36. -35-
Dorian
What a fucking plot twist!
Gripping my leather briefcase in my right hand, I walked through the main entrance of the hospital precisely seven minutes before eight. However, my mind stayed in my bedroom, frozen in the scene from last night.
I acknowledged the head nurse and two residents who waved at me with a nod, but I didn’t see their faces. I only saw a white Venetian mask hovering over me while I knelt before the only woman who ever managed to make me submit. Willingly, I might add.
What the….
Groaning, I threw my briefcase on the sofa in my office, realizing I had no idea how I got there. Every neuron in my brain was poisoned by her.
Her scent, mixed with a gentle orchid perfume, filled my nostrils.
Her dark eyes, clouded with satisfaction, watched me from every shadow.
Her taste. Fuck! I could still taste her on my tongue and lips.
I couldn’t focus on work. I hadn’t even checked my schedule for today. All I could dream about was making her come again, shattering her with pleasure only a devoted man could provide.
I’m going to puke! The voice screeched in my head. Are you nuts? You’re not a devoted man!
“True,” I exhaled.
I hadn’t been one for almost a decade. Since the fairy tale with the happy ending met reality and collapsed like it was made of vapor. But yesterday, for a brief moment when ma vilaine held the reins, I felt it.
After all that time, the spark in my chest ignited, and it scared the shit out of me. Because caring meant risking getting hurt. And I had enough of that for a lifetime.
But what if this time would be different? What if two psychopaths could beat the odds and find their happy ending?
You’re so pathetic, the demon whispered in my head. She kidnapped you to marry you. That isn’t love.
“It’s commitment,” I mumbled, fishing my phone from my pants pocket. “One I’m willing to be pathetic for.”
Ignoring the message from Zyon requesting updates about Valeria’s birthday party, I scrolled through the text exchange with my wife.
She left in a hurry last night as if she was petrified I would eat her alive.
A smile lifted my lips at that thought. It certainly became a plan for the near future.
Still, while I expected her to check up on me first thing in the morning, nothing came.
Maybe she watched me from between the trees as I left for work.
Or perhaps she hacked the hospital cameras again and surveilled my every step while I bounced my feet against the floor, desperate for a “good morning”.
Dorian: No reward for being a good boy. No explanation for why you left so hurriedly. No morning text. You’re being rude, ma vilaine.
I hit the send button, glaring at the words “good boy.” Why on earth did I write it? I made a mental note to never refer to myself that way again, even when it made my cock tingle, when her reply came.
Wifey: Your reward was a taste of me, and I left because I was done with you. Be grateful you got anything at all.
My brows shot up. She had never been this mean. I quickly typed the response, wondering what had happened.
Dorian: Who got your panties in a twist? Should I rearrange someone’s face for you?
The three dots appeared and disappeared a few times before the text finally lit up my screen.
Wifey: Aren’t you cute? Going all protective because of me.
My brows furrowed while my fingers ferociously created a reply, but before I could send it, my door slammed open. I raised my head from the phone, glancing in surprise at the head of my hospital, Jessica Ryan.
She stood on the threshold like she owned the fucking building. And in many ways, she did. Jessica was my first choice for the hospital leader, and everyone involved agreed.
Her resume and records were flawless. Her standards were high and unforgiving.
She made the impossible seem effortless with admirable control over every situation.
One sharp look from her forced people to rethink their miserable life choices, and those chocolate-brown eyes, glaring from behind thick black glasses, landed on me.
“Good morning?” I greeted, unintentionally making it sound like a question.
I closed my phone screen and quickly scanned her, but nothing was out of place. Her white suit was impeccable as always, literally glowing against her dark skin. Neat braids were pulled back into a structured afro style, and plump lips pressed into a firm line.
“Where is the report for social services about Aryna Stankovich?” she asked, entering the room. Her eyes jumped from the sofa full of medical books to the desk overflowing with files and charts.
“Here.” I handed it to her, recalling the talk with social services the other day. “Did she say how she fell?”
“No.” Jessica shook her head, leafing through the papers. “Her only interest is to get the stitches out.” She raised her gaze from the last page. “Where is the last part?”
“What?” I stood up and walked around the desk to look at it. And surely, the last page of Aryna’s report with my signature was missing. “I’m sure I put it there.”
“Well, obviously, you didn’t.” She returned the file, scowling at me. “Shouldn’t you be at the clinic today?”
I blinked at her, quickly masking my shock behind a charming smile. I completely forgot about two minor surgeries I should have performed this morning.
Ooooh, fuck.
“I’m on my way.”
Jessica nodded and walked to the door.
“I want the finished report on my desk by noon,” she commanded before she closed the door.
