Sara's grin softened into something gentler. "Maybe. But last night rattled you. More than you're admitting. And it's okay if it did. That guy got under your skin. Literally and figuratively."
Rowan set the pen down with deliberate care. "I'm not rattled. I'm annoyed. He's a walking red flag with a trust fund. Nothing more."
Emma reached over, flicked the end of Rowan's bun playfully. "Then why are your cheeks pink again just talking about him? Hmm?"
Rowan swatted her hand away, but the motion lacked real heat. "Because you two won't shut up about it."
Sara laughed, soft and warm, and leaned back. "Fine. Diversion time. Tell us about the new trauma fellow who keeps staring at you during hand-off. The one with the dimples and the terrible taste in ties. He asked about you yesterday. Again."
Emma jumped in immediately. "Yes! Distraction accepted. Spill. Did he finally ask you out or is he still doing that awkward 'I'll just stand here and stare until you notice me' thing?"
Rowan exhaled, half laugh, half sigh, and let her shoulders drop a fraction. "He asked if I wanted coffee. I said I prefer tea. He looked like I'd kicked his puppy."
Sara cackled. "Classic. Keep shooting him down. Builds character."
Emma nodded sagely. "And keeps your mind off certain blazer-wearing disasters who probably won't darken these doors again anyway. He's got yachts and private jets. Why would he sit in a fluorescent-lit consult room talking about his feelings?"
Rowan stared at the chart in front of her, unseeing, for a long second. "Yeah," she said quietly. "Why would he."
They didn't notice the way her thumb traced the edge of the page once, slow, almost unconscious.
They didn't notice the faint tremor in her exhale.
They thought Nyx Ravencroft was gone.
A spoiled footnote.
A one-night spectacle.
They had no idea he was already dressed for battle: brown blazer sharp, watch glinting, guards at his back, heading straight for the hospital doors.
And when he walked through them in less than an hour?
Rowan would have to face him.
Daily.
Unavoidable.
And the "distraction" Sara and Emma were trying so hard to provide would shatter the second those dark eyes locked on hers again.
But for now, in the lounge, with coffee and teasing and forced normalcy, Rowan let them believe she was over it.
She even managed a small, tired smile.
~~^-^~~
The black Escalade cut through Midtown traffic like a blade: tinted windows up, partition raised between Nyx and the driver, Grayson riding shotgun up front in silence.
He sat alone in the back, long legs stretched, brown blazer unbuttoned. The city blurred past in streaks of gray steel and yellow cabs, but Nyx wasn't seeing any of it.
His mind was already at Bellevue.
Rowan Blackwood.
Those full lips parting in shock last night.
The way her big hazel eyes had widened under thick lashes when Nyx dipped her: deep, possessive, throat exposed, pulse hammering against his thumb.
The heat of Rowan's body pressed flush against his during that final turn, breasts soft against his broad chest, hips brushing in a rhythm that had nothing to do with the music.
The way Rowan hadn't pushed away fast enough. Hadn't said no. Hadn't screamed for security.
Nyx's fingers flexed against the leather seat. He could still feel the silk of Rowan's dress under his palm, the dip of her waist, the way her breath had hitched when his hand traced lower. He wanted to do it again ... harder.
The thought made Nyx shift in his seat.
His phone buzzed twice in quick succession.
He glanced down.
Lexi: How's the ride, prince? Already hard thinking about your ice queen? Bet you're picturing her bent over a gurney right now.
Jade: Lmao he's definitely worked up in the back seat.
Tell us… scale of 1-10 how bad do you wanna eat her out in her own office while she's trying to take "professional notes"?
Nyx's lips curved, slow and dangerous.
He typed back one-handed, thumb flying.
Nyx:11.
I'm thinking about pinning her to the wall in her consult room. She glares at me with those big wet eyes and pretends she still hates me.
He hit send.
A three-second pause.
Lexi: Jesus Christ Nyx.
I need a cigarette after that.
Jade:You're gonna get sectioned before lunch if you walk in looking like you're about to devour her soul.
Wear the watch. Flash it when you shake her hand. Remind her who's paying for the lights in that place.
Nyx:Already wearing it.
And when she sees me in her doorway… formal, sober, waiting for my session… she'll know exactly why I'm there.
Not for help.
For her.
Lexi:You're terrifying.
I love it.
Jade: Go get your doctor, baby.
We'll be waiting for the play-by-play.
Nyx powered the screen off.
The Escalade slowed at a light.
He stared out the tinted window, city crawling past, indifferent.
His reflection stared back: tall, broad-shouldered, sharp jaw and dark eyes, mouth curved in that same predatory smile.
Bellevue loomed ahead: gray, clinical, funded by Ravencroft money.
Rowan was inside.
Waiting.
Hating him.
Wanting him.
And Nyx Ravencroft was already planning how to make the doctor break ... slowly, beautifully, irrevocably ... before the week was out.
The light turned green.
The car rolled forward.
Nyx leaned back, pulse steady and hungry.
~~^-^~~
The nurses' station on the fifth-floor addiction-medicine wing was quiet at 8:55 a.m.: just the soft beep of monitors down the hall, the rustle of charts, and Sara and Emma bent over their shared workstation, heads together, murmuring about overdue incident reports.
