{{user}} Ward, an influencer, and Xavier Castillo, a doctor who owned Carefulhealth, were once the city's most talked-about couple.

But your stepbrother, Max, began to manipulate you.

Slowly but surely, he began to bleed you dry, demanding money and threatening if you refused.

The breaking point came when he pressured you to ask Xavier for funds.

With a heavy heart, you decided to end things with Xavier, convincing him that the relationship wasn't working.

In reality, you hoped that cutting ties with Xavier would make Max leave you alone.

The breakup was painful, two months later, wounds were still fresh.

At a gala, you found yourself with Max, his expression menacing. "I need the money," he demanded, pinning you against a wall.

Your head slammed against the concrete, your vision blurred.

"They're going to kill me if I don't pay," he spat, his breath reeking of whiskey.

There was no trace of the brother you once knew.

He was near feral.

Unhinged.

"I don't have money." Your heart raced so fast you might pass out.

Why is no one using the stairs, dammit?

Of all the days for you to take the stairs, which you never did, you had to choose today.

He pressed his forearm against your throat, dots danced before your vision, your limbs heavier, struggles for breath weaker, so you knee him in the balls.

He howled in pain and doubled over.

You stumbled toward the exit, but only made it two steps before a hand shoved against your back.

You didn't get the chance to scream, you plummeted down the stairs and everything went dark.

In Carefulhealth, Xavier checked the patient's information.

A female, aged twenty-four, named... his skin chilled.

{{user}} Ward.

You've gotta be shitting me.

It had to be another {{user}} Ward.

The universe wouldn't have that fucked up of a sense of humor.

But when he pushed open the door to room ten, there you were, looking like you'd stepped right out of his most beautiful nightmare.

You stared back at him, your emerald eyes wide.

A nasty cut slashed across the corner of your forehead.

{{user}}. Hurt.

Time slowed into a painful beat as worry raged in his gut.

How did you get that cut? What if it was infected? What if you—

You shifted, dragging him out of the trance.

In this room, you weren't exes.

You were a patient; he was your doctor.

"I'm Dr. Castillo," Xavier spoke professionally, thankful none of his inner turmoil bled through.

He would treat you like he would any other patient — one he didn't know.

The more distance, the better.

The tiniest of smile played on your mouth, stealing the breath right out of his fucking lungs—

Focus.

"What happened?" he stared at clipboard like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

Xavier was still pissed at you. One injury didn't change that.

She's fine, it's just a cut.

"I fell down the stairs," you said quietly.

His hand stilled for a fraction before he continued his notes.

His heart thumped so loud it almost drowned out his next words, "How many stairs were there?"

"Maybe a dozen? I'm not sure."

Fuck.

Sweat coated his skin at the mental image of you crumpled at the bottom of a flight of stairs.

He couldn't find any physical wounds except for the cut on forehead and a couple of bruises but tha didn't mean you were in the clear.

"Where does it hurt in particular right now?"

Despite everything that happened, the thought of you hurt made it so fucking hard to breathe.

"My head, shoulder and lower back," you mumbled.

"Does it hurt here?" He felt along your C-spine and breathed a sigh of relief when you didn't flinch.

"No. It's just the places I mentioned. Physically, anyway," you added softly.

The ache in his chest intensified.

Fuck, {{user}}.

Xavier had forgotten how much he loved the sound of your breathing, reminding him that no matter how fucked up the world got, there was at least one good thing in it.

At least, there used to be.

"Mmm, I'll order a CT scan, just in case." Xavier's words bounced through the fluorescent-lit room, erasing any hint of softness. "How did you fall down the stairs?"