Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
MICHAEL
This ball was positively boring.
It was the case more often than not, but if one more mother spent an entire conversation listing her daughter’s attributes like she was livestock to be bartered for marriage, or if another business entrepreneur wasted my precious time discussing the “brilliant” ideas they had, I might very well break my oath and have a trail of bodies in my wake as I left the premises of the gallery.
And with so many witnesses, I didn’t think I could get away with it.
“Wouldn’t you agree, dear?” a high-pitched voice piped up beside me. I glanced down to find Kitty Wilson gazing up at me with wide doe-eyes, her eyelashes fluttering.
I’d been on my way to the gardens for some fresh air and much-needed quiet when the London socialite had sauntered into my path, intercepting me. Her father, Mark Wilson—a private wealth manager at one of the UK's largest multinational banks—had promptly joined us the moment he’d spotted his daughter with me.
I’d tuned out of the conversation the moment he began discussing the stock market, droning on about where I, along with the rest of the Atlases, should be investing, pulling out big words like diversifying portfolios and risk management.
Sofiane’s father owned one of the largest hedge-funds in the city, so why on earth would I take advice from a wanna-be, a man who I knew had divested funds from his client’s portfolios to stop the bleeding of his own mounting debts?
If it wasn’t for the fact that I was representing my father, I would have told him to fuck off and left the conversation. But that type of behavior was unbecoming of an Atlas, so I stayed quiet and endured the torture.
Typically, our fathers would be in attendance, but they were all currently overseas in Korea to deal with Atlas ventures. Besides, as soon as my Ascension would be complete, these social obligations would officially fall upon us.
My gaze roamed the room until I spotted Amar, who was casually leaning against a column with one hand nonchalantly tucked in his pocket, flirting with his latest conquest. We’d barely been here for an hour, and I’d already seen him with three different women, each one enamored by whatever fantasy he was feeding them.
He wore a formal evening tailcoat and black trousers, paired with a crisp white shirt, a black waistcoat and perfectly tied black bow tie.
The very same outfit I, and most men in attendance, were wearing.
He raked a hand through his thick, wavy hair, which fell past his ears and brushed his shoulders, and said something that made the young woman before him double over in laughter, her gloved hand delicately coming to rest on his forearm as she inched closer to him in the process.
I wasn’t one to interrupt his escapades, but I couldn’t bear to listen to another word from either of the Wilsons. This incessant, vapid chatter made the evening stretch out before me like a dreary nightmare, and all I wanted was to find a semblance of peace.
“Michael?” Kitty’s voice grated my ears once more as she placed her yellow-gloved hand on my upper arm. I stifled the urge to recoil at the contact. I had to get away.
It was at that precise moment that my gaze was irresistibly drawn back to my mystery girl who’d captured my attention the moment she’d entered the room. I’d felt pulled to her like a magnetic field, unable to divert my eyes away from her.
Although most of her face was hidden from the black lace mask she wore, there was something about her that was utterly… mesmerizing.
And for some inexplicable reason, I’d wanted to approach her, but she’d been busy roaming the room with her friend by her side the entire night.
Until now.
The House had rules and while I’d occasionally toyed with their limits, I’d never been tempted to cross them. Well, except with…
Don’t, my mind chimed in.
The only other person that had the unnerving ability to unsettle me wasn’t someone I should be thinking of right now. I’d caught sight of her father when I’d entered the ballroom earlier, but I doubted this was her sort of scene.
All evening, every time I’d watched the mystery woman look increasingly uneasy as she and her friend navigated the crowd, the urge to march over to her and whisk her away somewhere to see if I could taste it on her lips grew more ardent.
She sat on a high stool at the bar, staring mindlessly into an untouched flute of champagne. Her slender fingers brushed against the stem, before tapping against the foot. Crossing a leg over her other, she turned slightly, her eyes roaming around the room.
A radiant smile bloomed across her face and I’d never seen anything quite so beautiful, it disarmed me. So beautiful, my body acted before my brain could catch up.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I said smoothly, offering no further explanation to the Wilsons as I pushed my way through the crowd to make my way toward her. As I closed the distance, our gazes locked and for a fleeting moment, a semblance of recognition flickered before she turned away.
