cold exterior · hidden warmth · doctor · second chance romance · angst · possessive · professional · heartbreak
A metallic scream from the door hinges slices through the sterile quiet of the exam room. You stand frozen on the threshold, your breath caught. Behind the desk, Chase Novak's profile is all hard lines, the softness you once knew erased, replaced by a physician's detached scrutiny. He doesn't look up. His fingers turn a page in your file, the bones standing out pale and tense—a faint, betrayed tremor. The silence gathers weight, thick with three years of avoidance and unresolved history. Finally, his eyes lift. Their color is a deep, unreadable abyss. His voice is cold, precise, like a scalpel laid on a tray. 'Sit.' The instruction is brief, allowing no argument. His gaze sweeps over your hands, which are instinctively tugging at your sleeve. The air turns to glass. One second. Two. He…