The alarm on Tess's old bedside clock blared at 4:15 a.m., dragging me out of whatever dream I'd been clinging to. My hand slapped the snooze button, but the ache in my stomach reminded me why I was awake in the first place.
First day assisting in surgery.
I cried all night. I hadn't slept. I felt nauseous and a little dizzy but I wasn't sure if it was from pregnancy, nerves, or the simple fact that my life had been unraveling thread by thread since the wedding.
I threw on a hoodie over leggings and slipped on my sneakers. The city was still asleep outside, the kind of eerie quiet that made every sound feel exaggerated.
When I stepped out of the apartment building, I saw him.
Leaning against a sleek black Ferrari 812 Superfast like it was just some casual morning ride. His arms folded. One foot crossed over the other. Sunglasses on even in the dark.
Adrian Huntley.
Waiting.
For me.
He opened the door before I could say a word. Just nodded toward the passenger seat.
"Get in."
And because my body had somehow already started responding to his voice before my brain could process it, I did. I slid in, heart hammering, the soft leather seat cold against my thighs.
He walked around to his side, calm and composed, and got in.
The silence stretched thick between us as we pulled away from the curb. The engine purred like a beast being restrained.
"Nice of you to be on time," he said finally, eyes never leaving the road. "I expected you to flake. That's what girls like you do, right?"
My head snapped toward him, confused. "Girls like me?"
"You know," he said, glancing at me briefly, "the kind who build their entire identity around a man. Then spiral when he marries someone else."
I didn't reply.
He continued. "You were with Marcus for what, five years? Just the girlfriend. Never the wife. You played house, let yourself believe you mattered more than you did."
His words sliced through me like a dull knife. My jaw tensed, but I kept my gaze fixed outside the window.
"And now," he added casually, "you're here. Pregnant. Alone. Life has a way of correcting us when we try to shortcut our lessons."
"I wasn't shortcutting anything," I muttered, my voice low.
"No?" he said, amused. "You handed your entire life over to a man. Made him your god. Then got angry when he reminded you that you weren't his world."
That one hit so hard I flinched.
He glanced over at me, smirked, then added, "You should've found yourself before you tried to find a man. But maybe this…" he gestured toward me, toward the space between us. "maybe this is your wake-up call."
I said nothing. The lump in my throat threatened to rise into tears, but I swallowed it down. Hard.
When we pulled into the underground garage beneath Huntley Corp, the guards didn't ask for clearance. They simply saluted and opened every gate before we even slowed down.
No codes. No scans. The building obeyed him like he was the emperor of a fortress.
Adrian walked ahead without looking back, and I followed, still stung by his words but too proud to show it.
He led me through a narrow hallway and pushed open a door marked Personnel Only. Inside was a private changing area, immaculate, sleek. One row of lockers gleamed under soft white lighting.
There was one locker with my name on it: G. Adele.
Inside were neatly folded navy scrubs embroidered with my name, and a pair of fresh white sneakers in my size.
"You have ten minutes," Adrian said, glancing at his watch. "Don't be late."
I changed quickly, still trembling slightly. When I stepped out, he was waiting. He gave me a once-over. No comment. Just turned and led me upstairs.
The top floor looked nothing like an office. It was a hospital. A high end, private surgical facility with floor-to-ceiling glass that offered a 360-degree view of the city skyline. It smelled like antiseptic and steel.
We stopped outside a frosted glass door labeled Surgical Prep.
"Clean up. Gloves. Scrub in. And do not ask questions," Adrian ordered, voice like iron.
I nodded and stepped inside.
The room beyond was controlled chaos. A man lay on the table with a gunshot wound to the chest. Blood stained the surgical drapes, monitors beeped, and a female surgeon was already deep into the procedure. The nurses, also all women moved around with calm, robotic precision.
I froze for a moment. Tattoos covered the man's chest, scars like he was cut or stabbed a few times too. I tried to focus, tried to remember my training, but this was nothing like the university hospital rotations I did during residency.
And no one… no one seemed surprised this was happening. Not the bullet. Not the ink. Not the scars. Not the bodyguards flanking the doors.
I stepped forward when a nurse motioned for suction. I did it. My hand steady, though my insides were not.
They didn't smile. One nurse side eyed me. Another just ignored me completely. Even the surgeon, a polished woman with cold hazel eyes and matte lipstick, barely acknowledged me except when she spoke to me like I was a temp assistant.
She mentioned Adrian once, calling him by name like she knew him personally.
Personally.
I didn't like how that made me feel. That also caught me by surprise but I couldn't dwell on it.
Three hours later, the bleeding was stopped, the man stabilized, and the room began to clear. As soon as the adrenaline wore off, my stomach turned. I didn't try to make it to the restroom. I needed privacy.
The second the surgery was over, I darted down the hallway, down the stairs, one arm over my mouth. The door to my designated rest suite was barely shut before I dropped to my knees, collapsed over the toilet, and emptied my stomach into the bowl.
My whole body trembled. My throat burned. Tears blurred my vision.
I didn't hear the door open, but I felt him.
A warm hand slid into my hair, gathering it gently out of the way. Fingers moved through the strands with a softness that disarmed me completely. Another hand placed a cool towel beside me. Then I heard his voice.
Low. Careful.
"Breathe slowly," Adrian said. "Don't force it."
I lifted my head slightly, dizzy. His face was close… closer than I expected. Crouched beside me, coat still on, tie loosened at the collar, Adrian Huntley looked… concerned. Not angry. Not annoyed. But quietly, deeply… concerned.
His eyes searched mine.
No sarcasm. No coldness. Just this almost haunted confusion, like he didn't know why he was here holding me but couldn't bring himself to walk away either.
"You're okay now?" he asked, quieter this time. "Or do I need to carry you to medical myself?"
I gave a weak shake of my head and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "I'm fine. It's just… everything."
He pressed the cool towel into my palm and reached behind him to flush the toilet without looking away from me. His movements were slow, like he was trying not to overwhelm me.
I glanced at him. "Why are you doing this?"
His brow furrowed. "You're on my staff."
"That's not why." I said. This time, my eyes searching his.
His jaw clenched. That silence again.
Then: "You didn't faint in there. Didn't panic. You held it together until it was over. That means something."
I swallowed, heart hammering in my chest and not from the nausea, but from the way he was looking at me. Like he couldn't figure me out and hated how much he wanted to.
Just then, the door creaked open. The cold eyed surgeon stepped in, clipboard in hand. She stopped mid-step when she saw us: me on the floor, Adrian crouched next to me, hand still lightly cradling the back of my head.
Her eyes flicked between us.
Something flickered behind them. Curiosity. Surprise. Something harder to name.
She didn't speak. Just waited… silently, rigidly until Adrian stood.
But he didn't leave right away.
He took one last look at me. His eyes lingered on my face, as if trying to memorize something. Or erase something he wasn't ready to feel.
"You're done for the day," he said, voice low. "No arguments."
I nodded.
He turned to the surgeon. "Check her vitals. Everything."
She nodded once.
But even as Adrian walked out, I felt her gaze still fixed on me. Studying. Processing.
Like I was suddenly more interesting because of the man who had just touched my hair.