The afternoon sun glared through the hospital windows, casting long shadows across the white-tiled floor. The usual symphony of beeping monitors, rushing footsteps, and murmured conversations filled the air. Lucia stepped out of Room 309, pulling off her gloves and letting out a long breath. Her day was finally over.

She smoothed a hand over her ponytail, her white coat shifting gently as she walked down the corridor, heading for the locker room. Her heels clicked softly on the floor, her body aching with exhaustion.

"Lucia!"

She turned.

Dr. Vivian rushed toward her, cheeks flushed and eyebrows drawn in a worried frown. Her long dark hair was slightly messy, and she clutched her phone tightly in one hand.

“Vivian?” Lucia blinked, surprised at her expression. “What’s wrong?”

Vivian came to a stop in front of her, breathless. “I need a huge favor.”

Lucia tilted her head. “What kind of favor?”

“There’s an emergency call—a private house visit. The patient asked for immediate attention.” Vivian’s voice dropped a little. “Very high-profile. But something just came up at my house. I have to leave. Can you go in my place?”

Lucia hesitated. “Viv, I just finished my rounds. I’m exhausted.”

“I know,” Vivian said quickly, grabbing her hand. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. You’re the only one I trust with this.”

Lucia looked at her friend, reading the sincerity in her eyes. There was desperation, too.

A long pause. Then, she gave a small nod. “Alright. I’ll go.”

Vivian let out a breath of relief and hugged her briefly. “Thank you so much.”

Lucia sighed. “Where am I going exactly?”

“You don't need to worry; they’ll send someone to get you. Just wait outside. And… maybe don’t ask too many questions.”

Lucia’s brows furrowed. “That sounds sketchy.”

Vivian gave a weak smile. “It’s just rich people being dramatic.”

Lucia rolled her eyes, turning to head toward the exit. She untied her coat as she walked, revealing her fitted black blouse tucked into high-waisted beige slacks, simple and elegant. Her stethoscope still hung loosely around her neck.

Outside, the sunlight was fading. The breeze was gentle, brushing against her skin.

A sleek black SUV pulled up in front of the hospital, windows tinted dark. A tall man in a sharp black suit stepped out, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. He walked directly toward her.

“Dr. Vivian?” he asked in a deep, unreadable voice.

Lucia paused. “Yes, that’s me.”

Without another word, he opened the door and gestured for her to get in.

She hesitated, then ducked inside, her heart skipping once—not out of fear but out of curiosity.

The door shut beside her, and the car pulled away.

Lucia sat quietly in the back of the SUV, her hands resting on her lap. No one spoke. The air inside was cool, almost tense.

When the car slowed and turned, she looked out the window—and blinked in surprise.

The black SUV was entering the grounds of a large estate.

No… not a house but a mansion.

Elegant gates parted for them, revealing a breathtaking property, trimmed hedges, and stone statues carved into perfection. The mansion loomed like something out of a private dream—white marble walls, tall glass windows, and balconies lined with iron railings.

Armed men stood on either side of the entrance, each of them dressed in black suits and black shirts, with earpieces tucked in. Their hands hovered near their hips—where weapons were clearly strapped. They barely looked at her, but she could feel their presence, heavy and alert.

Lucia’s brows furrowed slightly.

Who lives here? Who needs this kind of security?

Her eyes scanned the environment cautiously. She didn’t feel unsafe, but she felt out of place. Whoever this person was… they had money. A lot of it.

The SUV came to a stop near the front steps. The door opened, and the same suited man from earlier stepped out.

Lucia followed.

The man didn’t speak—he only gestured for her to follow, and she did.

The inside was even more stunning than the outside.

Chandelier lights hung above, and every surface—from the walls to the furniture—whispered of obscene wealth.

Lucia said nothing. She walked quietly behind the man as they moved down a long hallway, then up a staircase, and finally stopped at a closed door.

He opened it, and she stepped in.

The scent hit her first—a mixture of leather, faint antiseptic, and blood.

Then her eyes found him.

Massimo.

He lay on a massive bed, shirtless, his torso half-wrapped in bloodstained gauze. His left arm bled from a gunshot wound. Another man—possibly a medic—was standing off to the side but stepped away the moment she entered.

Lucia paused.

He looked like sin itself, with broad shoulders, a sculpted chest, and skin slightly paled from blood loss—yet even in pain, he looked so handsome and hot, his aura filled the room so commandingly.

This was their boss. It was obvious. From the silence of the room, the respect in the air, and the sheer dominance of his presence.

