THE BILLIONAIRE NEXT DOOR

TERMS IN PRACTICE

EMMA

Now that’s how I got myself into his life. Josh’s problems were gone now.

Not solved. Not healed. Just gone in the way a storm disappears after destroying everything in its path—quietly, without explanation, leaving you to pick through what’s left.

Ethan has managed to set him up and one of his companies in Illinois, to keep him away from other dangerous men like Rico. I wouldn’t lie, I was glad.

That’s it. That’s all there is.

No police. No threats. No follow-up calls. Just absence. And that scares me just a little less.

Scrubs on. Hair tied back. Badge clipped into place. I walk the halls of Maplewood General Hospital like I’ve done a thousand times before, greeting patients, checking vitals, documenting notes. If anyone notices the way my hands shake slightly when I’m alone, they don’t say anything.

I’m charting when my phone vibrates in my pocket.

Once.

I freeze.

Then I take it out slowly, like it might burn me.

Ethan Hayes

Just one line: You’re on evening duty today. Leave at four.

No greeting. No explanation. Just instruction.

My heart pounds, I should get used to this.

I look at the clock on the wall. 11:37 a.m.

He said whenever he calls, I answer. Whenever he needs me, I show up.

And here it is.

I swallow hard and slip the phone back into my pocket.

The strangest thing is—no one questions it.

At three thirty, my supervisor tells me I can clock out early. Says there’s been a “schedule adjustment.” She won’t meet my eyes when she says it.

That’s when it hits me fully. He wasn’t exaggerating.

I walk out of the hospital at four on the dot, the afternoon sun warm against my skin, my stomach tight with nerves. I don’t feel relieved. I don’t feel grateful. I feel owned.

My phone buzzes again as I’m stepping into the parking lot.

:Come to the house.

I don’t reply, I just drive home and walk to the mansion next to my late grandmother’s house. Crossing the street feels different now. He’s the reason Josh Is breathing.

That thought alone keeps my feet moving.

When he opens the door, he looks… calm.

Weird enough.

Dark shirt, sleeves rolled up, no jacket. Like this is just another evening. Like my heart isn’t trying to claw its way out of my chest.

“You’re on time,” he says.

I step inside.

The door closes behind me, solid, final. His house smells faintly of coffee and something woodsy, expensive. Everything is neat. Intentional. Controlled.

“What do you need?” I ask.

Straight to the point. I don’t want small talk. I don’t trust it.

He watches me for a moment before answering. Not predatory. Assessing.

“There’s a man I need you to see,” he says finally.

I exhale quietly. “Okay.”

He gestures toward the living room. “Sit.”

I do.

“There’s a private physician I could have called,” he continues. “But I didn’t.”

I don’t reply, I just let him talk.

“Because discretion matters,” he adds. “And because you’re already involved.”

That lands heavier than it should.

“He’s recovering from an injury,” Ethan adds. “I don’t need a report. I don’t need paperwork. I need someone who knows what they’re doing.”

I nod slowly. “I can do that.”

“I know.”

Silence settles between us. It’s not comfortable. Not exactly uncomfortable either. Just charged. Like something humming beneath the surface, waiting.

I stand. “Where is he?”

Ethan hesitates.

“Upstairs,” he says. “Guest room.”

I pause. “You want me… now?”

“Yes.”

I follow him up the stairs, every step echoing too loudly in my head. The guest room is spacious, immaculate. The patient—an older man, unconscious but stable—doesn’t look dangerous. Just human. Fragile.

I do my job.

Check vitals. Inspect the wound. Change the dressing. My hands steady as I focus, grounding myself in the familiar rhythm of care. This, at least, makes sense.

Ethan watches quietly from the doorway.

“You’re good,” he says after a while.

I don’t look at him. “It’s my job.”

“No,” he replies. “It’s more than that.”

When I finish, I wash my hands and turn to face him.

“That’s all,” I say. “He’ll recover fine if you get the medications I listed.”

“I will.”

I grab my bag. “Then I should go.”

He doesn’t move. “Sit,” he says again.

I hesitate this time. “Why?”

“Because,” he says calmly, “I didn’t call you here just for that.”

My pulse spikes. I sit. He pours two glasses of water, hands one to me. Our fingers brush briefly. It’s nothing.

It feels like everything.

“You did well today,” he says.

I don’t know how to respond to that.

“Josh is safe,” he reminds me. “For good.”

My chest tightens. “Thank you.”

He studies me. “That wasn’t a gift.”

I nod. “I know.”

Silence again. This one heavier.

“I won’t cross lines with you,” Ethan says eventually. “Not unless you invite it.”

I look at him, startled by the honesty.

“But don’t mistake restraint for weakness,” he continues. “Or kindness for permission.”

My throat feels dry. “I don’t.”

His gaze lingers. Not hungry. Controlled. Curious in a way that unsettles me more than desire would.

“You should rest,” he says finally.

I stand.

At the door, I pause. “Ethan?”

“Yes.”

“I still don’t like this.”

A corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “Good.”

I leave with my heart pounding, knowing one thing for certain—

This isn’t over.

It’s just begun.