I am a top-notch surgeon. But when my ex-boyfriend —— now the Don of the Blackwood family —— was brought to the hospital injured, even the head nurse advised me against taking the case.

Everyone said the Dante Blackwood despised me. Because three years ago—the last time we met—I took off my engagement ring and handed it back to him, then got into the car of Dominic, the Don of Mercer family.

But I still put on my white coat and walked in.

Not only walked in—I pressed my hand right against his stomach without a shred of hesitation.

Before the punch came, it was the killing intent in his eyes.

"I told you. Touch me one more time, and I'll break every bone in your body."

The interns outside the door were all holding their breath for my safety.

I adjusted my gold-rimmed glasses and let out a helpless smile.

But the moment I undid the buttons of his shirt, even though his mouth told me to get out, his body couldn't help but tense up.

The head nurse Margaret blocked the office doorway, absolutely refusing to let me go treat Dante Blackwood.

"Ivy, have you lost your mind? Don't you know how much Don Dante hates you? You're walking straight into humiliation!"

"I know."

"And you're still going?"

I wiped my gold-rimmed glasses clean and slid them back onto my nose.

"One million dollars."

Margaret froze.

I didn't explain.

My brother's kidney transplant was still one million short.

I drew in a deep breath.

Three years.

Dante and I hadn't seen each other in three years.

The last time we met, I'd taken off the engagement ring with my own hands and given it back to him.

He'd stood in the rain that day, soaked through, his eyes so red they looked ready to bleed.

I didn't look back. I got into Dominic's car. Dominic was the Don of Mercer Family.

From that day on, the entire hospital knew—Dante Blackwood despised Ivy Ashford.

Fate has a cruel sense of humor.

Because Dante's stomach surgery could only be performed by me, the hospital's top internal medicine specialist.

A bodyguard in a dark suit stood in the VIP wing corridor.

The moment I pushed open the door, the first person I saw was Vivienne Whitmore.

Dante's fiancée. The heiress to Whitmore Corporation.

She sat at the bedside, legs crossed, her fresh French manicure glinting under the lights.

When she saw me, her expression was priceless.

"Well, well. If it isn't Ivy Ashford. What's this—sniffed your way over here like a dog to crawl into his bed?"

I ignored her.

My gaze passed over her shoulder and landed on the man in the hospital bed.

Dante was propped against the pillows.

Three years apart, and he'd lost weight.

His cheekbones were sharper, his eye sockets deeper, but the menace in those eyes was thicker than it had been three years ago.

The way he looked at me—like I was his enemy.

No. Worse than an enemy.

"Get out." His voice was hoarse, every syllable heavy enough to grind bone.

I walked forward, picked up the chart from the bedside table, flipped through two pages, and said, "Mr. Blackwood, please unbutton your shirt."

Vivienne shot out of her chair.

"Ivy! Are you deaf? Dante told you to get out!"

Dante didn't move.

Those bloodshot eyes pinned to my face, like he was trying to confirm something.

I reached out to undo the buttons of his hospital gown.

When the first button came undone, I saw his arm tense violently.

His knuckles dug into the sheet beneath him.

The second button.

The sheet ripped with a sharp tearing sound.

He was holding back.

Every muscle in his body was resisting my closeness, but he didn't move.

All the buttons undone.

I pressed my cold palm against his stomach.

The instant my skin touched his, Dante's pupils contracted.

His entire body jolted as if struck by an electric current.

Then he seized my wrist.

The force nearly made me cry out.

"I told you."

His voice ground out of his throat, one word at a time.

"Touch me one more time, and I'll break every bone in your body."

The interns outside the door sucked in a collective breath.

I looked down at the hand clamped around my wrist.

Veins bulging. Knuckles white.

I pushed my glasses up and allowed a helpless curve to form at the corner of my mouth.

"Mr. Blackwood, I need to perform a palpation exam."

His fingers tightened further.

The skin on my wrist was already turning red and purple.

I didn't struggle.