Massimo turned his head.

Their eyes met, and everything else fell quiet.

For a second, or maybe two, the pain in his arm vanished.

Her eyes were soft, intelligent, curious… too calm for someone standing in the den of a lion. He had seen beauty, yes. But not like this. Not this kind of innocence, wrapped in curves and confidence, walking like she didn’t know she’d just stepped into the heart of danger.

His gaze moved down, slowly.

Her blouse clung delicately to her body, her slacks hugging her waist—decent, yes… but undeniably feminine.

He hadn’t seen anyone beautiful and innocent like her.

Lucia took a step forward, unsure if she was interrupting something, then spoke softly.

“Good afternoon, sir,” she said.

He didn’t respond.

His stare didn’t waver.

Lucia tilted her head slightly. “Hello?”

His eyes finally blinked, his jaw tightening as if pulling himself back to reality. Still, he said nothing.

From the corner of the room, two of his men exchanged a glance—discreet, but telling. They had never seen their boss like this before, lost.

Lucia set her bag down, ignoring the weight of Massimo’s eyes. She was used to treating difficult patients. But this was different.

She knelt slightly, adjusting the gauze around his shoulder. The blood was darker now. Dried. She reached for her tools and looked at the wound.

The bullet was still inside.

“I need to remove this,” she said gently, professionally.

Massimo didn’t flinch. “No anesthesia.”

Lucia paused, brows drawing together. “It’s going to hurt—”

“I said no drugs,” he cut in, voice rough but calm.

Lucia swallowed. She had removed bullets before—but never from someone who refused painkillers. Still, she said nothing more.

She focused.

Her gloved fingers worked carefully, digging in. The moment the tweezers pierced deeper, blood began to well again.

She expected a wince, a grunt, or something.

But Massimo didn’t move or make a sound. He just watched her.

His gaze was steady and intense—like a hunter watching prey. Lucia could feel it burning into the side of her face, but she kept her eyes down. Steady hands. Professional focus.

“You have a steady hand,” he murmured suddenly.

She didn’t respond.

“You look familiar,” he added. “Have we met before?”

“No,” she answered shortly, keeping it formal. “This is our first meeting.”

He didn’t drop it.

“You were at Vela Blu last week. Weren’t you?”

Lucia’s head snapped up, her eyes meeting his—startled.

Vela Blu…?

She had gone to that club only once—and not for long. Her sister insisted they celebrate her birthday there. It was crowded, dark, and loud—and Lucia hated every second of it. She hadn’t even told anyone outside her family.

Her voice was sharper than intended. “How did you know that?”

Massimo’s lips curved—a slow, arrogant smirk. “So the answer is yes.”

Lucia flushed but said nothing, turning back to finish cleaning the wound.

Behind her, the two men in suits looked at one another again.

Their boss never talked this much. He wasn’t one for small talk. Or conversation. Or… interest. He didn’t mingle with strangers, let alone women.

Massimo’s voice came again, low and smooth.

“How much for a night?”

Lucia froze.

“…What?”

He looked directly at her, eyes unreadable. “One night. One million dollars.”

Her hand stopped halfway through wrapping the gauze.

She turned her head slowly, her expression stunned.

“Are you out of your mind?”

The words left her before she could stop them.

If he wasn’t injured, she might have slapped him. The sheer arrogance. The gall. Her hands clenched.

Massimo’s gaze didn’t shift. He looked amused—like he was toying with her. Testing her.

She could feel the air in the room change.

Even the men standing in the corner stiffened. No one spoke to Massimo like that. He wasn’t known for patience or mercy. And he sure as hell didn’t tolerate defiance.

She stood straight, eyes burning, breathing sharply.

“Do I look like a prostitute to you?” she snapped.

Massimo didn’t answer. He only looked at her—like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

Lucia stepped back, tossing the bloodied gauze onto the tray.

“I’m done here.”

Massimo’s voice came after a beat.

“If you change your mind…” he murmured, “you know where to find me.”

Her fists clenched. “You’re disgusting.”

She turned to walk out.

But before she reached the door, he spoke again—this time, not to her.

“Marco. Drop her off.”

Lucia didn’t slow her stride. “No need,” she spat, opening the door. “I’ll find my own way.”

She didn’t wait for a reply.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Silence followed inside the room.

Massimo leaned back against the pillows, his expression unreadable. But something lingered in his eyes—interest… and something darker.

Lucia, meanwhile, stormed down the corridor, heart pounding, hands trembling.

She didn’t know what she had just stepped into.