I rolled my eyes at the mess my lack of concentration caused. Hurrying to the nurse’s desk at the ER, I called the clinic and ordered my assistant to reschedule the procedures or suggest another surgeon to the patients.
“Print me the last page of Aryna Stankovich’s chart, please,” I asked the nurse at the receptionist desk, musing where the hell it was. I was one hundred percent sure it was in my house yesterday, on my sofa. It couldn’t just evaporate.
“What are you doing here?” Melody bumped my shoulder, disturbing my thoughts. She placed a plastic cup on the desk and removed her face mask. “Shouldn’t you be at the clinic today?”
“Change of plans,” I mumbled, growing annoyed with my incompetence.
Never, in seventeen years, had I missed a surgery, an examination, or been late for a shift. I always showed up, sick, beaten after a night in a fighting cage, tired after a hunt with Malin, even with a broken leg. Today was the first time I fucked up my schedule, and I hated it.
“Perfect,” Melody chirped, adding sugar to her coffee. “You can check Aryna’s forearm. She bit the resident last night and refuses to come out from under the table.”
“What?” I blinked in confusion at the head nurse, who confirmed Melody’s words with a nod.
Without asking any further questions, I took the elevator, heading for Aryna’s room. The pediatric ward wasn’t operational yet, so they'd placed her in a regular room with less supervision since her condition had improved quickly.
But as the nurse followed me, reporting last night’s struggle with the little one, I started reconsidering that decision. If she had torn her stitches out and continued to do so, we’d have to place her under 24/7 psychiatric observation.
Opening the door into the room, I immediately found a tiny body curled under the table in the corner. A sad sigh involuntarily flew from my mouth when I noticed she trembled and sobbed while sticking her tiny fingers into the bloody wound on her forearm.
“Leave, please,” I said to the nurse, taking the tray from her. She looked like she wanted to object, but I shut her up with a stern glance.
Placing the tray with bandages and disinfectant beside the bed, I felt Aryna’s puffy eyes on me. She muffled a sob, pressing her quivering small body against the wall as if trying to melt into it.
“Hello, angel.” I crouched before her, my heart aching at seeing her coral-blue eyes blown with fear and golden curls matted with blood. “Do you remember me? I’m Dorian.”
She hesitantly nodded, her bloodied fingers instinctively connecting with the stitches, or rather what was left of them.
“If you keep tearing them out,” I pointed at her swollen forearm, “You’ll stay here forever.”
“Forever?” she muttered, barely audible. The spark of hope that crossed her face put me on high alert.
“Well, not forever.” I sat on the floor, slowly moving under the table. “But loooong enough for you to grow old here.”
One corner of her lips slightly lifted when I rolled my eyes theatrically.
“You don’t want to spend your days here with me like an imprisoned princess, right?” I shook my head at that idea, my chest filling with joy that she at least stopped crying. “It’s better to go outside and play.”
She drifted her gaze to the floor, her lower lip trembling. I quickly understood my words triggered her. But why? All kids loved to play outside.
“Hey, angel.” I lowered myself to her level. “What’s wrong? Did I say something that made you sad?”
Inhaling a shaky breath, she bent her knees, trying to pull them to her chest, but instead, she cried out in pain.
“Easy.” I instinctively took her hand, stopping her from tearing the nightgown and seeing what hurt. “The glass cut you. I had to remove it. It’ll take time for it to heal.”
“H-how much time?” she asked in a thin voice, hope shining in her irises.
“Weeks,” I replied, making a silent promise to keep her here as long as possible. “Do you know how long one week is?”
Her brows furrowed, and her lips pressed into a thin line as she mused about my question. I used the time to quickly check her forearm, finding no additional damage beyond what the glass had already caused. Two stitches needed repair, but no other work was required.
“Seven… days,” Aryna whispered, unsure, glancing at me for confirmation. Her voice sounded steadier, as if the realization that she would be here longer calmed her.
“Very good.” I nodded. “I’ll check up on you every day for the next seven days.” Her face lit up, and a tiny smile grazed her lips. “But I need a promise that after I sew your arm again, you won’t tear the stitches out.”
“If I…” she started, her expression faltering, “if I don’t… you won’t come?”
“I will come every day, angel,” I claimed without hesitation, my chest tightening at seeing her concern. “But I want to help you. You need to heal.”
“But then I’ll go home,” she burst out, immediately slamming her hand over her mouth. Huge tears fell on her cheeks, and she kicked me when I tried to move closer.
“Angel,” I soothed, ignoring the boulder in my stomach. I was ready to smash anyone who hurt her in that fucking house. “You won’t go anywhere until you’re okay.”
“But…” she sobbed.
“I’m the boss here. No one will take you away without my approval.”