I held his gaze and said, in the calmest voice I could manage—

"You can hit me. After you're done, I still have to do this exam."

Dante's chest heaved violently.

The sheet beneath him now had two holes clawed right through it.

Three seconds later, he let go.

My hand pressed down again.

Professionally, carefully, inch by inch.

His brow knotted tight.

Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead one by one.

But he clenched his jaw and didn't make a sound.

The cardiac monitor beside the bed suddenly screamed.

The heart rate numbers surged—120, 135, 145.

The piercing alarm blared through the entire room.

Vivienne's face went white. She shrieked, "Doctor! Someone get in here!"

The bodyguard outside charged in immediately.

A hand reached for my shoulder.

"Stop!"

Dante's roar shook the room.

The bodyguard's hand froze in midair.

"Who gave you permission to touch her?"

His voice was ice-cold, lethal.

"Are you blind?"

The bodyguard shrank back.

Vivienne opened her mouth, but didn't dare say another word.

I stood beside the bed and draped my stethoscope back around my neck.

Heart rate: 145.

Not a cardiac event.

A stress response.

I finished writing the last line on the chart and closed it.

I turned to leave.

A hand shot out from behind and grabbed the collar of my coat.

The next second, I was dragged onto the bed.

Dante's hand closed around my throat. He pinned me down.

His face was barely four inches from mine.

His breath, scorching hot, spilled across my ear.

"Ivy."

He ground my name through clenched teeth.

"If I strangled you right now, would that rich fiancé of yours come save you?"

I looked into his bloodred eyes and said, "Dominic and I broke up a long time ago."

Dante's fingers went rigid against my throat.

The murderous intent in his eyes cracked open, and a sliver of shock bled through.

Then he let go.

I sat up on the bed and straightened the collar he'd wrinkled.

I stood and faced him.

"Mr. Blackwood, I can oversee your surgery from start to finish."

"Including personal pre-operative care."

"The fee is one million dollars."

The room went silent for two full seconds.

Then Vivienne laughed.

Like she'd just heard the funniest joke of the year.

"One million, just like that? You're not here to practice medicine—you're here to extort him! Typical gold-digging trash!"

She raised her hand to slap me.

Before it landed, Dante reached out and caught her wrist.

One flick.

Vivienne stumbled two steps and nearly hit the floor.

"Dante!" She stared at him in disbelief.

Dante didn't look at her.

He pulled a leather checkbook from the nightstand drawer, scrawled a few strokes, and tore out the check.

Then he flicked his wrist—

The check hit me square in the face.

"Pick it up," Dante said.

I bent down.

"Not like that."

He looked down at me, a cruel curve twisting the corner of his mouth.

"Get on your knees. Pick it up with your teeth."

Vivienne's eyes lit up.

She whipped out her phone and aimed the camera straight at me.

"Yes, yes, that's right—kneel! You want the money, don't you? Then kneel for it."

I looked at the check on the floor.

My brother was already showing early signs of organ failure.

Without this money, he wouldn't last three months.

My knees began to bend.

Vivienne was so excited her hands were shaking. She shoved the phone right in my face.

Three inches from the floor—

The phone in my pocket rang.

I hit the answer button.

Dominic Mercer's voice slithered out of the speaker, lazy and dripping with something that made my skin crawl.

"Ivy. Twenty minutes. The Elysium Club."

"Don't show up, and I cut off his medication. You know what happens when the meds stop."

My blood ran cold.

The phone was suddenly ripped from my hand.

Dante gripped my phone, the veins on his forehead bulging like cords.

He'd heard Dominic's voice.

The next second, the phone was smashed against the floor.

The screen shattered. Parts scattered everywhere.

But he didn't stop.

He ripped the IV needle out of the back of his hand in one sharp motion. Blood beaded and dripped down his skin.

He swept the cardiac monitor off its stand—it crashed against the wall with a deafening bang.

Vivienne screamed and ducked behind the sofa.

"Get out!"

Dante pointed at the door and roared at me.

That wasn't a sound a human being makes.