Once at her side, I casually leaned against the polished mahogany bar, propping an elbow on its surface and keeping a reasonable distance between us. Faint familiar notes of musk and vanilla filtered through my senses as my eyes glided over her smooth tanned skin, committing every inch to memory as I followed the elegant line of her neck, lingering at her pulse point before fixing my gaze on her delicate profile.
But before I could utter a word, she glanced over her shoulder and said, “You can find someone else to entertain your advances.”
I arched an eyebrow, taken aback by her unexpected and abrupt dismissal. But I wasn’t one to give up so easily. “That's rather presumptuous of you to think I was coming here to flirt, considering we’ve only just met,” I teased with a smirk.
“Oh, I know who you are,” she replied, her tone frigid, suggesting that knowing me wasn’t particularly a good thing. Which was quite the unusual occurrence.
She sounded oddly familiar, though I couldn’t quite place it. I had a feeling we’d met before, but it wasn’t from the ball’s previous years or any other high society event I’d been dragged to since this didn’t seem like her scene. And I rarely went out unless it was with Amar or Sofiane, so perhaps she’d been a former patient?
But all of my patients adored me—I quite literally had saved their life.
So if we had indeed met, I needed to know from where. “Then, dare I say it’s rather unfair that you know my name, yet I don’t know yours.”
“Life isn’t always fair,” she scoffed, and that’s when the pieces fell into place—I recognized exactly who she was.
Azara Ziani.
Her button nose always scrunched up in this adorable way whenever she was irritated with me but didn’t want to show it. We’d been working together for a week now, and it was evident she didn’t like me, despite her best efforts to be welcoming—most likely compelled to do so by her father given I was her superior.
I wasn’t quite sure yet what I’d done to garner such animosity from her. We’d had a couple unfortunate encounters, but I’d apologized—well, for the incident at the coffee shop, the run had clearly been her fault.
The only other conceivable explanation was work. She was a skilled surgeon, but perhaps something about my talent threatened her.
Though I hated to admit it, she unsettled me in ways no one else had, but I enjoyed pushing her buttons and testing how far I could go. She sparked an itch within me to spar with her and win. She always remained professional whenever I did anything to get under her skin, but we weren’t at work.
As the faint strains of an orchestral rendition of Lauryn Hill’s “Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You” began to play, a crowd started to form on the dance floor and an idea formed in my head.
I straightened, extending my hand to her. “Dance with me.”
“Why on earth would I want to do that?” she replied, her gaze resolutely fixed ahead.
“Why not?” I countered, a playful grin tugging at my lips.
“I have no desire to dance, least of all with you,” she retorted, disdain evident in her tone. As she attempted to rise from her seat, I gently placed my other hand on the small of her back, causing her steps to falter.
“Just dance with me, ???? 1 ,” I insisted. “I promise I won't bite,” I added, leaning in slightly until my lips brushed the shell of her ear, lowering my voice so only she could hear me. “Unless you ask me to.”
I was being far more persistent than usual, but I would have backed off if she had shown any signs of discomfort. Instead, a wave of goosebumps rippled across her skin and this time, she couldn’t hide her reaction beneath her scrubs.
Tension between us crackled like a live wire and after a moment that felt like an eternity, her resolve finally wavered. “One dance, and I’m only indulging you so you’ll leave me be,” she relented, sliding her hand into mine.
I raised her hand to my lips and kissed the fine silk of her glove. “Of course, if that’s what you need to tell yourself.”
She shook her head. “I’m already regretting this,” she muttered under her breath as I threaded her arm through mine and led us toward the dance floor.
I could feel eyes watching us and murmurs around the room as we navigated through the crowd since they’d never seen me take to the dancefloor at these functions in the past.
Yet, my attention was singularly focused on her.
As we reached the center of the dance floor, I turned to face her, taking her hand in mine while my other one found her waist, drawing her closer.
She rested her free hand hesitantly on my shoulder, her back ramrod straight.
“Just relax,” I murmured, guiding her into the rhythm. “Follow my lead.”
“I know how to dance,” she hissed.
