More Than Her Doctor

Chapter Elleven.

A stunned silence swept through the party.

The water shimmered under the lights, but all anyone could see now was the dark trail of red floating near the center of the pool.

Then came the screams.

"She's bleeding!" someone shouted.

The DJ, startled, stopped the music instantly at Jake’s urgent command. The pounding bass cut out mid-beat, replaced by gasps and rising panic. Kenya shoved through the crowd, her eyes scanning wildly until she spotted the red stain in the pool. She dropped to her knees by the poolside.

“Paloma!” she screamed, voice cracking with fear. “Paloma—no, no, no!”

The regret in her voice was unmistakable. It shook the air. She’d only left her side for a moment.

For the first time ever, Cameron froze—not out of arrogance or mockery, but guilt. Real, sickening guilt.

His chest tightened, panic overtaking him. Without another thought, he tore off his shirt, revealing a muscular torso that normally earned him praise. But now, no one cheered. No one noticed.

He dove into the pool.

Seconds later, he emerged with Paloma in his arms, unconscious and bleeding. He carried her out of the water in a bridal style, gently laying her down on the soft, artificial grass nearby.

“Paloma?” he said, shaking her shoulder gently. “Wake up. Come on.”

No response.

He tapped her cheeks, called her name, but she didn’t stir. Then he felt it—wet and sticky against his palm. He looked down.

Blood.

His heart stuttered. A weight settled in his chest as realization struck.

He’d gone too far.

He opened his mouth to begin CPR—panic rising—but before he could, Paloma coughed violently, sputtering out water and gasping for breath. She clutched her head in pain, wincing.

Cameron sighed in relief. “You’re okay. Thank God—”

But Paloma blinked up at him, registering his face… and then everything came rushing back.

Rage flooded her expression. “Get away from me, you murderer!”

Cameron flinched. Her words cut deeper than he expected. But she wasn’t wrong. He had pushed it. She was bleeding. Wet. Scared. And he had done this.

Kenya reached them and collapsed beside Paloma, wrapping her arms around her in a tearful hug. “I’m so sorry, Paloma. I should never have left you. I’m so, so sorry.”

Cameron turned to his friend who hosted the party. “Jake… Can we use your bathroom? Please. She needs help.”

Jake, still shaken, nodded. “Yeah. Take the big room upstairs.”

As they slipped away from the crowd, Jake faced the partygoers with an awkward laugh. “Guys, don’t let this ruin the night! Accidents happen. Let’s… let’s get the music back on.”

The music resumed. The party carried on. But the energy had shifted.

Cameron guided the girls into Jake’s massive bedroom. Inside, he grabbed a first aid kit from under the sink. His hands moved fast but gentle, surprising both girls with his precision. His mother was a nurse, and it showed. He disinfected Paloma’s wound and wrapped it carefully, stopping the bleeding.

Neither of them said thank you. The silence between them was cold and thick with resentment.

After a moment, Cameron stood and pulled a clean shirt from his bag—his own. “You’re gonna catch a cold if you stay like that. Wear this. I’ll grab one of Jake’s for myself.”

Paloma hesitated, but accepted the shirt with a reluctant nod. She was freezing, soaked to the bone. Kenya helped her up as Cameron exited the room to give them privacy.

Once the door clicked shut, Paloma peeled off the wet fabric from her body. The sting of the cut throbbed with every motion. Kenya handed her a towel and stayed respectfully turned away as Paloma dried herself and pulled on Cameron’s oversized shirt. It draped over her, reaching mid-thigh. She felt vulnerable, exposed—nothing underneath, only a stranger’s shirt clinging to her skin.

Paloma flushed with embarrassment.

But before she could wallow in it, Kenya suddenly spoke, her voice shaky. “Paloma… I was so scared. I—I thought you died. I thought—” She sniffled, unable to finish.

Paloma turned to look at her. Kenya’s eyes were red, wide with panic that hadn’t faded.

She felt her chest soften. “Hey…” she whispered, pulling her friend into a gentle hug. “I’m okay. You were there when it mattered.”

Kenya hugged her back tightly, still trembling. “We need to go home. Now.”

Paloma nodded. “Yeah… Yeah, let’s go.”

But as she stood, a thought hit her like a bolt of lightning.

Seojin.

She had overstayed. Way past what he’d allowed. He was going to be furious.

Meanwhile…

Seojin paced back and forth in his living room, the clock ticking loudly in his ears.

She was one hour and thirty minutes late.

His jaw clenched. Worry gnawed at him with every second that passed. He’d told her not to stay too long, not to push it. But now…

He grabbed his keys without hesitation and stormed to his car. As the engine roared to life, he tapped the screen on his dashboard.

A blinking dot appeared on the map.

He had installed a small tracking device in her earrings the night he gave them to her. Not because he didn’t trust her—but because he didn’t trust the world.

His tires screeched as he sped into the night, following the blinking light.

When he finally arrived, he spotted two familiar figures sitting at a waiting area—Kenya and Paloma.

His chest tightened when he saw Paloma. Her head was lowered, her body wrapped in a shirt that was clearly not her own. Wet hair clung to her skin. Through the fabric, her n*****s were visibly outlined.

His grip on the steering wheel turned white.

He stepped out and approached swiftly.

Kenya’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Wait… Professor Park?”