Sara tapped her pen against the screen.
"This one from last night… guy in bay twelve tried to leave AMA after Narcan. We need to document the restraint time exactly or admin's gonna..."
Emma cut her off mid-sentence, eyes flicking toward the corridor entrance. "Oh shit."
Sara followed her gaze.
Nyx Ravencroft walked through the double doors like he owned the hallway.
Brown blazer sharp as a blade, black trousers tailored to perfection, gold watch catching the fluorescent light with every measured step. He was tall and broad-shouldered, moving with the same predatory grace he'd had on the dance floor last night, but now it was contained, formal, weaponized.
Hair pulled into a sleek low ponytail that still managed to look defiant.
Two black-suited security operatives flanked him, one on each side, earpieces glinting, faces blank.
Sara's pen froze mid-air. Emma's mouth dropped open a fraction before she snapped it shut.
Nyx's eyes scanned the station once, quick and deliberate, then landed on them. A small, knowing smile curved his lips.
He lifted his hand in a casual wave ... two fingers, almost playful ... the gold watch flashing again.
Sara went stiff. Emma went stiffer.
Neither waved back.
They stood frozen.
Nyx didn't stop. He continued down the corridor toward the consult rooms, guards matching his stride, oxfords clicking softly on linoleum.
The wave had been deliberate: acknowledgment, taunt, promise, all at once.
Sara exhaled shakily once Nyx disappeared around the corner. "Did he just… wave at us?" she whispered.
Emma nodded slowly, still staring at the empty doorway. "Like we're old friends. Or like he knows we know what he did to Ro last night."
Sara rubbed her face with both hands. "We thought he'd never come back. We literally said it this morning. 'Rich kids don't do follow-through.' And now he's here. With security. Dressed like he's about to close a merger or fuck someone in an on-call room."
Emma swallowed. "He's going to Rowan's office. Right now. For his first session."
They exchanged a look: wide-eyed, horrified, a little awed.
Sara's voice dropped to a hiss. "We cannot tell Ro yet. She's already trying to pretend last night didn't happen. If she sees that man walk in like he owns the place…"
Emma finished for her. "… she'll lose it. Or worse. She'll freeze. And that bastard will eat it up."
Down the hall, Rowan sat in her consult room: door half-open, chart open on her desk, pen in hand, posture perfect.
Oblivious. Still convincing herself the dance, the whisper, the almost-kiss had been a one-off nightmare she could box up and file away.
She didn't hear the oxfords approaching.
Didn't see the security shadows pause outside her door.
Didn't know the man who'd haunted her sleep last night was already here: formal, sober, ready.
Waiting.
Sara and Emma moved like they'd rehearsed it: fast, synchronized, stepping out from behind the nurses' station the second Nyx rounded the final corner toward Rowan's consult room door.
They planted themselves directly in his path, arms crossed, expressions a mix of professional firmness and barely concealed panic.
Nyx stopped mid-stride. The two security guards halted a pace behind him.
Sara spoke first, voice low but sharp.
"You need an appointment first. This isn't a walk-in clinic. Dr. Blackwood's schedule is booked. You can't just..."
Emma jumped in, chin lifted.
"… show up unannounced. Even with… escort."
Nyx tilted his head slightly, studying them like interesting specimens.
Then his lips curved into that slow, dangerous smirk. "Appointment," he repeated softly, almost amused. "How quaint."
Before Sara could fire back, Grayson stepped forward. "He doesn't need an appointment. Mr. Everett arranged it. Direct approval. Full access. Daily sessions. No exceptions."
Nyx lifted one hand, casual but firm, stopping Grayson. "It's okay," he said quietly, gaze still locked on Sara and Emma. "They're just doing their jobs. Protecting their doctor."
He took one measured step closer. "I get it. You're loyal. You saw what happened last night. You're scared she'll get hurt. Or worse… compromised." His eyes flicked between them. "You're good friends. I respect that."
Sara swallowed. "Then respect boundaries. She doesn't want..."
"She doesn't know what she wants yet," Nyx cut in, voice dropping low. "But she'll figure it out. One session at a time."
Emma's voice was shaky but defiant. "You can't just barge in and..."
"I'm not barging," Nyx said calmly. "I'm expected. Scheduled. Funded." He lifted his wrist slightly, the gold watch catching the light. "Same money that pays for these lights, those charts, her salary. I'm here to do what I promised. Therapy. Recovery. All of it."
He paused, letting that sink in. Then softer, almost gentle: "But if either of you ever think she's in real danger? From me? From anyone? Tell her. Tell security. Tell whoever. I won't stop you."
Sara's jaw worked. Emma's fingers gripped the counter until her knuckles whitened.
Nyx gave them one last long look, then stepped around them toward Rowan's half-open door. The guards followed.
Inside the consult room, Rowan sat at her desk, chart open, pen in hand.
The door opened wider.
Nyx stepped through.
Tall, broad-shouldered, formal. Smirking just enough.
And the air in the room changed instantly.
Sara whispered to Emma, barely audible: "He's really doing this."
Emma nodded once. "God help Rowan."
The door clicked shut behind Nyx and his guards.
And the first session began.