Ana pushed through the double doors of the Emergency Department.

The sharp, metallic smell of fresh blood mixed with bleach hit the back of her throat, making her gag.

A handful of sharp-eyed men in dark suits and earpieces had quietly secured the area. They didn't draw weapons, but their tactical positioning effectively isolated the entire emergency wing, denying entry to anyone without raising a public alarm.

Ana rushed toward Trauma Room One, but a thick arm slammed across her chest, stopping her in her tracks.

She held up her hospital ID badge, her voice shaking with adrenaline.

"I am a doctor! Let me through to assist!"

The agent didn't even blink, standing like a brick wall.

Through the gap between the agent's arm and torso, Ana saw inside the trauma room.

Auguste was standing there.

His expensive trench coat was gone, and his crisp white shirt was soaked in bright red blood.

He was screaming at the ER director.

Ana followed his gaze to the operating table.

A young boy, maybe seven years old, lay there covered in blood.

When Ana saw the boy's pale, lifeless face, a violent spasm ripped through her chest.

Her lungs seized.

It was a bizarre, physical ache of familiarity that made no sense.

The ER director ran out of the room, sweating through his scrubs, screaming into his radio for the blood bank.

A hematologist sprinted down the hall, his voice cracking in panic.

"The boy's blood type is Rh-null!"

Auguste grabbed the hematologist by the collar of his lab coat, lifting him onto his toes.

"Get it from the national registry! Now!"

The doctor choked out a sob.

"There are less than ten registered donors in the entire country! We don't have time!"

The heart monitor next to the boy's bed let out a rapid, terrifying beep.

His blood pressure was crashing.

The edges of Auguste's eyes turned a raw, weeping red.

The absolute despair of a powerful man breaking down was visceral.

Ana heard the words 'Rh-null', and a loud ringing erupted in her ears.

She remembered her own medical file.

She shoved her weight against the agent blocking her path, forcing her way into the perimeter.

Two agents instantly closed the distance, moving with terrifying speed. One grabbed her arm and wrenched it behind her back, while the other used his body weight to pin her shoulder hard against the wall. "Do not move another inch!"

Ana threw her hands in the air, her chest heaving.

"I have Rh-null blood!"

The entire trauma room went dead silent.

The only sound was the mechanical hiss of the ventilator.

Auguste's head snapped toward her.

The despair in his eyes hardened into sharp, cutting daggers.

The ER director lunged for the computer terminal, typing in Ana's employee ID number.

A green match icon flashed on the screen.

"She's telling the truth!" the director yelled.

Auguste closed the distance between them in three massive strides.

His shadow swallowed her completely.

"Get on the chair," he ordered, his voice a low, gravelly threat.

Ana looked at his demanding face, remembering the humiliation in her clinic just ten minutes ago.

She took one step back, avoiding his physical space.

She locked her eyes onto his.

"Blood donation is voluntary. I don't feel like cooperating with an arrogant jerk who disrespects doctors."

The nurses gasped.

The agents stepped closer, drawing their weapons and leveling them at her head.

Auguste's jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek.

"What do you want?"

Ana pointed a shaking finger at the blood soaking his shirt.

"You promise to come back to my clinic and finish the full urology exam."

The ER director hopped from foot to foot, his face pale.

"Dr. West, are you insane? Do not provoke him!"

The lead agent stepped forward, reaching out to physically drag Ana to the chair.

Auguste threw his arm out, blocking the agent's path.

He stared into Ana's eyes, his chest rising and falling heavily.

"Fine."

The word scraped out of his throat, heavy with dark authority.

Ana turned around and walked straight to the rapid blood-draw chair.

She rolled up her sleeve, exposing the pale skin of her inner arm.

A nurse rushed over, her hands trembling so badly she dropped the alcohol wipe.

She couldn't find the vein.

Ana snatched the rubber tourniquet from the nurse's hands.

She wrapped it tightly around her own bicep, tapping her skin to make the vein pop.

She grabbed the thick needle and shoved it into her own arm.

Dark red blood rushed through the clear plastic tube.

Auguste stood by the chair, watching the blood fill the bag.

The rigid tension in his shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch.

The first 400cc bag filled up quickly.

The nurse snatched it and hooked it directly into Leo's IV line.

Ana watched her own blood flow into the little boy's body.

A sharp, hollow ache bloomed behind her ribs, making her throat tight.