Her jaw dropped. “And—damn, you’re hot in casual wear.”

Seojin didn’t respond. He crouched down and gently scooped Paloma into his arms. She gasped in surprise but said nothing, only looked at him with wide eyes. Her relief was palpable… but he didn’t meet her gaze.

“Wait… how?” Kenya asked, gaping. “What is going on?”

“No time to explain,” Seojin muttered, already walking toward his car. “Get in. I’ll drop you off. And explain everything on the way.”

Kenya scrambled in behind them, still shocked and speechless.

As Seojin drove, Paloma stared out the window, unable to look at him. Her heart pounded in her chest.

She didn’t need to see his face to know—he was angry.

And maybe… disappointed.

…

The ride home was silent.

Seojin’s knuckles gripped the steering wheel, and Paloma didn’t dare meet his gaze. Kenya tried her best to explain everything from the party—how things escalated, how she left Paloma for just a second, how Cameron dived in and carried her out—but none of it seemed to soften the thunderclouds forming over Seojin’s expression.

Once home, Kenya quietly slipped away, murmuring a final apology to Paloma before leaving. The door shut behind her with a click.

Then came the storm.

“What the hell were you thinking, Paloma?” Seojin’s voice was low but sharp, slicing through the air. “I told you not to stay out too long. And you—” His eyes swept over her, lingering on the faint bandage over her wound, her damp hair, her trembling posture. “Do you have any idea what I went through when I couldn’t reach you?”

Paloma shrank under his gaze. She had never seen him like this—so frustrated, so visibly shaken.

“I didn’t want to let you out of my sight because of this exact reason,” he continued, pacing the living room. “You think it’s just about rules? No. It’s because people are reckless. Because the world doesn’t care that you're delicate, or unguarded. I care.”

“I…” she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Only tears.

They slipped down her cheeks in silence, soaking the collar of the oversized shirt she still wore. Her lips trembled as she tried to stop them, but the sobs came anyway—hot and fast and painful.

Seojin’s anger melted instantly.

“Don’t cry,” he said softly, his voice losing its edge. He stepped closer. “Paloma…”

But she didn’t stop.

With a sigh, he scooped her gently into his arms, settling her onto his lap on the couch. Her head pressed into his chest, and she wept openly, small and fragile against him. She curled up like a child, her legs tucked in, hands clinging to his shirt. He cradled her with one arm and patted her back with the other.

“You’re okay now,” he murmured into her hair. “You’re safe.”

Eventually, when her sobs became sniffles, he carried her to the dining table and set her down. She looked exhausted, cheeks stained with tears, hair disheveled. Food was already warmed—he had prepared it before the panic set in. But she didn’t move.

“I’m not hungry,” she whispered.

“I didn’t ask,” he said, pulling the chair close. “Eat.”

When she didn’t lift her spoon, Seojin picked it up himself. He fed her quietly, patiently. Spoon by spoon. Her lips parted reluctantly, accepting the warm food. She chewed slowly, staring into space. The care in his actions didn’t go unnoticed.

After dinner, she stood, still quiet.

“I should shower…” she mumbled.

“Yeah,” Seojin nodded, helping her to her feet.

But as she turned away, she paused, twisting her fingers nervously.

“Can you stay with me… in the shower?” she asked, her voice small.

Seojin blinked. “Paloma—no. I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because if I do,” he said carefully, his voice low, “I won’t be able to control myself.”

The honesty of it stunned her.

Something flickered in her chest—excitement… and disappointment.

So he wanted her. But he still chose control, restraint, the rules over her. Her lips twitched into a soft smile, even as her eyes dimmed a little.

“I can’t be alone,” she said after a moment. “Please.”

Seojin sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “Fine. I’ll wait outside the door.”

And he did.

He sat on the floor with his back against the bathroom door as she showered. Every so often, he asked, “You okay?”

“Yeah…” she called back softly.

When she was done, she emerged in her soft pajamas, her hair wrapped in a towel. Her eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but her voice was clear.

“Can I sleep in your room tonight?”

Seojin looked at her, stunned. “Paloma—”

“I’m scared,” she whispered. Her voice cracked. “I—I can’t sleep alone. Every time I close my eyes, I see the water. The blood. Please…”

His chest tightened.

Reluctantly, he nodded.

Paloma’s face lit with a tiny spark of comfort. She rushed to her room, grabbed her pillow, and padded into his room barefoot. Seojin laid on one side of the bed, staring at the ceiling as she settled beside him. Her presence was warm. Close. Distracting.

She turned to face him.

“Are you really going to sleep like that?” she asked softly, teasing just a little.

He let out a breath. “Don’t push it.”

But she didn’t laugh. Her face turned solemn.

“I’m scared.”

Seojin turned to her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close against his chest.

“I’m here,” he murmured into her hair. “Sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her hands clung to his shirt again, just like before. “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

He kissed her forehead gently, lingering there, eyes closed.

“I promise.”

And slowly, her breathing evened out. The tension in her limbs melted as she drifted into sleep in the safety of his arms.

Seojin remained still for a long while, watching her, listening to her quiet breaths, until his own eyes began to close. He held her tighter, protectively, as though letting go would cause the world to fall apart.

And finally, he slept too—wrapped around the girl he wasn’t supposed to love.