The clinic lights dimmed one by one.
Dr. Frederick pulled off his gloves and tossed them into the bin with a flick of his wrist, the sterile scent of antiseptic still clinging to the air. He straightened his coat, ran a hand through his dark hair, and stepped out of the consultation room—composed as ever.
A few lingering nurses greeted him politely. He nodded in return, not saying much. He never did after his final session.
The long corridor echoed with the sound of his shoes as he walked to the private exit, away from the curious eyes of the reception. Outside, his sleek black Mercedes purred to life the moment he approached. Sliding into the driver's seat, he loosened his collar and leaned back for a brief moment of stillness.
It had been a long day… but a satisfying one.
As he pulled onto the dark road, the city lights of Calverton shimmered like secrets waiting to be discovered. The world outside his tinted windows moved in silence, but inside, his mind replayed the final patient's soft whimpers, the way she trembled under his touch.
He smirked to himself.
But something shifted.
Just as he turned onto the main road, his phone buzzed on the passenger seat. He glanced at the screen—a number he didn't recognize. No name. Just a single message:
> "You think you're in control, Doctor? You haven't seen anything yet."
His brow furrowed. For a moment, silence blanketed the car. Then he chuckled lowly, fingers tightening on the steering wheel.
"Interesting," he muttered. "Looks like someone wants to play."
He hit the gas, the city stretching before him like a playground of lust, secrets, and danger.
And Dr. Frederick never turned down a challenge.
The elevator dinged softly as Dr. Frederick stepped into the dimly lit lobby of his luxury apartment building. It was late—well past midnight. The city hummed beyond the glass, bathed in the dull gold of streetlights.
He unlocked the door to his penthouse, stepped inside, and was greeted by silence. Just the way he liked it.
But then—
A knock.
It wasn't frantic. Just one soft, deliberate tap.
Frederick frowned. No one visited him uninvited. No one dared.
He opened the door… and there she stood.
Tall. Poised. Her crimson silk dress clung to every curve like it had been painted on. Lips the color of wine. Eyes sharp enough to dissect a man without a scalpel.
"Can I help you?" he asked, coolly.
"I hope so," she replied. Her voice was low and sultry, but with a teasing edge. "I heard you... specialize in treating delicate cases."
Frederick didn't move. He studied her for a beat longer than necessary.
"No appointment. No name. And yet you're standing at my door?"
She stepped forward, uninvited. "You seem like the kind of man who doesn't care for rules."
The scent of her perfume hit him—subtle, expensive, like old roses and danger.
Frederick stepped aside, letting her in. "You don't seem like the average patient."
She walked in with confidence, heels echoing against the polished marble. "I'm not."
"Then what exactly are you?"
She turned, one hand on her hip. "Call me Aria. And tonight, Doctor, I'm your most curious case yet."
His brow lifted, intrigued. "And what do you need examined?"
She smirked. "That depends. Are you as skilled with your hands as they say?"
Frederick chuckled—low and deliberate. "You'll have to tell me… when we're done."
But just before anything more could happen, Aria reached into her purse and dropped a card on the glass table.
He glanced at it—and froze.
Dr. Aria Voss
Medical Ethics Committee — Private Investigation Division
She smiled sweetly as she sat on his leather couch and crossed her legs.
"Don't worry, Dr. Frederick. I'm off-duty tonight," she said. "But tomorrow... we'll see."
The soft chime of ice in a crystal glass broke the silence. Aria sat on Frederick's leather couch, legs crossed, swirling her wine like she had all the time in the world.
Frederick leaned against the bar, eyes never leaving her.
"You came here alone," he said, voice calm. "That's bold. Or foolish."
She took a sip and met his gaze. "I've been called both. Depends who's saying it… and what they want."
He walked over slowly, setting his glass on the table. "So what do you want, Aria?"
She didn't flinch. "Answers."
"To what?"
She leaned forward slightly, enough to pull his attention to the line of her collarbone.
"Tell me, Doctor… do you ever feel guilty?"
He arched an eyebrow. "Only when I leave someone unsatisfied. Fortunately—"
"—that rarely happens?" she finished for him, a slight smirk tugging her lips. "I've read the reviews."
Frederick chuckled. "You're not here to be satisfied though, are you?"
She set down her glass. "What makes you think I haven't already been?"
There was a pause.
The tension was thick, but neither of them blinked.
Then, softly, he said, "You're playing a dangerous game."
Aria stood and walked over to him—close enough that the heat between them felt tangible.
"You don't scare me, Frederick."
"No?" he whispered.
"No."
She reached for his wrist and placed his hand just at the curve of her waist.
"If I were your patient," she whispered, "would you touch me differently?"
He moved slowly, hand sliding across the silk of her dress—almost to her lower back, but stopping just shy.
"You're not my patient," he said.
"Then why did you let me in?" she asked, eyes locked on his.
"Because I was curious," he said, voice husky. "Now I'm… intrigued."
Just then, she stepped back.
"Good," she said, reclaiming her glass. "You should be."
And then she added—too softly to be casual—
"Because I'm not the only one watching you."
Frederick stilled. But Aria only smirked again and turned toward the balcony, letting the night breeze blow through her hair.
Behind her, Frederick's eyes narrowed.
This was no ordinary woman. No ordinary threat.
She came with secrets, sharp as blades—and she wasn't afraid to bleed him with them.
But neither was he afraid to play her game.