Being a family doctor in domineering literature

At seven o'clock in the evening, Ethan Mitchell made himself a plate of butterfly pasta. Just as he was about to pour meat sauce over it, the doorbell suddenly rang. The person outside seemed in a hurry, not only pressing the doorbell but also knocking urgently. Ethan froze for a moment, put down the plate, and walked to the door to open it. Standing outside were two familiar faces, both dressed in black suits and wearing black sunglasses. Before Ethan could react, the two men grabbed his arms and started dragging him outside. In front of these two large, muscular men, Ethan, who was 1.8 meters tall, felt like a small chick being dragged to the elevator. One of his fluffy slippers fell off midway. The man in black stopped, bent down, picked up the slipper, and put it back on for him. Ethan’s pupils shifted slightly, and his usually calm face twitched a little. "What are you doing?" The man picking up the slipper looked at him. "Doctor Mitchell, Mr. Harris is not feeling well." Ethan almost choked. He looked down at his sleepwear, awkwardly saying, "Then, let me change my clothes." The man’s expression was more subtle than Ethan’s. "Mr. Harris’s condition is urgent." And a bit crazy. Ethan was filled with suspicion. "How urgent?" Didn’t you just say it was a minor illness? "It’s very urgent," the man avoided Ethan’s gaze. "You’ll know once you get there." The elevator dinged just at that moment, and the doors opened. The two men exchanged a look and, with a tacit understanding, once again grabbed Ethan and walked into the elevator. Ethan thought to himself, every rich CEO in literature, besides a butler who would say “I haven’t seen the young master so happy in a long time,” also always has a family doctor. And Ethan Mitchell was one such family doctor, solving various medical issues for the CEOs. That’s right, CEOs, plural. He had four clients in total, with the first one being the most troublesome. These two bodyguards were from his first client’s family. After being pushed into the car by the bodyguards, the black Bentley took a shortcut, speeding along and arriving at Mr. Harris’s villa in just over twenty minutes. When he got out of the car, Ethan, still a little dizzy from the ride, felt his head throb and his legs weaken. The bodyguards wasted no time and immediately lifted him up, walking quickly up the stairs. Ethan felt embarrassed and was about to say he could walk on his own when Mr. Harris’s assistant approached from the door. He stepped forward, shoved a medical kit into Ethan’s arms, and said earnestly, "Sorry for troubling you, Doctor Mitchell." Ethan had no time to say a word before he was pushed inside, medical kit and all. What’s going on? Ethan, wearing his fluffy slippers and sleepwear, stood dumbfounded at the entrance. The faint metallic rust smell in the air made Ethan’s nose twitch. As a doctor, he was unusually sensitive to the scent of blood, and following the scent, he walked a few steps forward. Crossing the foyer, the sight in the living room made Ethan’s heart stop. The floor was covered in glass shards, mixed with large amounts of blood, and furniture was scattered all over the place. The marble coffee table had cracks resembling spider webs. By the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, his client, Mr. Harris, was strangling a young man. The young man’s shirt was soaked in blood, his chest and arms covered in it, while the nearby curtain fluttered in the wind. My god, is this a murder scene? Ethan’s hairs stood on end. Just as he was about to pull out his phone to call the police, a cold, mocking voice suddenly echoed from the living room. “You weren’t trying to kill me, were you?” Mr. Harris grabbed the young man’s hand that was holding a fruit knife and pressed the bloody tip against his own carotid artery, his expression cold. "Don’t shake, hold it steady, and stab me right here." Ethan paused his actions upon realizing the young man was the one holding the knife. The young man, Gabriel Moore, clenched his trembling jaw and tried to break free from Mr. Harris’s grip. The knife, in the struggle, cut through Mr. Harris’s clothes and broke his skin. Seeing the blood spilling out, Gabriel let go of the knife, his red eyes filled with hatred. "You’re insane." Mr. Harris laughed, his eyes filled with a chilling ruthlessness. "If you ever meet Lin Xueyan again, even once, I’ll chop off one of his fingers." Gabriel’s lips trembled, paling. Ethan, who had been eavesdropping from the foyer, finally understood what had driven his client mad when he heard the name Lin Xueyan. Lin Xueyan was Gabriel’s first love. They had been in a stable relationship for three years, but then Mr. Harris had appeared. Mr. Harris had fallen for the cool and distant Gabriel at first sight, and the two played a cat-and-mouse game of "I chase you, you run, I chase you again." Until Lin Xueyan had a car accident and required a huge sum for surgery. Gabriel was an orphan, and Lin Xueyan came from an ordinary family. They couldn’t afford the exorbitant surgery fees. At that moment, Mr. Harris took advantage of the situation, and under threats and persuasion, Gabriel agreed to become his lover in exchange for the money for Lin Xueyan’s treatment. After the surgery, Lin Xueyan’s life was saved, but he remained unconscious for over half a year. So, Gabriel had secretly gone to visit Lin Xueyan in the hospital, and that’s when Mr. Harris had caught him, leading to the present situation. Ethan sighed inwardly. Was romance really meant to be this bloody? Should