-Roxy Delgado:
Two weeks had passed since I’d been discharged from the hospital, and every day since then had been a mixture of relief, freedom, and anticipation. I’d left that sterile, cold place behind me, but not before leaving my mark—literally and figuratively. I knew the kind of chaos I’d caused wasn’t forgotten, and frankly, I didn’t care. I had zero guilt, zero remorse. If anything, I felt triumphant. I’d gotten what I wanted, and I had no intention of apologizing for it.
Life at home had been... luxurious, of course. My brothers had their own routines, their own lives, but they made sure I was taken care of. Mateo and Kyle checked in more than usual the first few days, making sure I wasn’t pushing myself too hard, that I didn’t overexert my leg, and that my head was truly recovering.
My other brothers swung by occasionally, enough to make their presence known, but never overbearing. My parents hovered like shadows in the background, concerned but mostly letting me do what I wanted. I was the youngest, the only girl, the princess of the Delgado clan. Everyone knew it, and they acted accordingly.
The hospital owner had been a thorn in our side for the first week after my discharge. When I had insisted on Sloane being my physical therapist, I thought it would be as simple as writing a check and making it official. But no, he had refused the money—he claimed he couldn’t allow Sloane to leave the hospital, that she was too valuable to be outside the surgical wings. Apparently, the neuro wing was already short-staffed, and he was worried that letting Sloane go would put them in a bind.
I didn’t sweat it. That’s what threats were for.
One phone call, a little reminder of the Delgado influence, and suddenly the "valuable neurosurgeon" was reconsidering. He tried to play nice, tried to charm, but he knew better than to test my patience.
My family backed me, of course. Mateo, Kyle, my parents—they all made it clear that I wasn’t joking. One word from me and the situation would spiral into chaos. By the time we were done, the hospital owner had no choice but to agree. Sloane was mine for the duration I wanted her. No excuses, no delays.
And so here I was, two weeks after my discharge, in the comfort of my own bedroom, preparing for the inevitable arrival of the woman who had become the center of my obsession, my focus, my... need.
The maid had been extraordinary today, helping me shower carefully without disturbing my casted leg or the thin bandages around my head. I let the warm water soothe the soreness in my muscles and the ache in my bones.
My black hair with red streaks had been fixed by my personal hairdresser—shiny, soft, and perfectly tamed, a little wild but undeniably beautiful. My hair framed my face the way I liked it: dramatic, bold, unapologetic. I had spent time choosing my outfit this morning, slipping into a short silk pajama set, a button-down top paired with soft shorts, smooth against my skin, accentuating the strength and femininity I wanted Sloane to notice.
I glanced down at the thin cast on my leg and the careful bandages wrapped around my head and scattered over other small injuries from the crash. They were a reminder of what had happened, yes, but also a trophy of sorts—a testament to how far I had come. I wasn’t completely healed yet, but I was recovering, thriving even, in my own way. Every scar, every mark was mine, and I carried them with pride.
I paced my room slowly with the help of my crutches, the soft silk brushing against my skin as I moved. I could feel the tension building in my chest, a mix of excitement and impatience. I knew Sloane would be coming today. The owner of the hospital informed me yesterday.
I could almost feel it—the air seemed to vibrate differently when I thought about her arrival. Her presence, even just the idea of her walking through that door, sent a thrill coursing through me. I wanted to be ready, fully prepared for her. Every detail mattered. Every look, every gesture, every inch of me needed to be perfect for when she saw me.
The sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting soft shadows across the room. The furniture was perfectly arranged, the floors spotless, the delicate decorations untouched by the chaos that often surrounded my life. I took a deep breath and sat on the edge of my bed, adjusting the pillows behind me to sit upright comfortably.
My casted leg stretched out slightly in front of me, and I flexed my toes gently, careful not to disturb the healing bone. Even with the support of my brothers and the maids, I knew Sloane’s arrival would be the real test of control.
My mind wandered for a moment, thinking about the past two weeks. I had become accustomed to the slower pace of life here, away from the sterile hospital corridors and the endless beeping of monitors.
I had meals prepared for me, showers arranged, my hair done, my room tended to. I had time to think, to plan, to anticipate. And I had thought about Sloane. About every word she had said, every professional smile, every moment of hesitation, every fleeting look she had given me when she tried to remain composed.
I smirked at the memory, my chest tightening with that familiar thrill. She had no idea what she had stepped into. No idea how much I had already claimed her in my mind, how thoroughly I intended to possess her attention, her focus, even if it meant bending rules, defying norms, or challenging her professional boundaries. I didn’t care if she was a brain surgeon, if she valued order and rules—I wanted her, and I would make sure she knew it.
I straightened my posture, ran my fingers lightly over the silk of my pajamas, and adjusted the thin bandage around my head to make sure it was perfectly in place. Even with the small reminders of my injuries, I wanted to look untouchable, perfect, daring. The cast, the bandages, the scars—they all framed me in a way that made me feel alive, powerful, and dangerous. And I wanted Sloane to see that.
I leaned back against the pillows and closed my eyes for a moment, listening to the quiet hum of the household around me. The silence was almost a luxury after the hospital’s constant activity.
The faint sounds of my brothers moving through other parts of the mansion, the gentle clink of the maid’s footsteps as she moved about her duties, even the subtle rustle of the curtains in the breeze—all of it added to the anticipation, the thrill that tightened around my chest like a coil.
And then I heard it. A knock at the door.
My eyes snapped open, and my pulse quickened. The sound was precise, measured, almost deliberate. My heart raced in response, a combination of impatience and excitement coursing through me. I didn’t need to see who it was to know. I could feel it. Sloane was here.
I sat upright, adjusting my pajama top, smoothing the fabric against my skin as I rose slightly. My leg throbbed faintly beneath the cast, but the sensation was secondary to the anticipation thrumming through me. I could hear the maid pause outside the door, and then the faint voice of someone announcing themselves—formal, professional.
I took a deep breath, steadying myself, running a hand through my hair one last time. My eyes flicked to the mirror across the room, catching my reflection: black hair with red streaks perfectly arranged, silk pajamas that clung in all the right ways, my posture upright, my expression calm yet inviting. I wanted to look controlled, confident, untouchable—and yet, beneath it all, I wanted her to know I was waiting.
The knock came again, sharper this time. My heart leapt.
I rose fully from the bed, moving toward the door with measured steps. The cast made it slow, deliberate, each movement precise. I smoothed my pajama top again, ensuring every wrinkle was gone, every fold perfectly in place. I wanted her to see me at my absolute best, even with the reminders of my injuries. "Come in."
The door opened, and I caught a glimpse of the figure outside. I didn’t need to see her face to recognize the way she carried herself, the subtle tension in her posture, the careful, professional movements that betrayed a mix of determination and... hesitation. Sloane Pierce had arrived.
And I waited.
I waited with a smile playing at my lips, the thrill of anticipation tightening in my chest, knowing this was only the beginning.