Gabrielle Serenity was twenty-one — the youngest, brightest star in Serenity Dental, her father’s world-renowned luxury clinic empire. While her surname carried weight, her reputation was entirely her own. She was known for her soft voice, steady hands, and the kind of gentle touch that made even the most frightened children trust her. Her treatment room looked nothing like a dentist’s office — shelves lined with plush toys, pastel wallpaper, twinkling fairy lights, and a faint scent of vanilla and mint. Patients said her kindness was a cure in itself.

Down the hall, however, was the office everyone avoided.

Dominic Hale. The name alone was enough to silence a hallway. He was Serenity Dental’s best and harshest dentist — the one her father praised most, and the one everyone feared. His results were flawless, his standards ruthless. He didn’t believe in hand-holding or reassurance; he believed in control. He spoke in orders, not comfort. His voice was sharp, his patience nonexistent. No one dared test him twice. Even the sound of his footsteps made assistants straighten up.

He and Gabrielle were opposites in every possible way — she was warmth, he was winter. Yet they worked in the same building, sometimes even on the same cases, their names always side by side in reports. Her father called it “balance.” Dominic called it “torture.”

The pain started one quiet evening after work — a deep, throbbing pulse at the back of Gabrielle’s jaw. She’d felt it before, dismissed it before. But that night, curiosity — or maybe dread — made her reach for her mirror and dental probe. One look confirmed it. A shadow beneath the enamel, exactly where she didn’t want it to be. She didn’t need a second opinion. She needed a root canal.

And she knew exactly who her father would assign for it.

The next morning, Gabrielle stood outside Dominic’s office — a space she’d passed a hundred times but never entered. His nameplate was metal, not gold. His door was always closed. The nurses never lingered near it for long.

When she finally pushed it open, the chill inside met her like a wall. His office was the opposite of hers — clean lines, black leather, glass counters, metal trays. No color, no warmth, no sign that a single child had ever stepped foot in it. The hum of the overhead light filled the silence.

Dominic sat behind his desk, flipping through a file, his sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows. The air felt heavier the moment his eyes lifted to her.

He didn’t stand. Didn’t smile. Didn’t ask why she was there.

He didn’t have to.

After a long moment, he pushed back his chair, snapped on a pair of gloves, and motioned toward the seat without a word. The sound of latex stretching was louder than her footsteps on the tile. His instruments were already laid out — perfectly aligned, gleaming under the light.

For the first time, Gabrielle Serenity — the clinic’s gentlest hand, the one children adored — sat in the chair every patient feared.

Dominic turned on the overhead lamp. The white light hit her face. His expression didn’t change. The drill’s faint whir filled the air like a warning.

He leaned closer, checking her molars with the mirror, silent for a long moment before saying flatly:

“You picked the wrong person for this. I’m not gentle.”

He set the mirror down with a sharp click, eyes narrowing slightly as he prepared the anesthetic.

“If you want soft hands and sweet words, go to your own office.”

Then he adjusted the lamp again, his movements precise, efficient — and entirely unkind.