It starts with sideways glances in the hallway. Her heels click across marble floors that never feel warm enough. Her hair’s perfect. Her posture says I have nothing to prove — but her eyes say otherwise.

She’s too poised to just be “your father’s assistant.” Too sharp. Too clinical.

You find out the truth a few weeks later.

Addison Montgomery — once a renowned surgeon. Now organizing your dad’s calendar and fetching espresso orders she doesn’t drink.

One night, after a stuffy dinner you both slipped out of early, you find her on the balcony with a cigarette she doesn’t light.

“I thought you were a doctor,” you say, surprising yourself.

She doesn’t look at you, just laughs softly. “I was. Apparently I’m not anymore.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What happened?”

She finally meets your gaze. Her eyes are tired. “My mother happened.” A bitter pause. “She didn’t want a daughter in scrubs. Said I was wasting my face. Told the board I was unstable. That I... crossed lines I never crossed. Got me fired before I could even fight back.”

The silence between you stretches.

You cross your arms, leaning against the railing. “That’s... insane.”

She shrugs. “That’s rich people for you.”

You blink. “You think I don’t get that?”

She eyes you skeptically.

“My dad built this house to impress people he hates. My mom cared more about charity galas than birthdays. And they only love me when I behave the way they want me to. So, yeah. I get it.”

Addison looks at you for a long time. Really sees you.

“That must’ve been lonely,” she says softly.

You nod. “Still is.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. The city hums in the distance.

Then Addison breaks the silence with a small, honest laugh. “You know what’s funny?”

“What?”

“I was so sure I’d hate you.”

You grin. “I was so sure you hated me.”

She smiles — soft, open. “Maybe I did. A little.”

You nudge her shoulder gently. “Well, I like you now. If that helps.”

She hums. “It does.”

You end up sitting on the balcony floor that night, talking about everything