I chuckled softly. “And I didn’t say otherwise, but you are undeniably tense,” I explained, pulling her closer.
She shot me a look, yet visibly relaxed in my hold as we fell into the familiar steps.
The melody from the orchestra swelled with a violin solo, the intense notes filling the space and seeming to wrap around us. The bustling noise of the gallery faded into a distant hum, and all I could hear was the thundering beat of my heart.
All I could feel was the warmth radiating from her, my skin jolting to life everywhere we were joined despite the fabric separating us.
We were quiet for a few beats until I decided to ask what I’d been wondering since we’d met. “Now that you aren’t avoiding me like I’m carrying the plague, I suppose you can tell me why you hate me so much.”
Azara inadvertently stepped on my foot before quickly regaining her balance. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
I cocked my head to the side before spinning her around. “There is no use in pretending with me, Dr. Ziani,” I said once we faced each other again.
“You asked for a dance; talking wasn’t part of the deal,” she replied, glaring at me.
I spun her around again, dipping her as the notes of the song shifted into something slower, more intimate. The atmosphere around us transformed as I leaned closer, our breaths mingling. If I moved even the slightest inch, my lips would brush against hers.
“What if I wanted to change the conditions?” I whispered, my voice huskier.
I noticed the unmistakable hitch in her breath and the slight widening of her eyes.
It would be so easy to just…
A sudden blaring sound severed the thread that held the moment together. I straightened us to see where it came from.
“Shit,” Azara cursed under her breath as she quickly pulled away from me. “I have to go,” she blurted out, and then with no further warning, she left.
I stood frozen on the dance floor for a moment before reality sunk back in and I went after her. However, by the time I exited the ballroom, she had already vanished.
An unexpected disappointment washed over me and I decided to head home. As I descended the steps of the winding staircase, I caught sight of something lying on the bottom step. It was only when I reached it that I could discern what it was.
She must have dropped it in a hurry.
I knelt and grasped the delicate piece she’d worn in my hands. My thumb ran over the black lace before I pocketed it and headed home.
Amar: Where did you disappear to the night of the ball?
Amar: Leave with your Mystery Girl?
Sofiane: Mystery Girl? Please tell me you didn’t do anything foolish.
Me: That’s neither of your business. But nice of you to care about my well-being over two weeks later.
Sofiane: Do I need to remind you your birthday is coming up.
Amar: Would you just relax for once? A bit of fun won’t break your precious rules.
Sofiane: They’re not my rules.
Amar: Could’ve fooled me.
Amar: Did you take her home?
Amar: We need all the details
Sofiane: There is no ‘we’. I refuse to be held responsible for anything either of you do.
Sofiane Ouali has left the conversation.
Amar Belkacem added Sofiane Ouali to the conversation.
Sofiane: Just for the record, I never consented to be a part of this group chat.
Amar: Who are you talking to? You’re literally a tech wizard; you could make this conversation vanish if you wanted to.
Me: Stop flooding my phone, I’m at work.
I silenced my phone before shoving it into the pocket of my fleece vest.
If Sofiane had any choice in the matter, he’d never speak to either of us again. He seemed to age exponentially every time Amar recounted one of his adventures or when he dragged us for a night out that always ended with us in precarious situations.
I just tagged along because I found it rather entertaining to watch the two bicker, because I knew better than to join in on Amar’s antics. Well, not anymore.
“Dr. Young,” a soft voice called out as I exited my office, where I’d been catching up on administrative work after Facetiming my grandmother to perform my Sebae ? 2 . Today was the Korean New Year and although I was at work, she’d be really disappointed if I’d missed it .
I’d been at Amanar for nearly a month now, but my predecessor had left so many tasks and issues to resolve that I was still catching up.
I glanced to the right to find Marcella, our department’s booking coordinator, making her way down the corridor toward me. I’d met her right after Azara’s joyous tour of the facility and she was God sent. We hadn’t had someone with that role at Orion, but here she expertly managed the entire cardiothoracic surgical team’s schedule, allocating operating rooms and coordinating with the other surgical teams to prevent any overlap and maintain the hospital’s efficiency.
