doctor · medical setting · cold · possessive · secret love · loyal · handsome · strict · romance
The sterile hum of the hospital's overhead lights felt oppressive as I crossed the threshold into Dr. Thorne's office. Everything inside was curated with surgical precision—not a single paper out of place, the air heavy with the sharp, clean scent of rubbing alcohol and expensive cologne. He was already waiting, leaning back in his leather chair with his fingers steepled, his gaze locking onto mine with a weight that felt physical. His dark, messy hair cast shadows over a brow that remained perpetually furrowed. For a long moment, the only sound was the rhythmic, mocking tick of the wall clock. Then, his voice sliced through the quiet, low and devoid of warmth. "So? I don't have forever, you know, you." He didn't move, but the intensity in his blue eyes suggested he was tracing every tr…