12.Stress, Style and Spot.
He drove through the city like a man possessed, streets blurring past, headlights carving through the night like knives.
The dashboard clock blinked 11:47 PM.
But all he could hear was his father’s voice:
“You want him out? Then take the reins. And find yourself a wife.”
His grip on the steering wheel tightened.
What kind of twisted condition was that?
Neil Morris—the man who built walls taller than the Morris mansion itself—was now supposed to waltz into a wedding just to satisfy some legacy clause written by a grandfather who probably still thought women belonged in drawing rooms and pearls?
He pulled over.
The engine hummed beneath him like a beast waiting for a command.
His head fell back against the seat.
Why Eva?
Why her name in that moment?
When Ryle asked about girlfriend his brains screamed her name.
Neil felt something different, it was disturbing him.
Sweet. Honest. Too kind for her own good. The only person who didn’t look at him like a title or a task—just as a man.
But he couldn’t drag her into this mess.
Couldn’t fake something so sacred with someone who still believed in love like it was a religion.
"Shit."
He ran a hand through his hair, eyes shutting tight.
This wasn’t just about Callum. It was about his life decisions masked in duty.
And now… business,marriage,love.
He scoffed bitterly, staring out at the blinking red light across the street.
Somewhere in the distance, laughter floated out of a late-night cafe. Normal people. With normal lives.
Neil looked down at his phone.
One contact stood out.
Eva Walter.
His thumb hovered over it.
He didn’t press it.
Instead, he tossed the phone into the passenger seat like it burned him and hit the gas again, disappearing into the night.
Eva sat on her bed, phone in hand, staring at the screen.
"Thank you… for the ride."
Delivered.
Not read.
She bit her lip. Maybe he was just busy.
But the next day? And the day after that?
Something was… off.
At the hospital, Neil had become a ghost in a white coat.
He was physically there—making rounds, performing surgeries, reviewing files—but emotionally?
Gone.
He didn’t scold her for her coffee spills.
Didn’t complain about her messy notes.
Didn’t argue about patient charts or case timings.
Not just Eva he didn't much cared about any one really.
Didn’t even look her in the eyes anymore.
Just quiet nods. Cold glances. Clinical conversations.
To be precise it wasn't all cute all these days but still he was active.
It wasn’t the grumpy surgeon she’d gotten used to—it was someone else entirely.
Detached. Distant. Drowning in something invisible.
One evening, Eva lingered outside the OR lounge, watching him scribble into a file with such intensity, his knuckles were white.
“Dr. Morris?” she asked gently.
He didn’t respond.
“Neil?”
He looked up, startled. Like he hadn’t heard his name in years.
“What?” His voice was raspy.
“You haven’t eaten. It’s 8. I brought extra sandwiches… thought you might want one.”
He stared at her. Long. Hard.
Then looked away.
“I’m not hungry.”
And just like that—he brushed past her and disappeared down the hallway.
Eva stood there.
Holding two neatly packed sandwiches in her hand.
And a dozen questions in her heart.
“What happened to you?”
“And why do I feel like you’re going to do something reckless?”
Lexi stood on her toes, trying to reach a patient’s X-ray film that was pinned annoyingly high up on the light board.
“Come on…” she mumbled, fingers barely grazing it.
“Need help, Smurf?” came a deep voice from behind.
She spun around to see Dr. Lucus, arms crossed, an infuriating smirk on his face.
“I’m not short,” she snapped.
“I didn’t say you were,” he said, stepping closer. “I said you’re a Smurf. Entirely different category.”
She straightened immediately. Dr. Lucus. Towering. Sharp. Smug. And handsome.Of course.
She quickly tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and offered a nervous smile. “It’s just a bit high.I almost got it.”
He stepped beside her, effortlessly reaching up and plucking the film off the board. “You ‘almost’ got it,sure.”
Lexi cleared her throat, avoiding eye contact. “Thank you, Dr. Lucus.”
He handed her the film with a cocked brow. “You're gonna get neck pain trying stunts like that. Want me to refer you to an ortho?”
She bit back a grin. “Noted, sir.”
Both chuckled.
He leaned a little closer, smirking. “You sure you're not rotating in Pediatrics? I swear you’re under 5 feet.”
