Morning arrived soft and meek.
The sky was washed in pale gold with sunlight spilling gently over the quiet streets as the city stretched awake. The air carried that early-hour calm before traffic and noise would claw it apart.
And then the Lamborghini purred into the parking lot.
It clearly did not belong there.
The sleek engine cut through the stillness as Karen guided it smoothly into a spot directly in front of the clinic building. The paint gleamed beneath the morning sun, polished to the point of arrogance. It reflected the modest structure of the clinic like it was mocking it.
She stepped out slowly.
Tall leather boots clicked sharply against the pavement, each step deliberate. She adjusted her cropped fur jacket over the sleeveless fitted gown that clung to her body like it had been sculpted onto her. The fabric hugged her waist and hips without apology.
Her makeup was bold and unapologetically loud; her eyeliner precise and lips deliberate. The ends of her hair were dyed bright gold, catching the morning light like she had personally requested it.
Even with one hand splinted, she didn’t need to look good — she chose to.
Her gaze flicked across the parking lot.
Drogo’s car was absent.
She knew because she remembered his car — a dull, forgettable vehicle — one of those commoner, poverty-grade machines that blended into society by design.
What even was the brand of the box he drove?
She dismissed the thought instantly.
Her eyes returned to the clinic entrance.
Eight o’clock was the official start time. She checked her phone.
7:25 a.m.
Thirty-five minutes early.
Karen walked inside.
The faint scent of old paper and disinfectant greeted her as the door chimed softly.
Behind the front desk sat old, grumpy Mary. So Karen had nicknamed her.
Always so grumpy, so unhappy, so wrinkled and disapproving…
The old woman looked up — and froze.
Her eyes traveled from Karen’s gold-tipped hair down to the fitted short dress, the cropped fur jacket, and the tall boots.
Judgment could not even begin to define the glare in her eyes.
Karen noticed — of course she noticed.
She stared right back, her lips dented into a smirk.
There would be no greeting or word between them.
Why waste pleasantries on someone whose entire wardrobe cost less than her left boot? Karen thought.
Mary’s lips pressed thin.
Karen didn’t blink.
After a tense second, Karen finally turned away first — not because she lost, but because she was bored.
Her heels echoed off the walls as she made her way into Drogo’s office and stepped inside without hesitation.
The room was still, orderly — exactly as he had left it the previous evening.
She smiled faintly.
Walking straight to his desk, she sat down in his chair again, crossing her legs comfortably. She was starting to get used to this seat of his.
The leather seat molded beneath her like it recognized her intrusion by now.
7:31 a.m.
Nine minutes until he arrived.
She leaned back, her fingers drumming lightly against the armrest, scanning the room with a different kind of calculation this time.
She hadn’t come early out of obedience, definitely not because she was diligent. Oh hell forbid, no… But because she had her own reasons.
And for once, she intended to be ready before he was.
7:40 a.m.
Drogo’s car turned into the parking lot with its usual quiet precision.
Until he noticed it.
The golden Lamborghini parked in his usual parking spot.
He slowed instinctively, knitting his brows as the polished body of the car reflected back at him like it owned the entire building. For a brief moment, he wondered if he had scheduled a high-profile client and somehow forgotten.
Impossible, he thought to himself.
He’d never forget.
He checked his watch.
7:41.
He tapped his phone, scanning through his appointments. Nothing out of the ordinary.
His jaw tightened slightly.
So who would have parked there?
After a moment’s pause, he steered into another spot with a level of controlled irritation and a hint of confusion.
Could it be a new client?
He stepped out of his vehicle, locking it with a quiet click, and walked toward the entrance.
The door chimed as he entered.
Mary looked up.
Her expression was quite… expressive.
She glared toward the hallway, then glared back at him.
Drogo paused, considering asking what happened, but the dots in his head quickly aligned.
From the tightness in her lips and the particular shade of annoyance in her eyes, he already knew.
It had to be about her.
He exhaled slowly and gestured for Mary to calm down, feeling her simmering disapproval from where she stood.
Then he walked toward his office without waiting.
The moment he pushed the door open, his expression dropped.
There she was, seated comfortably at his desk.
Her legs were crossed and stretched out on the table surface without an ounce of fear.
Just pure audacity.
The moment she saw him, her entire face lit up.
“Dr., good morning! Welcome back.” She leaned forward. “Oh, Dr. Vetter. The office was so boring without you!”
She stood up immediately.
Bare arms left exposed, the fitted gown clinging without mercy to every curve it could find. The fabric pressed tightly along her hips, outlining more than it concealed. She smiled, one hand resting lightly at her waist as if she had rehearsed that exact posture.
He stepped fully inside.
She checked her phone dramatically.
“Two minutes late,” she said, squinting playfully. “You’re always here at exactly 7:45. Did you have a bad night, Doc?”
Her hand lifted in a careless little wave, as though she had done nothing at all.
Then she walked toward him while he had his office bag in one hand. She reached to take it from him, stretching slightly.
He pulled it away.
“What are you wearing?” His words cut through her act of ‘help.’
She blinked at him.
Looking down at herself, she looked back up.
“What do you mean, Doc?” The innocence in her voice was deliberate.
His eyes moved over her slowly. From her gold-tipped hair to the boot heels. A clear, measured assessment.
Then his gaze shifted to his desk surface, taking note of the car keys; the golden emblem unmistakable.
“I was wondering who parked in my space.” He eyed her.
“Do you like it?” Karen smiled brightly. “My Daddy bought it for me.”
His response was not verbal, but his eyes gave more than enough.
Drogo then stepped around her gracefully, placing his bag on the desk first. He inhaled slowly. The air in the room was heavy.
His brows scrunched — her perfume lingered everywhere, exotic and suffocatingly distracting; he could almost feel it cling to his skin.
He exhaled.
“Why are you dressed like that to work?” His tone was flat.
She tilted her head, looking down at the latex fabric. “Doesn’t my dressing suit you? Is there something on it?”
His jaw flexed.
“That is not professional attire to wear to this clinic. I don’t care what personal taunt you have sworn to be to me, Ms. Benjamin, but this is not a professional setting and you must respect the place of work and dress appropriately.”
She shrugged lightly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dr. Vetter. It isn’t my fault I have a luscious body always trying to rip through the fabric of my clothes… Nature is just cruel like that.” She smiled.
He looked at her. Like, really looked at her with sole focus and questioned himself…
Should he respond? His gaze narrowed. Should he really engage?
Parting his lips in an attempt to speak, he stopped himself.
Not… Not today.
He pulled out his chair and sat down. Rolled his laptop open with controlled efficiency.
Definitely not this morning…
He turned on his laptop.
Work. That’s what he got out of his bed to do this morning — so focus.
Ignoring the intoxicating scent hovering around his desk and the deliberate provocations standing two feet away from his desk.
He stared at the screen.
Concentrate. A crease formed above his brows.
Not today… Not the 8th of the month.