Chapter 28
Collins
I held her, and the electricity that shot through my body was sharp and sudden, like my nerves had been struck by lightning.
My fingers were still wrapped around hers when I lifted my eyes and met her gaze.
For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of us.
She stared back at me, unblinking, and God…
she was beautiful. So painfully, devastatingly beautiful that I forgot how to look away.
Her eyes were soft, searching, and something in them made my chest tighten. I felt like I was standing too close to a fire, drawn in, knowing I could get burned and not caring enough to step back.
I forced myself to break the moment. I cleared my throat, shifted my stance, and only then noticed the physio and Marlon watching us with quiet smiles, as they’d just witnessed something tender and undeniable.
I was still breathless. My head spun from how close we’d been, how real it felt. I wasn’t just there for her treatment, I was there with her. And the worst part?
She wanted me there.
She needed me.
And I couldn’t back out, no matter how much fear twisted in my chest. Because the last thing I wanted, yet wanted more than anything, was for her to fall for me. The thought thrilled me… and terrified me in the same breath.
When the physio finally left, it was just me and Marlon in the room. I turned back to her, forcing a gentle smile.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said softly.
Her eyes followed me as I stepped away.
Marlon walked me to the door. Once we were outside her room, he stopped and looked at me carefully.
“The chemistry between the two of you…” he shook his head slightly, a grin tugging at his mouth. “It’s hot like hell.”
I looked away, running a hand through my hair. “Don’t remind me.”
“She could get attached to you,” he said. Then added quietly, “Or… fall in love.”
My heart skipped a beat. “That’s what I’m afraid of. I don’t want to be too close to her.”
“But we also want her to get well,” Marlon replied. “Let’s think about her well-being first—before you decide anything.”
I nodded slowly. “Her well-being is the priority.”
Even if it costs me my heart.
Before heading out to meet the real estate agent, I sent my resignation to the Chief of Medicine and copied the Head of Neurosurgery. It was a clean, professional message. No emotion, no explanation—just a decision made.
I slipped my laptop into my briefcase, exhaled, and headed for my Porsche. Driving was mechanical; the city blurred past. My mind was already running through numbers, leases, and logistics: which office spaces would be functional, how to balance costs, what kind of home would make sense.
“Good day, Dr. Collins,” greeted Mr. Cowell, the agent, as I arrived.
“Good day,” I replied, shaking his hand.
“I’ve got three commercial spaces in this building for your practice,” he began. “All suitable for medical offices, flexible layouts, parking included. And residential options—there’s a three-bedroom home and a two-bedroom property, both in the quiet upper-class neighbourhood, Lagoon Bay.”
I scanned the materials, making mental notes. Three-bedroom made sense. Plenty of space, functional layout, not extravagant—practical. No thought beyond that.
Cowell gave me a curious look. “I don’t get it. You’re scaling down. That penthouse… it’s spectacular. Why leave it?”
I shrugged lightly. “It frees up funds for the practice. That’s all.”
He nodded, as if satisfied. “Makes sense. You’re setting yourself up for long-term stability.”
I said nothing. I walked behind him to the first commercial space, already running through measurements and logistics in my head. Which areas could be reception? Exam rooms? Waiting areas? It was all practical, all calculated.
Next, he took me to the two residential properties.
Checked out both. I stepped into the second home—the three-bedroom—and let my eyes drift over the space.
Light poured through tall windows, catching the soft cream walls and polished wood floors.
The living room felt open, yet cozy, as if it could hold laughter without echoing.
I walked from room to room, tapping surfaces, imagining furniture against the walls, the flow of movement.
The kitchen had just enough counter space to make things efficient but not crowded.
Upstairs, the bedrooms were airy, each with its own little nook bathed in sunlight.
My fingers brushed the banister as I moved past the stairs, and for a moment, I pictured someone trailing behind me, reaching for the railing. I shook the thought away.
The two-bedroom closer to the beach was lovely, too—bright, airy—but it felt…
compact, contained. I could see myself living there, but it lacked the subtle warmth the three-bedroom radiated.
My steps slowed as I lingered in the master bedroom.
The sunlight hit just right through the window, and I imagined evenings spent here, quiet and undisturbed.
Somehow, it felt like home before I even made a decision.
I didn’t voice it, didn’t let my mind wander further, but a small part of me recognized the comfort in the space. I nodded to myself, decisively, and ran my hand along the windowsill. This was the one.
I arrived home, back at my penthouse. Laying on my bed looking up at the ceiling.
The only name on my mind. If this is what love feels like, then I don’t know what to call the two previous relationships.
But it felt nothing like this, not even close.
And it scared me more. Chances are that her ex-husband might reconcile things with her the moment she is fully recovered.
And the best thing for me, is to stay away.
Undo every single feeling and hopefully she’ll forget about me too.
A gentle knock came to my door, I opened. It was Marlon. “Buddy, I see your Penthouse is up for sale, and you handed in your resignation. What’s going on? Are you leaving the country?”
“No, scaling down.” I replied.
“What? Scaling down? Come on, you’re too young to retire.”
“Starting my own practice and on the verge of purchasing a three-bedroom home.”
“Oh God. This sounds like someone planning a future.”
My phone rang, slicing straight through our conversation.
I checked the screen and answered. “Collins.”
It was the agent.
I listened for a few seconds, then glanced at Marlon, my expression shifting.
“I just got an offer for my penthouse,” I said slowly.
Marlon’s eyes lit up like I announced free money.
“I want your penthouse,” he blurted. “I’ll put my apartment up for sale. I’ve been eyeing this place for a while.”
I studied him. “Am I supposed to wait for your place to sell first? Because I want this deal done quickly.”
“No need,” he said without hesitation. “I still have my funds from my grandfather. No bond, no finance. Cash sale.” Then he leaned forward. “What offer did you get? I’ll beat it.”
I shook my head. “I’ll show you once the paperwork comes through.”
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly.
“So,” he said, slower now, “are you going to tell me what’s really going on?”
I stayed quiet.
But the way he was looking at me told me something uncomfortable…
He already knew.