“I’m five-three… and a half,” she muttered.
“Adorable,” he said under his breath.
She glanced up, wide-eyed. “Did you say something, sir?”
“Just wondering how someone that small walks around this hospital like she owns it.”
Lexi blinked, a little stunned. “Um… confidence?”
Lucus chuckled, backing away. “Careful with that confidence. Someone might mistake it for courage.”
Lexi nodded with a tiny smile, her cheeks warm.Eyes rolled up, “Not my problem.”
As he walked away, he called out over his shoulder, “Oh, and Dr. Lexi?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Next time you try to reach something that high call me.” he whispered the last two words.
She nearly dropped the X-ray.
After half an hour:
Lexi stood on her toes again, dramatically staring at a box of suture kits placed on the top shelf.
She could totally reach it with the help of a stool. Or a chair. Or… just jump a little.
But no. He said to call him.
She hesitated… then pulled out her phone.
Text to Dr. Lucus:
"Suture kits. Top shelf. Your instructions, remember?"
Seconds later, the door opened.
Dr. Lucus stepped in, looking completely confused—and a little too amused.
“You texted me… for this?”
Lexi pointed innocently at the box. “You said to call you if I couldn’t reach something.”
He folded his arms, suppressing a laugh. “Dr. Lexi, that’s a ten-inch difference, not a medical emergency.”
“I was just following protocol.” she blinked innocently.
He walked over and grabbed the box with ease, handing it to her with a smirk. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Thank you,” she said sweetly, hugging the box like she just won a medal.
He leaned against the wall, cocking his head. “You really texted a consultant to help you with a shelf?”
Lexi nodded, eyes wide with fake innocence. “Just being obedient.”
Lucus narrowed his eyes. “You’re lucky you're charming or I’d report this as misuse of resources.”
Lexi gasped. “You wouldn’t!”
He turned to leave, smirking. “Try me. But next time, at least pretend to struggle a little more before calling me.”
As he walked off, Lexi called out, “Noted.”
He didn't answer—but the small smile tugging at his lips said it all.
Ria stood just outside the tall glass doors of L'Exalte Studios, her heart pounding behind her bright, confident smile. She looked down at the garment bags in both hands—each piece stitched with dreams, ambition, and barely any sleep.
This was the moment.
Her first real shot.
She had imagined this walk-in a thousand times.
The receptionist barely looked up. “Oh. You’re Ria Walter, right?”
Ria smiled warmly. “Yes! I have my trial collection ready—”
“We won’t need them anymore,” the woman interrupted bluntly.
Ria blinked. “Sorry?”
The receptionist shrugged, chewing gum. “The brand director just finalized another set. From a more... seasoned designer. They sent the photos over an hour ago. Way more on trend.”
Ria stood frozen for a second, her smile slowly cracking.
“They didn’t even… see mine yet.”
“I know,” the receptionist replied, sounding slightly awkward now. “They just changed direction. Happens all the time. You’re young. Maybe next time.”
Next time?
She had poured her soul into those designs.
Ria slammed the garment bags down on the counter, her voice loud and clear despite the hush of the studio space.
RIA
(angrily)
No—this was my slot. I got the confirmation, I worked for it, I called thrice last week! You don’t get to just say "we found someone else" without even looking at my collection!
The receptionist looked uncomfortable, her voice measured.
RECEPTIONIST
Miss Walter, please—there’s been a change. It’s not personal—
RIA
Of course it’s personal! You locked this date, made me sign terms, and now, without notice, you bring someone else in? I want to speak to your manager. Now.
A couple of designers turned to look. The receptionist made a subtle gesture—and within seconds, two security guards appeared from the side entrance.
RIA
What is this, seriously?! I deserve a conversation. I worked my ass off for a month. I travelled across cities for fabrics, I pitched, I got approved. You can’t just—
SECURITY GUARD
Ma’am, please leave. You're making a scene.
RIA
Exactly! A scene you all deserve!
But before she could say more, they gently—but firmly—escorted her out.
FASHION HOUSE – PARKING LOT – MOMENTS LATER:
Ria stumbled out of the building, still fuming, her heart pounding in her ears. She yanked the door of her cab open—and then froze.
