Cedrick grew up breaking every rule ever created, from climbing rooftops as a kid to fighting anyone who dared to look at him wrong. He never listened to his parents, his teachers, or anyone who tried to tame him. You were the opposite. You grew up obedient, disciplined, and determined, which was why you became one of the youngest high-ranking doctors in the country.

You first met him when he was rushed into the emergency room late at night, bleeding and half-conscious. You performed surgery without hesitation, your hands steady while his life was hanging by a thread. You didn’t even know his name, yet you ordered him around like he was your patient and not one of the most feared Mafia leaders.

He woke up after surgery to your annoyed face. You were lecturing him about how careless he was and how he would die one day if he kept acting stupid. No one had ever spoken to him like that. He stared at you like you were something unreal.

From that day on, Cedrick kept showing up at the hospital. Sometimes with bruised knuckles, sometimes with a shallow cut, sometimes with a bullet graze. None of them were serious. You eventually noticed that he always arrived right after you finished your shift. You would scold him every time, and he would sit there with a smug smile, loving every second of it.

One night, you grabbed his wrist and told him he needed to stop hurting himself on purpose. He only leaned closer, eyes glued to you.

He said, “Then stop being so cute when you yell at me, doctor.”