It was the howl of something that had shattered inside his chest.

"Go find your lover!"

"I don't want to see you again!"

"Don't ever show your face in front of me!"

I crouched down.

I didn't look at his bleeding hand.

I picked up the check from the floor, folded it neatly, and slipped it into my white coat pocket.

Then I stood, turned around, and pushed open the door.

I didn't look back.

Behind me came the thunderous crash of things being destroyed.

Then I saw Vivienne scramble out of the room on all fours.

I arrived at The Elysium Club and pushed open the door to the private room.

Dominic Mercer sat in the middle of the leather sofa, one leg propped up on the coffee table, a glass of liquor in his hand. He looked like he'd had plenty.

He smiled when he saw me.

"That was fast."

He set down his glass and stood up.

He walked over to me, reached out, and gripped my chin, turning my face side to side.

"Long time no see. Still as beautiful as ever."

"No wonder Dante still can't get over you."

I clenched my back teeth and said nothing.

He released me, stepped back, and dropped onto the sofa.

"Kneel."

"Do a good job, and I'll keep your brother's medication coming."

"Do a bad job..."

He smiled but didn't finish.

I walked over.

I knelt down.

Dominic leaned his head back with satisfaction and closed his eyes.

My hand slid up his thigh.

Soft. Slow.

He let out a low groan.

In that exact instant—

I drew the sterile scalpel from my sleeve.

The blade slicing through air made barely a whisper.

But the sound of it plunging into the muscle of his inner thigh was a dull, wet thud.

"AHHH—!"

Dominic's scream shook the walls of the room.

He shoved me away and looked down. The scalpel handle jutted from his inner thigh, buried to the hilt.

Blood poured out like a faucet had been turned on.

His lieutenant snapped to attention.

But before he could rush me, I'd already pulled the blade free and pressed it against the side of Dominic's neck.

"Back off," I said.

The lieutenant looked at Dominic, bleeding and helpless, and hesitated.

"Back off!" Dominic's voice cracked with pain as he screamed at his own man.

The lieutenant stepped back.

I crouched down, the tip of the blade resting against Dominic's Adam's apple.

"Dominic. Listen carefully."

"Touch one hair on my brother's head again, and I'll dissect your entire family while they're still breathing."

"Think I won't? Try me."

Dominic stared at me, his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets.

But he didn't dare move.

"And my aim with a throwing blade is excellent. You know that."

I kept the scalpel trained on him as I backed out of the room.

I went back to the hospital.

The corridor.

Dr. Walsh was waiting for me with six security guards, blocking my path completely.

He held a document in his hand, his face livid.

"Ivy! Look at what you've done! Mercer Corporation sent an official letter—if you stay at this hospital, they pull every cent of their investment!"

"Who do you think you are? You think one person is worth billions in funding?"

He waved the guards forward.

"Strip her coat. As of today, this hospital has no one named Ivy Ashford."

Two guards stepped toward me. Their fingers hadn't even touched me.

A dull, heavy impact.

Dr. Walsh went flying.

His body traced an arc through the air before crashing onto the floor fifteen feet away, half a front tooth knocked clean out.

Everyone in the corridor froze.

Dante stood behind me in nothing but a thin hospital gown, barefoot.

His hand was still wrapped in gauze, and he'd dragged the IV stand all the way out of his room.

He lifted Dr. Walsh by the collar with one hand, hoisted him into the air, and pinned him against the wall.

Dr. Walsh's feet dangled eight inches off the ground, both legs kicking uselessly.

Dante swept his gaze across every person in that corridor.

Security guards. Nurses. Bystanders.

He said one sentence.

"Anyone who touches her, I bury alive."

No one spoke.

No one dared.

After Dante released him, Dr. Walsh braced himself against the wall and staggered away as fast as his legs could carry him.

Dante turned to look at me.

The gauze on his hand was soaked through with blood.

I opened my mouth, wanting to say something.

He grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward his room.

His grip was strong.

His palm was burning hot.