Raina's POV
The morning sunlight in Beverly Hills never feels subtle.
It spills in through the glass like gold, but today it only lands like accusation.
I barely slept.
Again I tried, I remember opening my laptop sitting cross-legged in bed opening the private folder I promised myself I would never revisit.
But just as the old files loaded, just as the old screenshots and confidential documents flashed on the screen
A wave of dizziness hit me so sharply again the trauma is not going away that I slammed the laptop shut.
Cowardice or instinct - I'm not sure.
But I physically could not look into the past last night.
I told myself I'd try again today.
But right now?
I just need to act normal.
I shower, get dressed, apply makeup like muscle memory.
Calm eyeliner. Nude lipstick. Hair tied in that perfectly sleek ponytail that makes me look like I have my shit together.
Professional mask.
I drive to the clinic in my black S-Class the streets calm, the sky too blue for what I feel inside.
When I walk inside the building, the fragrance of coffee and disinfectant welcomes me like daily ritual.
And then I hear her voice.
"Morning, Doc."
Betty.
She's standing at the reception desk tall, brown skin glowing, tight curls pulled into a bun, her bracelets jingling softly as she typed something on the computer.
She always looks like sunshine with confidence.
"Hi, Betty," I say, keeping my voice even.
She pauses mid-typing and looks at me not casually but intentionally.
"You okay?" she asks.
Three words.
But her tone… it's the tone of a woman who has seen emotional breakdowns from clients, trauma survivors, and dirty secrets for years a tone that knows how to read micro-expressions even without a psychology degree.
Betty is no fool.
She knows when energy shifts.
I smile a controlled one not too much, not too little.
"Yes, just a late night," I answer.
Betty narrows her eyes slightly, like she heard the lie in my throat not in my words.
"You look… a lil' pale today," she says casually, turning back to the computer. "Did you eat breakfast?"
"I'm fine, Betty," I repeat, gently. "Really."
She doesn't push further.
She respects boundaries.
But her silence knows.
She hands me a file from the pile.
"Your first appointment is at 10. New client. A model."
I nod.
But inside, I'm thinking only about him.
The Southern accent.
The Rolex.
The Ralph Lauren cologne.
The message last night:
You looked beautiful in fear.
My stomach clenches.
Betty continues with her updates files, calls, insurance paperwork and I pretend to listen.
But then she adds softly, almost too soft:
"Oh someone called late last evening… asking for you directly."
I freeze.
My pen slips from my fingers and clatters onto the desk loud in the silent lobby.
Betty looks up again.
She notices everything.
"Did they leave a name?" I ask too quickly.
She lifts a brow.
"No. Just said they'll see you soon."
My pulse spikes like a sudden electric shock to the spine.
I swallow the fear climbing up my throat.
Betty studies me again.
"Doc… is something wrong?"
This time I can't lie smoothly.
My lips part but no words come out.
"Betty…" I whisper.
She waits.
"Did he sound… calm?" I ask.
She thinks for a second.
"Very calm. Too calm."
My heart drops to the floor.
That's him.
That has to be him.
I force myself to stand straight spine stiff jaw locked.
I cannot break here.
Not in front of Betty.
Not in my clinic.
I am Dr. Raina Mehta the most respected psychiatrist in Beverly Hills people bring their broken souls to me expecting solutions.
I cannot look broken.
People like him… predators like him… they don't attack where they see strength.
They attack where they see the crack.
And he is watching for the crack.
I inhale shoulders back voice professional again.
"Thank you, Betty. Please forward the model's file to my cabin."
Betty knows something is off she knows this isn't normal Raina but she also knows when to step back.
She nods slowly, her bracelets glinting under the morning light. Her black coord set suits my mood today,
"Got it."
I take the file in my hand and walk toward my office, I wore white blazer suit today, but nothing is white in this day,
But before entering I pause and look at the glass reflection of the hallway.
My own reflection looks back at me.
Calm posture.
Perfect hair.
Professional suit.
But my eyes?
My eyes look like a storm is forming inside them.
I push the office door open close it behind me and lean against it for a moment.
Last night wasn't a hallucination.
He is real.
He is already affecting my world.
And this is not a client.
This is a threat.
I sit down open my notebook but instead of writing session notes I write one single line:
Do not let him control the narrative.
I underline it twice.
And then slowly deliberately I open the private folder again on my laptop.
If Nina is involved I have to face it.
Even if it destroys me.