“Is everything alright, Marcella?” I asked as she approached, clutching a stack of documents to her chest.
Her usually immaculate gray hair, typically slicked back into a bun, was disheveled, with a few rebellious flyaways. I’d only recently met the older woman when I officially started performing surgeries, but the retired theater nurse was always put together and she currently looked like she’d been put through hell.
“It will be if you can tell me your schedule for the next two hours is clear,” she replied, a note of discouragement creeping into her tone.
I’d finished my surgeries for the day and planned to round on my patients before finally heading home. I was exhausted after being on my feet all day with back to back surgeries, but by the desperate look on her face, that answer wasn’t what she was looking for.
Besides, one thing I’d learned the moment I’d first stepped into a hospital was the importance of befriending the nursing staff and having them on your side.
“What can I do for you, Marcella?” I asked with a reassuring smile.
She closed her eyes for a moment, releasing a sigh of relief and muttering gratitude in Spanish under her breath, before meeting my gaze again “Dr. Ziani had a complication,” she began.
A sudden—and surprising—panic gripped in my gut. “Is she alright? Where is she?”
Marcella shook her head, bringing a hand up to stop my string of questions. “No, no, she’s fine. Her patient had a complication.”
Immediate relief washed over me.
“She was scheduled to perform a cardioverter-defibrillator implantation in,” she glanced at her watch,” fifteen minutes, but she’s still in surgery. Mr. Alastair has already had his surgery delayed three times already and I would hate to do that to him again.”
“Has Dr. Ziani approved of this?” I asked, surprised that she would let me operate on her patient.
I’d never officially met the famous football player since he was Azara’s patient, but I’d heard of him through my cousin since they ran in similar circles.
Tobias Alastair, one of the best center-backs in the last decade, had been in and out of different hospitals over the last few days before he was admitted here, where my team finally discovered the reason behind him collapsing on the pitch during his last football game.
Marcella gave me a noncommittal shrug as she rummaged through her papers, retrieving a file. I hadn’t had the chance to look over his chart so I grabbed it from her, flipping through the pages and reading his diagnostic tests. “He’s headed for Theatre B, and I would be immensely grateful if you took over the case.”
I’d operated on many athletes before but operating on someone as important as the darling of the Premier League would bode well for me. And having Marcella on my side would be a nice bonus too.
“For you, Marcella, anything,” I replied with a smirk, closing the document.
“I knew I liked you,” she said, reaching up to gently tap my cheek. “The patient has already been informed that you’ll be performing the surgery. He’s being prepped as we speak.”
I chuckled softly. “And what if I had said no?”
She shrugged. “I knew you wouldn’t want to get on the nurses's bad side. I may be retired, but I still have a bit of sway with them,” she said with a knowing look.
I clutched my chest in mock outrage. “You wouldn’t.”
She huffed out a laugh. “You’re lucky you’re charming. Now, off you go before you’re late,” she ordered, gesturing for me to hurry-up and leave.
“Goodbye, Marcella,” I said playfully, throwing her a wink as I headed down the corridor toward the lift to the thirteenth floor, where all the operating theaters were.
Once inside the room, I swiftly introduced myself to Alastair and the team I’d be working with, some of them now familiar, before scrubbing in for surgery. I then spent the next forty-five minutes working on him before I moved to the scrub area to unscrub.
I was in the midst of washing my hands when the swing door to the room slammed open. The atmosphere instantly shifted and I turned to find Azara glaring at me.
“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she said breathlessly as if she’d run around the hospital before she got here.
I guess Marcella didn’t run the surgeon swap with her before recruiting my help.
Tonight was the first time Azara had actually spoken to me with more than one-worded syllables. She had been avoiding me ever since the night of the ball.
Although we had very similar schedules—which I knew because I was the one who set hers—I hadn’t seen much of her over the last two weeks. It was almost like she’d made a deal with Marcella that our scheduled surgeries overlapped, and sent the junior doctors who reported to her to me whenever any information needed to be relayed.
With my birthday coming up and the responsibilities I’d be shouldering once I officially joined the House, I should have been happy that she’d been distant because nothing could ever come out of whatever it was that transpired between us, but I would be a liar if I said I wasn’t a little disappointed.
