most proper and controlled are the ones with the most… intense imaginations. The quiet ones are definitely not always the safe bet.”

The audience loved it. But as their laughter died down, something shifted inside me.

“But honestly?” My voice grew softer, more vulnerable. I love him All of him. The controlled version and the… enthusiastic

version.

The room had gone quieter, sensing the change in tone

“I used to think it was fate that brought us together. Some cosmic destiny. But tonight I realized something… I paused, feeling tears prick at my eyes.

“When I was fifteen, my mom died. And I became this awful, angry little monster. Wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t go to school, wouldn’t talk

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to anyone. I was hurting so much I wanted everyone else to hurt too.”

My voice caught slightly, but I pushed through.

“He was twenty-four then. Already successful, already important. Had a million responsibilities and people depending on him. But he said, ‘I’ll teach her.””

The tears were coming now, but I didn’t care.

“He’d sit at our kitchen table and help me with homework. Math, chemistry, physics – subjects he’d mastered years earlier. One day I asked him why he remembered everything so clearly.”

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.