Mature Bitch's Obsessed Lover

She was supposed to be just another spoiled heiress flatlining on a penthouse floor. One more overdose. One more file stamped “troubled rich girl.” Then Dr. Rowan Blackwood looked at her like she was someone not special and that single, stupid moment of boldness lit a fuse no one saw coming. Now the seventeen-year-old billionaire heir won’t stop until she owns Rowan completely. Body. Mind. Soul. She’ll buy the hospital wing if she has to. She’ll show up at 3 a.m. outside Rowan’s locked apartment door. She’ll burn every boundary, break every rule, ruin every excuse Rowan tries to hide behind because once someone sees the real, bleeding girl underneath the cocaine and couture, Isadora Ravencroft doesn’t let go. Ever. Rowan should run. Ethics scream it. The law demands it. Her career would survive it. But every time those fever-bright eyes lock on hers, every time that trembling, manic hand reaches out like it’s drowning… something inside the unflinching doctor starts to fracture. One wrong touch. One forbidden kiss in the dark. One night where detox sweat and desperate sobs blur into something neither of them can name. They’re definitely not supposed to *need* this. But obsession doesn’t ask for permission. And healing… healing can look a lot like destruction when the wrong two people find each other at the worst possible time. Welcome to the kind of love that ruins lives and might just save them anyway. Dark. Forbidden. Addictive. You won’t look away. Even when you know you should. ———— The audio was clean.  Crisp.  Every hitch, every gasp, every whispered "yes" and "more" rendered in perfect high-definition clarity. Rowan's knees buckled.  She caught herself against the door palm flat, sliding down an inch. "That's… that's illegal. You can't... you can't have that." Isadora lowered the phone slowly.  The moans cut off when she paused the video. "Illegal?" she echoed, almost gently. "Like fucking your seventeen-year-old patient in the backseat? Like letting her finger you until you screamed? Like coming home the next morning and lying to your friends that 'nothing happened'?"