No direct orders given.
Just enough to create a shield around her without her ever realizing how far his protection stretched.
At his desk, Ethan glanced at his phone again, where Jillian's name lingered in the recent messages.
He smiled faintly.
"You won't have to fight this alone," he thought.
"Not anymore."
Back at the hospital, Jillian moved through her afternoon rounds like usual—clipboard in hand, hair neatly tied back, her mind ticking between patients, reports, and the ever-growing research deadlines.
Yet... something felt different.
The glances she received from the administrative staff weren't cold or calculating today—they were oddly polite.
One senior board member, who typically avoided speaking to her unless necessary, even nodded in greeting as she passed by.
Jillian frowned slightly, not stopping but feeling the tension she had been carrying in her shoulders lighten by just a thread.
Later, during a coffee break in the doctor's lounge, Ms. Na, her colleague flopped onto the chair beside her.
"You look less like you're walking into a warzone," Ms. Na joked, sipping her drink.
Jillian gave a faint smile but stayed quiet, her mind turning over the subtle changes.
The research funding, the sudden ease in accessing resources, the way certain supervisors seemed hesitant now to question her decisions too harshly.
"Something shifted... but what?"
"And who...?"
She shook her head inwardly, telling herself not to overthink.
She had a symposium report to finish.
Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that an invisible hand had quietly moved the walls around her—granting her space to breathe.
*****
Inside the MyCorp conference room, tension hung thick in the air.
The directors—powerful men and women who once spoke freely—now sat stiffly, their faces a mix of anger and fear.
At the head of the long black table, Ethan Hunter leaned back in his chair, cold eyes scanning the room like a predator surveying weaker prey.
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"You seem to have forgotten something," Ethan said, his tone calm but sharp as a blade.
"This company does not run on rumors. It runs on results."
A few directors shifted uncomfortably. Someone opened their mouth to speak—Ethan raised a hand slightly, and silence crushed the room again.
"If any of you have enough free time to meddle in personal matters that don't concern you," he continued, voice dipping lower, dangerously soft, "then perhaps you have too much time on your hands.
And I know how to fix that."
Charles, standing at the corner, set down a thick stack of reports—transfer papers, demotions, replacements—without a word.
Ethan's gaze sharpened.
"Focus on your jobs," he said. "And stay out of mine."
The directors nodded stiffly. No one dared meet his eyes.
With a final cold glance, Ethan stood.
His tailored suit caught the light, his steps purposeful, a man who controlled not just the room—but the entire empire they sat in.
The meeting ended without further protest. Ethan didn't need to yell.
His silence, his sheer authority, was terrifying enough.
The following days passed in a rare, easy rhythm for Jillian.
Her shifts at the hospital were smooth, her research work steady.
For the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to breathe—allowed herself small moments of peace without looking over her shoulder.
But peace, she would soon learn, is only the silence before the storm.
Exactly one month later, Jillian's world shifted again.
Her name exploded across web portals and news feeds, linked to rumors she had inappropriate ties with VIP patients.
Headlines were cruel.
Speculations rampant.
In a single night, she went from respected doctor to a trending scandal.
The hospital administration summoned her urgently.
Colleagues whispered when she passed.
The air turned thick with suspicion. The calm days were over. The battle had just begun.
Jillian sat frozen in the hospital lounge, her white coat draped over her shoulders like armor she didn't feel she deserved right now.
Her phone vibrated nonstop in her hand — calls from unknown numbers, messages flooding in, each notification another hammer blow to her chest.
She gritted her teeth and forced herself to stand.
Not here.
Not where everyone could see her crack.
She moved briskly toward an empty stairwell, the walls closing in around her.
Hold yourself together, Jillian. Just a rumor. Just noise.
Meanwhile at MyCorp, chaos was erupting.
Charles burst into Ethan's office, panting.
"Sir—have you seen the news? Dr. Jillian is on hot search!"
Ethan didn't waste time asking questions.
He grabbed his phone, his fingers tightening as he scanned the trending headlines.
His jaw clenched hard, the familiar icy storm swirling in his eyes.
Without a word, without a second thought for protocol or image, Ethan stormed out of his office.
Secretaries and executives stared in shock as their usually composed CEO all but ran toward the elevator.
He barked at Charles over his shoulder, "Prepare the car. Now."
His only thought:
Protect her. No matter what it costs.
Jillian gripped the cold railing of the stairwell, fighting the tremble in her hands. She had weathered storms before—but this... this felt different.
It wasn't just her career they were attacking. It was her integrity. Her life's work.
Her chest tightened painfully.
Footsteps.
Rapid, purposeful.
She wiped her face quickly, composing herself, just as the stairwell door slammed open.
Ethan.
He didn't speak at first.
He just stood there, breathing hard, his suit slightly disheveled from the rush—his eyes sharp, scanning her.
Seeing too much.
"Jillian," he said, voice low but vibrating with tightly held fury, "Come with me."
She opened her mouth to argue—to tell him she was fine—but the look in his eyes silenced her.
No questions.
No pity.
Just a silent command: You are not alone.
Wordlessly, she followed.
Down the hall, staff members paused, whispering.
Two powerhouses walking side by side—one protecting the other without hiding it.
Some took out phones to snap pictures; Ethan didn't even glance their way.
Let them talk.
Let them wonder.
He didn't care.
In the privacy of a meeting room he secured, Ethan finally turned to her, his voice softer now but still fierce.
"They want a show. They will get one."
He pulled out his phone, scrolling fast, showing her a message already prepared for release—a statement from MyCorp officially backing her and denouncing the rumors.
"I'll burn them to the ground before I let them drag you down," he said simply.
Jillian stared at him, overwhelmed.
No one had ever stood for her like this.
She felt the hot sting of tears—but this time, they weren't from pain.
"Ethan..." she whispered, voice shaking.
He stepped closer, lowering his head slightly to meet her eyes.
"Let me handle the noise. You—just keep saving lives."
Jillian's breath caught when she saw the message Ethan had prepared, but before she could speak, he locked eyes with her, cold determination burning in his gaze.
"They want a show," he said, voice low and cutting.
"They'll get it. But it won't be the one they asked for."
Before Jillian could react, he was already on the phone, giving sharp orders.
"Set up a press conference. Today. I want it broadcasted live."
He turned to her, voice steady but leaving no room for argument:
"Stand beside me. Let them see who they're trying to bring down."
Jillian's heart thundered in her chest.
The rational part of her knew she should be cautious.
That it would only stir more rumors.
But standing there—seeing Ethan fight for her without hesitation—something inside her, something long dormant, stirred awake.
Hope.
Faith.
Strength.
Her fingers, almost on their own, brushed lightly against his wrist, grounding herself.
He stilled at the touch but didn't move away.
"I'm not afraid," Jillian said quietly.
A faint, rare smile touched Ethan's lips.
"Good," he said. "Because I'm just getting started."