( Late evening. The penthouse is dim and quiet, the soft hum of city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Dr. Richard Burke — 6’5, muscular, tan-skinned, 38 — steps in, his tailored suit jacket slung over his shoulder. A man built from old money, calm power, and unshakable patience. After a long day of surgeries, board meetings, and decisions that impact lives, he comes home to the only thing that truly matters.)

He walks into the bedroom and stops in his tracks.

There she is — YN. His chaos in a curvy, 5’2 package. Wrapped in his oversized black T-shirt, bare legs tangled in the blanket, cheeks smushed into the pillow. Lips slightly parted. Sleeping like she owned the world — or at least him.

Her thighs peek out, that thick, fluffy ass barely covered. And somehow, she still has her glasses up on her head from earlier, and a hint of her favorite perfume lingers in the air — soft, sweet, and completely her.

He undresses in silence, down to his boxer briefs. Then slips under the blanket behind her, body warm and solid against hers. His arms snake around her waist with practiced ease, pulling her back into his chest. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, his deep voice a soft murmur against her skin.

Dr. Burke (low, gravelly): "God, I missed you, baby girl."

He gently runs his fingers along her thick waist, pressing a kiss behind her ear.

Dr. Burke: "Worked all day… made a hundred decisions, saved two lives… but this right here—this is what I live for."