The frantic beeping of the monitor slowed down.

Leo's blood pressure started to climb.

The ER director wiped his forehead with a bloody glove.

"He's out of hypovolemic shock."

Ana let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"He lost too much," the nurse whispered. "We need more."

"Change the bag," Ana ordered without hesitating. "Keep drawing."

Auguste frowned, his eyes dropping to Ana's lips.

They were turning a sickly shade of blue.

Halfway through the second bag, the room started to spin.

A loud buzzing noise filled Ana's head, drowning out the medical machines.

The lead agent stepped forward, pressing two fingers to his earpiece before leaning close to Auguste's ear. He whispered something completely inaudible, his face a mask of grim urgency. Ana's heart skipped a beat. The sheer intensity of their silent exchange, the absolute secrecy, echoed ominously in her dizzy brain.

The nurse saw Ana's eyes roll back and immediately yanked the needle out, pressing a cotton swab hard against the puncture wound.

Ana tried to stand up to check on Leo.

Her knees buckled.

She pitched forward, expecting her face to smash into the cold tile floor.

Two strong arms caught her mid-air.

Ana's cheek slammed against Auguste's hard chest.

Her nose filled with the sharp scent of cedarwood and fresh blood.

Auguste scooped her up into his arms.

His movements were stiff, but his grip was iron-clad.

"Put me down," Ana mumbled, her voice sounding like a weak whisper. "I need to go to the breakroom."

"Prep the VIP suite on the top floor," Auguste ordered the director, his tone absolute ice.

The agents moved forward, shoving doctors and nurses out of the way.

The world faded to black as Auguste carried her into the private elevator.

Ana woke up on a massive California king bed.

A dull ache throbbed in the crook of her arm, where an IV drip of saline was attached.

She blinked, taking in the luxurious furniture of the top-floor VIP suite.

Every single window blind was pulled tightly shut, blocking out the sun.

She ripped the tape off her hand and pulled the IV needle out.

Her bare feet hit the thick carpet as she walked toward the door.

She grabbed the metal handle and twisted.

It didn't budge. The electronic lock clicked from the outside, trapping her inside the suite's master bedroom.

Low voices drifted through the heavy wood, filtering in from the adjoining private living area.

Ana pressed her ear flat against the door, holding her breath.

"Why was the motorcade route leaked?" Auguste's voice was a low, furious growl.

An older man answered. "It was a precision assassination, sir. Disguised as a car crash."

Ana slapped a hand over her mouth.

Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

She was locked in a room with people involved in a deadly power struggle.

"We need to move him," the older man, Elwyn, said. "The hospital is compromised."

"No," Auguste snapped. "My son cannot be moved in this condition. We hold the perimeter."

Elwyn paused. "What about the female doctor inside? Her blood type is too coincidental. She could be a plant."

Silence stretched for two agonizing seconds.

"Run a full background check on her," Auguste ordered. "Dig up everything."

Ana's blood boiled.

She saved his son's life, and he was treating her like a terrorist.

She took a step back in anger, her heel catching the leg of a small side table.

A glass of water tipped over and fell.

It hit the thick carpet with a muffled, heavy thud.

The voices outside stopped instantly.

The silence was deafening.

The electronic lock beeped.

The door flew open, forcing Ana to stumble backward.

Auguste stood in the doorway, his eyes sharp enough to cut glass.

Elwyn stood behind him, his hand reaching inside his suit jacket for a weapon.

Ana forced her spine straight.

"You cannot illegally detain an American citizen!"

Auguste stepped into the room and kicked the door shut behind him.

He walked slowly toward her, backing her into the corner of the room.

He slammed his hand against the wall right next to her head, trapping her.

Ana was forced to tilt her head up.

His scent-dark, aggressive, and overwhelming-filled her lungs.

"If you breathe a single word of what you just heard, you will regret it," he whispered.

Ana bit her lower lip hard, tasting copper.

"I don't care about your mafia gang wars. Let me go back to my job."

Auguste's eyes widened for a fraction of a second at the word 'mafia'.

Then, a dark, cynical smile touched his lips.

He didn't correct her.

"Then you know exactly what kind of man you're dealing with. Behave."

The landline phone on the nightstand suddenly rang, shattering the intense tension between them.

Auguste stepped back, his chest heaving, and picked up the receiver.

His face changed.

He looked at Ana. "Leo is awake. He's asking for you."