I waved the thought away and shut off the water, grabbing a disposable towel. I propped a hip against the sink next to me to face her as I dried my hands.
“Well, I just performed a flawless ICD implantation and beat my personal best record,” I replied nonchalantly with a small grin, knowing she wouldn’t like it.
“Excuse me? Did you just say your best record?” Her nose twitched and she tried to keep her tone neutral, but her indignation was clear in her expression.
She appeared to be fresh out of surgery. She wore the mauve scrub cap with cherries drawn in brown on it that I’d noticed she always wore for her surgeries, her surgical loupes still perched on top of her head.
“Yes, it was quite remarkable. It’s a shame you couldn’t?—”
“Patients aren’t records to beat,” she cut in.
A wave of satisfaction washed over me and my smile threatened to stretch wider. This was the first time I’d managed to break her poised calm, and it was quite the sight to see.
“I’m well aware, I just meant…” I started but she interrupted me once again.
“Why did you steal my surgery?”
I frowned at her outlandish accusation. “Steal?”
I tossed the used towel in the trash before crossing my arms over my chest. Her gaze fleeted to my upper body for barely a second before she returned to her glaring. Too caught up in her accusations, she’d inadvertently reduced the distance between us.
She cleared her throat before saying, “Yes, Tobias was my patient.”
I frowned. There were more important things to think about, but all I could focus on was her calling him by his given name. She was his doctor, but did they know each other?
“You had no right to operate on him,” she gritted out, pulling me out of my thoughts. She took a step forward and pointed an accusatory finger at me.
Before she could make contact with my body, I wrapped my fingers around her wrist, bringing her hand down, and in the process, erasing the remaining distance between us. We both froze at the same time, prickles of electricity buzzing across my skin where it touched hers.
Our eyes locked on where my hand encircled her wrist. I brought my gaze to her face, to find her still watching where we touched. I focused my attention on her, on how disturbingly close we were, close enough for me to note the faint musky vanilla scent wafting off her skin that I’d been thinking about since the night of the ball.
Close enough to discover the light constellation of dark freckles all over her face.
This wasn’t my most brilliant decision, but it was already done.
Might as well lean into it.
“What is it, love?” I willed my heart rate to steady despite her suffocating proximity. “Can’t handle a little competition?”
My words broke whatever trance she seemed to be under because her glaring gaze came back full force, threatening to drown me as it collided with mine.
But she hadn’t moved.
“This isn’t about competition, although you would never win. Everyone here might think you’re this,” she looked me up and down, “handsome and charming doctor who’s a genius in the theater, but I’m not falling for your act.”
“Are you sure? Because you just called me charming and haven’t asked me to let you go.”
As if she’d just realized only mere centimeters separated us, she attempted to pull back but my grip tightened around her wrist for a few more seconds before I finally let her go.
She took several steps back as if I’d just burned her, her fingers brushing over the skin where we’d just touched.
My mouth curled into a small grin at the blush creeping over her neck and face. I looked away from the gesture and met her gaze. “Just for your information, I didn’t steal anything from you. I did you a favor so the word I think you’re looking for is thank you.”
“Thank you?” Azara cocked an eyebrow as she spat the word.
“Yes, thank you,” I repeated, removing my scrub cap and running a hand through my hair. “If it wasn’t for my kindness and working overtime to help you, Mr. Alistair would be quite unhappy right now.”
“I could have done it once I was done with my other patient.”
I abandoned my post next to the sink and walked toward her. Her body faltered back when I paused next to her. “Yes, but Marcella was the one who asked me for my help, so I did. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date waiting for me at home.”
Her posture stiffened at the words date and the earlier flush darkening her cheek reappeared. She had nothing to be jealous of since my date in question was with my bed and leftovers from last night’s takeout from UMMA.
But it didn’t stop the slow smile spread across my face as I walked out the room without another word.
I was well-aware I was playing with fire, but I found myself not caring.
1 ? Nine-tailed fox (Korean)
2 ? A tradition of bowing to show elders respect during the Lunar New Year (Seollal)