Chapter 2
1542 Words
St. Aurelia Medical Center's hospital always smelled the same.
Antiseptic. Clean. Controlled.
Most people hated it. Said it was too sharp, too clinical, too close to fear and bad news. But to me, it meant something steadier. It meant structure. It meant a place where chaos had rules, where pain could be measured, where outcomes could be influenced if you were skilled enough, focused enough, strong enough. The moment I stepped through the sliding glass doors, something in my chest eased—not completely, but enough to breathe a little deeper.
The lobby was already alive. Nurses moved quickly between stations, voices low but urgent. Phones rang, monitors beeped faintly from deeper within the building, and a stretcher rolled past me with controlled speed. It was constant motion, constant tension—but it was familiar. Predictable.
“Morning, Dr. Voss.”
I glanced toward the nurse’s station, offering Claire a small nod. “Morning.”
She gave me a look that lingered just a second too long, her gaze flicking over my face. Nurses noticed everything. Exhaustion. Tension. The things you didn’t say.
“Dr. Hensley’s been looking for you,” she added. “Said it couldn’t wait.”
Of course, it couldn’t.
“I’m heading there now.”
My heels clicked softly against the polished floors as I moved down the hall. Familiar rooms passed on either side—closed doors, half-drawn curtains, families sitting in quiet worry. A man leaned against the wall outside recovery, his hands clasped tight enough to turn his knuckles white. Somewhere, a child cried before being soothed. Life and fear, side by side.
Here, I knew who I was.
By the time I reached Hensley’s office, the last traces of last night had been pushed neatly into the background. Locked away where they belonged.
I knocked once and stepped inside.
He didn’t look up immediately. “About time.”
I shut the door behind me. “Good morning.”
That earned me a brief glance over his glasses before his attention returned to the file in his hands.
“You got my message?”
“I did.”
I crossed the room, setting my bag down on the chair.
“The private consultation.”
His expression shifted, tightening slightly. “It’s not standard.”
“I figured that out from the lack of information.”
He leaned back in his chair, studying me. “He refused most of the intake.”
I paused. “Refused?”
“No full name. No background. No medical history. Private transport. Full discretion.”
Money. Power. Influence.
“What does he want?”
Hensley exhaled slowly. “He claims he’s never had a response to women. Not emotional. Not physical.”
I frowned. “And he came here for that?”
“He came for you.” That landed differently.
“Why?” I asked.
“He didn’t say.” Hensley's brow scrunched.
“That’s not how this works,” I reminded him.
“It is for him.”
I crossed my arms loosely. “And you agreed?”
“The board did,” he corrected. “He’s paying enough that no one questioned it.”
Of course, he was.
“And you?” I asked.
Hensley’s gaze sharpened. “I trust you. But I don’t like this.”
Something in his tone made my unease settle deeper.
“Where is he?” I crossed my arms.
“Private wing. Room twelve.”
I nodded once, already turning. “I’ll handle it.”
“Elara.”
I paused at the door.
“Be careful.”
“I always am.”
But even as I left, I wasn’t entirely sure it was true.
The private wing was different.
Quieter. Softer. Controlled in a way that felt almost artificial. The farther I walked, the more the usual hospital noise faded until it was replaced by silence. Thick carpets dulled my steps. Warm lighting replaced the harsh brightness of the main floors. Fresh flowers sat untouched at the reception desk.
Everything here was designed to make discomfort look elegant.
I stopped outside Room Twelve.
My hand rested on the handle for a moment longer than necessary.
It was just a patient.
Just another consultation.
I pushed the door open.
The room was dim, curtains partially drawn, light slipping through in narrow bands. The hospital bed was untouched. The tray beside it sat undisturbed.
And he was already there.
Not on the bed. In the chair. Seated like he had chosen exactly where he wanted to be. One leg crossed, posture relaxed, hands resting loosely. He wore all black—dark shirt, dark slacks—no sign of vulnerability, no trace of discomfort.
And the mask. Matte black, covering the upper half of his face. Clean lines. Deliberate.
My grip tightened slightly on the file.
“Mr. K.”
His head tilted toward me.
“Dr. Voss.”
His voice was smooth. Controlled.
I stepped inside, closing the door behind me, and moved to the chair across from him. I set the file down before sitting, keeping my posture straight, composed.
“You requested me specifically,” I said. “Why?”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“You don’t waste time.”
“I don’t like wasting it,” I said, placing the file on my desk.
“I’ve heard about you,” he responded.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“No,” he agreed. “It doesn’t.”
Silence settled between us.
“I’m here to evaluate you,” I said. “If you want my help, you need to cooperate.”
“Cooperation isn’t something I offer easily.”
“I’m not asking,” I pointed out.
Something shifted. Subtle. But real.
“Good,” he said quietly.
I ignored it. “You claim you’ve never had a response to women. Define that.”
“Nothing. No interest. No reaction. No desire.”
“And yet you’re here.” I raised an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“Why?” I asked, honestly confused.
“Because you’re the only one who’s ever made me curious.” His response caused a small reaction in me.
“That’s not a medical reason.” I responded.
“No. It isn’t.”
“You requested an alternative approach. What are you expecting?” I leaned closer.
“To give up control.”
The word settled between us.
“Explain.”
“I don’t respond to softness. Or affection. Or anything resembling attraction.”
“And you think giving up control will change that?”
“I know it will.”
I thought long and hard before I gave my answer, and about Hensley's caution to be careful.
“You came to me for help. That means you will need to follow my rules.” A pause. Then—
“Then give me your rules,” he said, without blinking.
“This is a professional setting. If we proceed, it stays within boundaries.”
“Of course.”
“I decide how this goes.” I stood, reaching for the file. “This will require multiple sessions.”
“I expected that,” he acknowledged.
“Same time tomorrow.”
“I’ll be here.”
I turned toward the door, steady, composed, completely in control of every step I took. My hand closed around the handle, my posture straight, my breathing even.
“Dr. Voss.”
I paused. “Yes?”
“You didn’t ask the most important question.”
“And what’s that?”
“Why you?”
I held his gaze for a moment, before I opened the door and walked out. A faint smile touched his mouth.
My heels carried me down the hall with quiet confidence, each step measured, controlled, unaffected. I didn’t look back. I didn’t slow. By the time I reached the corner, I was already turning, already putting distance between myself and that room, that man, that presence.
The moment I was out of sight—
I stopped. My back hit the wall harder than I intended, the impact sharp enough to snap something loose inside me. My breath left me in a quiet rush, my chest rising and falling as if I had just run instead of walked.
For a second, I just stood there. Trying to steady something that had slipped out of place. My hand came up instinctively, pressing against my sternum as if I could physically calm the rhythm there. My pulse was faster than it should have been. My breathing became uneven. And I hated it.
Hated that I had walked out of that room feeling composed—only to feel like this the second I was out of his sight.
The hallway remained quiet around me. Controlled. Normal.
But something wasn’t right. I could still feel him. Not physically. But like an imprint. Like the room had marked me somehow just by stepping inside it. I closed my eyes briefly, forcing myself to breathe slower. Deeper.
But something stayed with me.
Not fear.
Not even unease.
Something sharper.
Curiosity.
When he had said control, something in me had gone still.
And for the first time in a long time—
I wasn’t entirely sure I was the one in control.
- Writer
