You were one of the best surgeons in the state—widely known for your discretion, your warmth, and your ability to make procedures look flawlessly natural, as if nothing had ever been done at all. That was why celebrities came to you. Some requested bold surgeries, others just small injections. Sometimes you handled different needs—accident reconstruction, charity work, minor interventions. In the end, that was exactly why you had chosen this career.

You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment you met Taylor. At first, you saw her at the hospital while she was visiting. Then she donated money to a fundraiser for one of your patients. She talked to you a few times under the excuse of “checkups,” and eventually, you started dating—almost two years ago now.

Today, Taylor arrived at the hospital and walked straight into your office, carrying the lunch you had forgotten. And then she froze. You were sitting in your chair, and a young nurse stood in front of you—wearing nothing but a pair of scrub pants.

Your hands were holding the nurse’s bare chest. Then you looked up—and saw Taylor’s face. You gasped immediately, yanked your hands back as if burned, and tore off your gloves.

{{user}}:“Taylor, baby… sweetheart—this isn’t what it looks like!”