Dr. Evelyn Hart stood at the observation window, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The steady rhythm of her heels clicking against the tiled floor echoed as she paced. Below her, in the operating room, her team moved with the precision of a symphony orchestra. Her piercing blue eyes missed nothing, even from a distance.
"Dr. Hart," a voice interrupted her thoughts. It was Dr. Langley, the senior resident, holding a clipboard with a list of patients requiring her attention. "There's a new admission—minor trauma case. High-profile patient."
Evelyn arched a brow. "Define high-profile."
"Adrian Blake," Langley said, barely concealing his excitement. "The actor."
Her expression didn't change. "What happened to him?"
"Fractured wrist and a few superficial cuts. He was filming some stunt and got into a minor accident."
Evelyn waved a dismissive hand. "Assign Dr. Patel. I'm handling a closed reduction and internal fixation surgery this afternoon."
"Dr. Patel's in surgery, and Mr. Blake specifically requested the 'best.'" Langley's tone turned teasing. "That's you, isn't it?"
Evelyn rolled her eyes, already regretting her reputation. "Fine. Where is he?"
Langley grinned. "Room 503."
She swept past him, her white coat billowing behind her like a cape. As she entered the room, the sight before her was both expected and mildly irritating. Adrian Blake lounged in the hospital bed, looking more like a model in an advertisement than a man in need of medical attention. His dark hair was artfully tousled, and his hazel eyes sparkled despite the hospital gown. He glanced up from his phone and gave her a crooked smile.
"Well, this is unexpected," he said, his voice warm and smooth. "I didn't realize hospitals came with ice sculptures."
Evelyn ignored the quip, walking briskly to his bedside and scanning the chart. "Mr. Blake, I'm Dr. Hart. I'll be overseeing your care."
"Ah, The Ice Queen herself," he said, the nickname rolling off his tongue with a touch of amusement.
Her gaze snapped to him, sharp and unyielding. "I suggest we keep this professional. You have a fractured distal radius and several lacerations. I'll be sending you for imaging to confirm there's no further damage."
He smirked. "Not even a 'how are you feeling?' or a smile to go with that bedside manner?"
"I don't waste time on pleasantries," she replied coolly, making notes on his chart.
Adrian chuckled softly. "Clearly."
Evelyn's pen paused briefly, but she refused to let him get under her skin. "Any other concerns, or can we proceed?"
He tilted his head, studying her. "Do you always talk to people like they're business transactions?"
She didn't flinch, though his question hit closer to home than she cared to admit. "I focus on what matters—your recovery. Not small talk."
"Right," Adrian murmured, leaning back against the pillows. "Recovery. Got it."
Their eyes met for a fleeting moment. He held a flicker of something deeper—an exhaustion, a heaviness that contradicted his flippant demeanor. Evelyn brushed it aside and turned toward the door.
"I'll have a nurse prep you for X-rays," she said curtly before leaving.
But as she walked away, Adrian's voice followed her. "You know, Doc, you might want to work on thawing out a bit. It's cold in here."
Evelyn didn't respond, but the smallest crack of irritation tugged at her composure.
Later that evening, Evelyn sat alone in her office, reviewing patient files. Yet her mind kept drifting back to Room 503 and the man who had dared to call her out. She dismissed it as fatigue—nothing more.
Adrian Blake, however, wasn't just another patient. She could feel it in the way his words lingered, chipping away at the walls she had so carefully constructed. And she definitely hated it.