Standing beside a glossy black car across the lot was a girl in a fitted pastel power suit, posing for a photographer.
A familiar smug smile. Straight hair. Too-perfect makeup.
Lara.
Ria’s heels clicked sharply against the concrete as she stormed across the lot, her garment bags dragging behind her like war flags.
Lara tossed her hair back, adjusting her sunglasses and smiling at the paparazzi-like assistant snapping her pictures.
Just then, a sleek black car pulled up beside her.
The tinted window rolled down—
Ryle.
Ria’s breath hitched. His stupidly calm face, one arm resting on the wheel, sipping something cold like he didn’t just help ruin her career again.
RIA
(snarling)
You again.
Ryle blinked. “Excuse me?”
RIA
Of course. Same tricks. Same strategy. Same rich-boy influence. And guess what? Same bitch.
She pointed at Lara without breaking her stride.
RYLE
( confused)
Okay... What’s happening?
RIA
You brought her here, didn’t you? Like you rigged that fashion fest. Stealing spots from people who work for them. You’re not even creative enough to change your style of sabotage!
Lara scoffed.
LARA
Ria, calm down. You're embarrassing yourself again.
RIA
(shooting her a glare)
Oh no, honey. I’m just getting started.
She turned back to Ryle.
RIA
So what was it this time? Daddy pulled strings again? You thought I wouldn't get here? Or did you suggest Lara to this brand too?
Ryle leaned his head back against the seat, now genuinely amused.
RYLE
I literally just drove her here. I don’t even know what this brand is. I thought this was a photoshoot. I swear on my caffeine addiction.
RIA
(sarcastically)
Oh, right. You're just coincidentally driving her around like a trophy and she just happens to land in my brand slot? I wasn’t born yesterday, Morris.
Lara rolled her eyes.
LARA
She’s being dramatic as usual.
RIA
(snarling)
And you’re being a leech as usual.
She looked like she was about to say more, but her phone buzzed.
She ignored it.
RIA
(to Ryle)
One day, I will catch you both in the act—and you’ll regret pushing people like me down.
She turned on her heel and walked away, head high, eyes stinging, throat tight. But her pride? Untouched.
Ria stormed away from the building. Her tote full of sketches banged against her leg with every furious step.
The confidence she had that morning?
Gone.
She fumbled with her keys outside a random café, hands shaking, throat tight. She finally slumped onto a nearby bench. Her phone buzzed.
UNKNOWN NUMBER
“ You good?”
She frowned. Another ping.
“You looked ready to set the building on fire. I’d say 9.5/10 for execution.”
RIA
(typing fast, furious)
Who the hell is this?
UNKNOWN NUMBER
“Ryle. Morris. You remember me. The ‘rich clown’—your words, not mine.”
She nearly threw her phone across the road in rage.
Another ping:
“You didn’t leave your number. But your designs had a tag with your full name. I know people. Wasn’t hard.”
RIA
(fuming, texting)
You think this is a joke? I worked on those pieces for weeks. I earned that trial spot. And you—what? Gift-wrapped it to your girlfriend without even flinching?
No reply.
A second later:
RYLE
“ I swear. I didn’t even know Lara submitted her name till it was all over.”
RIA
Wow. Classic. “I didn’t know.” Do all rich boys use that line or just the ones with too much gel in their hair like you?
RYLE
“You’re angry. You should be. But I didn’t know it was your spot, Ria.”
RIA
Right. And Lara just magically landed the exact deal I signed up for. Coincidence must really love her.
RYLE
“No. But Influence does. I didn’t know she applied for the same brand until this morning.”
“If I did, I wouldn’t have driven her there. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not that much of an ass.I agree I messed up the fashion fest and stole your spotlight but this ain't me.”
RIA
Bold of you to assume you're not.
Pause.
RYLE
“Fair. But maybe—just maybe—this isn’t all about me. Or Lara. The industry’s twisted. You know that. I just... didn’t expect you to be standing outside looking like someone kicked your ribs in.”
RIA
They didn’t just kick. They crushed.
He didn’t reply right away.
Then:
RYLE
“Then maybe next time, crush back. You’re not exactly the type to stay down.”
She stared at his message.
It didn’t fix what happened.
But it landed.
And it lingered.