he treat Mr. Harris’s wounds now? Wait, the fruit knife is still in his hand. Ethan peeked over. Oh no, it’s in Mr. Harris’s hand. He was emotionally unstable and liked to go crazy, so it might be best to wait before jumping in, lest he end up being an innocent casualty. Suddenly, Ethan’s eyes widened. In the living room, Mr. Harris pushed Gabriel against the floor-to-ceiling window, gripping Gabriel’s chin to force him to look up, then leaned down to kiss him, biting his lips. Gabriel, torn between anger and shock, tried to push Mr. Harris away by shaking his head, but when he couldn’t, he grabbed Mr. Harris’s injured arm. Mr. Harris winced in pain but didn’t let go of Gabriel. Instead, he kissed him more forcefully. The taste of blood, their labored breaths, and the sound of wetness as they kissed assaulted Ethan’s senses. Ethan stood frozen, unable to comprehend the sudden turn of events. What the hell? There must be a reason for this, right? Why are they kissing? Doesn’t it hurt from the wounds? Just as Ethan was stunned, the door swung open, and the night breeze rushed in. Ethan thought it was Mr. Harris’s assistant and turned around to look. Oh boy, it’s the old CEO. To be more precise, it’s Mr. Harris’s grandfather. Someone must have tipped off the old man. His eyes were filled with coldness, and behind him were four large bodyguards, exuding an intimidating presence. Mr. Harris’s assistant and the bodyguards were shrinking back in fear. Ethan instinctively stepped aside to let the old man pass to teach his crazy grandson a lesson. The old man didn’t even glance at the chaos in the living room. He turned to the bodyguards behind him and said, "Take Mr. Moore back." Although he used the word "please," there was no trace of warmth or politeness in his tone. The bodyguards immediately went toward Gabriel. Mr. Harris stepped forward, drove the fruit knife into the wooden bookshelf, and coldly said, "I dare anyone to touch him." The air around him was filled with an unyielding aura, just like Mr. Harris’s grandfather. Looking at the rebellious grandson he had raised, Mr. Harris’s grandfather wasn’t angry. He simply said in a flat voice, "I told you before, don’t keep things you can’t tame by your side." Ethan furrowed his brow. He had thought the old CEO would use force to discipline his crazy grandson, but this was a whole different scene. Gabriel clenched his fists in humiliation. Mr. Harris stared at his grandfather with the same defiant attitude. "This is my problem. I don’t need your interference." The old man sneered but didn’t insist on taking Gabriel away. Instead, he told Mr. Harris to go back to the family estate with him. Mr. Harris glanced at Gabriel, who turned his face away coldly. Mr. Harris said nothing and turned to follow his grandfather out. As they passed Ethan, Mr. Harris paused slightly and whispered, "He cut his hand on some glass." With that, he left the villa and got into the old man’s car. Once Mr. Harris left, Gabriel rushed to the bathroom, vomiting violently. This was the result of emotional turmoil, causing a muscle spasm in his gastrointestinal tract. Ethan stood by the bathroom door, waiting for Gabriel to come out. Mr. Harris’s assistant walked over and asked, "Is Mr. Moore okay?" Ethan turned to look at the assistant. The assistant, meeting Ethan’s gaze, seemed a little guilty, and he awkwardly chuckled. "Sorry, Doctor Mitchell. The situation was too urgent, and we made you come in your sleepwear." The assistant felt guilty, but… He couldn’t help but sneak another glance at Ethan. Ethan usually dressed meticulously—his shirt always buttoned all the way to the top, his trousers without a single crease, and his hair neatly combed, radiating a professional air. But now, standing before him, Ethan was in fluffy slippers with bunny ears, his unkempt black hair falling loosely, his sharp nose and rosy lips still youthful, making him look three to four years younger than his real age. The assistant thought to himself, "Wow, Doctor Mitchell actually has such a homey side." It was hard not to suspect he might be one of those people who would treat cats and dogs like babies and even make meowing sounds to them. "Fix the cat, where are you running to?" No matter how much they run, they can’t escape the palm of their owner. Ethan had no idea what the assistant was imagining, but he could sense the increasingly strange look in his eyes. The assistant spoke mysteriously, "Doctor Mitchell’s slippers are so unique. They look comfortable." Ethan’s toes twitched, ready to throw the assistant out of his mental house, but his face remained calm, offering the assistant a polite, professional smile. The assistant nodded knowingly. Ethan sighed inwardly. Gabriel stayed in the bathroom for over an hour. When he finally came out, Ethan, not wanting to leave him alone, quickly treated his small wounds. Gabriel kept his eyes closed, remaining silent the entire time. His delicate face remained cold, with veins clearly visible on his neck. His hands, however, were tightly clenched. Ethan looked down at Gabriel for a moment, but said nothing as he quickly finished treating his wounds. By the time Ethan returned home from Mr. Harris’s villa, his butterfly pasta had already cooled down. He heated it up in the microwave for two minutes, then fried an egg with a soft yolk and made do with dinner. Ethan had a regular routine. Without work, he went to bed at 10:30 sharp. But at midnight, Ethan suddenly shot up from his bed, his brows furrowed. Wait, is he sick? Why is he caring about what shoes people are wearing?