Next morning…
Karen entered the office without haste, as though the concept of time were advisory.
The loud clacks of her heels announced her arrival before she reached Drogo’s office door and walked in.
The clock on the far wall read 9:39 a.m. She did not glance at it, but Drogo did.
He was seated at his desk with files arranged with military precision before him. He didn’t look at her immediately, leaving a moment of silence that was heavy in the room.
Karen placed her bag down, smoothing her blazer before taking her seat. The emerald silk caught the light when she moved. Gold at her ears, heels polished to a reflective shine. She looked composed.
“Good morning,” she said calmly, already powering on her laptop.
Drogo’s pen stopped mid-signature.
“The morning stopped being a good nearly forty minutes ago.”
She glanced at the clock then, as if humoring him. “Thirty-nine minutes, actually.”
“I am aware.”
She gave a faint, polite smile. “I’m glad we agree on something.”
His eyes lifted to her fully now. “Why didn’t you call to say you were coming in late? It was the least decent thing to be done.”
“My phone died.”
“And you were unable to charge it for thirty-nine minutes?”
“If I could, it wouldn’t be dead, would it, Doc?”
There was no remorse in her tone, not even an ounce of regret.
Drogo leaned back in his seat slowly. “You seem remarkably unaffected.”
“By what?”
“By being late. By disrupting the schedule. By walking in as though the rest of us have been waiting for your grand entrance all morning!”
Karen closed her laptop, giving him her full attention. “If you were waiting for me? Now that sounds inefficient. The clinic should function without me for short intervals.”
“That is not the point.”
“Then clarify the point.”
His jaw flexed. “The point is discipline, Ms. Benjamin. Professionalism and respect for shared structure.”
“And arriving minutes late once dismantles all of that, because?”
Drogo could feel the beat at his temple as his jaw clenched.
If nonchalant wore a cloth, she’d wear a boutique at this point. He exhaled softly through his nose.
“You are testing my patience, Ms. Benjamin.”
She tilted her head. “Testing? Whoa. Then I’m not doing enough.”
The corner of his mouth tightened. “Your tone is inappropriate.” The source of this chapter is g.com.
“My tone is calm—”
“It is dismissive.”
She held his gaze. “You are reading dismissal because I am not apologizing the way you expect.”
“And you believe no apology is warranted?”
“I believe so, Dr. Vetter,” she said evenly, “that if I were chronically late, negligent with cases, careless with patients, this conversation would have weight. But I am not. I was delayed once. You are reacting as though I undermined your authority and expect an apology to soothe your ego.”
That was it. His temper cracked. “You think this is about ego.”
“I think it might be,” she replied, still seated. “You value control more than you pretend to. So when something disrupts it, you’re suddenly agitated.”
His jaw clenched. “You are expanding the argument into what it is not. And I will not entertain it, so I’ll let this off with a warning. Do not come late to work again. Do you understand me?”
Watching him with mirth in her eyes, Karen felt the physical restraint it took to hold back her tongue and say a “Yes, Sir…”
Drogo looked down at his paperwork without a word.
Neither of them spoke again immediately.
Not until Karen couldn’t stop herself. “You are unusually sensitive this morning, Doc,” she said casually, the words measured with an underlying tone. “I didn’t realize therapists could get so… emotional.”
Drogo’s hand paused mid-writing.
His jaw tightened, and for a fraction of a second, he had opened his mouth to reply, but something in her expression made him hold back.
He exhaled, then hissed through clenched teeth. Then he turned fully back to his files, fingers resuming their work.
“Ms. Benjamin,” he started, “I hope you will not be such a distraction while I am away,” he muttered, not looking up.
Karen tilted her head with a crooked brow. “Away? Where to?”
Drogo finally met her gaze briefly, a flicker of irritation softening into controlled explanation.
“I will be traveling tomorrow. For a conference. Which is why I expect my assistant to perform at her best in my absence.”
A slow smile spread across Karen’s face. “Oh, a conference? Wonderful! Then there will be no need for that,” she said, leaning slightly forward, elbows resting on the desk.
“Meaning?” He refused to look at her.
“Because I will be coming with you to the conference,” she smiled.
Drogo froze for a fraction, then his fingers tightened on his pen. “Pardon?”
Karen’s grin widened, unapologetically bold. “What?” she mirrored, tilting her head with perfect faux innocence. “Did I stutter?”
Meanwhile…
Annabelle woke with a soft groan, pushing herself upright slowly. For a few seconds she just sat there, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling while her thoughts struggled to catch up.
The bed was too soft. The room too large. Pale curtains filtered warm morning light across cream walls, and framed artwork hung high on the walls.
Her heartbeat quickened.
She looked around once again.
“Miss Benjamin?” she called out.
Mathieu stepped in carefully, carrying a small tray with a mug and a plate. He stopped when he saw her awake.
“Oh, hi,” he said gently, lessening his pace. “How are you feeling?”
Annabelle stiffened. Her eyes moved from him to the door.
“Where is Miss Benjamin?” she asked with a hint of urgency.
“Karen?” he replied casually. “She’s at work. She’ll be back in the evening.”
She swallowed. “S- Sh- She left…”
“She works with Dr. Vetter, remember?” he said lightly.
He took a small step forward and noticed the way her shoulders tightened. He stopped immediately.
“Okay,” he adjusted, sensing her uncomfortability. “I just brought breakfast.”
She didn’t answer, but just watched him.
After a second, he lowered the tray to the floor near the bed instead of approaching her.
“When you’re ready, you can take it,” he said. “I won’t come any closer.”
Her gaze flicked to the tray.
“There’s a switch on the door handle,” he added, nodding toward it. “Flip it down and it locks from inside. So you can sleep without fear of anyone coming in.” That anyone being him…
There was a long pause.
Annabelle then nodded. “T- Thank you…”
He gave her an awkward thumbs up. “Okay.” Before turning to leave.
“Who are you?” she asked suddenly, causing him to halt in his steps.
He glanced back with a warm smile. “Samson.”
“That’s a lie,” Annabelle said flatly.
Mathieu’s brows crooked. “Excuse me?”
She held his gaze with a neutral expression. “You’re lying about your name.”
“And how do you know that?”
Annabelle didn’t give an answer yet as her eyes gauged him for a moment, then said, “Because I know when someone is lying…”
The air shifted.
Mathieu studied her for a moment longer, his once casual, meek expression turning serious.
“Alright then,” he said quietly. “We’ll talk later.”
He stepped out and closed the door softly behind him.