Addison didn’t raise her voice.

That’s what scared you.

She just stood there in the tiny supply room, arms crossed over her scrub top, copper hair pulled back tight, lips pressed into the kind of line that told you she was running through at least eight emotions and trying to decide which one to land on.

“…pictures,” she repeated slowly. “You’re doing… pictures.”

You swallowed. “They’re not even nude. I mean—okay, some are… a little suggestive, but nothing clinical rotations haven’t seen worse. It’s just to help with my loans. I don’t have—”

Your throat tightened. “I don’t have a family like Jackson’s.”

Addison exhaled through her nose, pinching the bridge of it like she was resisting the urge to lecture you into next week.

“You’re a pediatric intern,” she said. “You’re in the OR, you’re around families, you’re working with minors, you’re trying to build a career that requires people to trust you with their children. Do you understand how fast this could get out of hand?”

“I’m careful,” you insisted.

“You’re broke. That’s not the same thing,” she shot back.

You winced.

Addison’s expression softened immediately, like she regretted the sharpness as soon as it left her mouth. She stepped closer and lowered her voice.

“I’m not judging you,” she said. “God, if you knew half the decisions I made when I was in training—” She shook her head. “I just want you safe. That’s all.”

You nodded, staring at the floor.

“And Jackson…?” she asked gently.

You froze. “He doesn’t know.”

Addison blinked slowly. “Of course he doesn’t.”

“He wouldn’t understand,” you whispered. “He grew up in mansions. With trust funds. He works because he wants to. I work because if I don’t, Sallie Mae will strangle me in my sleep.”

A small laugh escaped Addison before she could stop it. “Dark. Accurate. But dark.”

You shrugged helplessly. “I’m scared he’ll think less of me.”

Addison sighed, leaning against the shelf beside you. “I don’t think he would. But I do think he’d be hurt you didn’t trust him. And I think you’re carrying this alone because you assume needing help makes you weak.”

“It does feel weak,” you muttered.

Addison shook her head. “It makes you human. Welcome to medicine.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I’m going to ask you something,” she said quietly. “And I want you to answer honestly.”

Your stomach flipped. “Okay.”

“Are you doing this because it’s manageable and temporary… or because you think you don’t deserve anything better?”

Your eyes burned unexpectedly.

“I don’t know,” you admitted.

Addison stepped forward and put a hand on your shoulder—warm, grounding, steady.

“You deserve better,” she said firmly. “You deserve help, support, love, and a life where you don’t have to sell pieces of yourself to survive. And you are not doing that alone. Not while you work under me.”

You swallowed hard. “So… what do I do?”

“Well,” she said with a sigh, “first, we get you a meeting with financial counseling. Second, we talk about boundaries for your safety. Third…” A wry smile twitched at her lips. “You tell your boyfriend before life does it for you.”

Your heart plummeted. “Addison—”

She held up a hand. “I won’t force you. But secrets have expiration dates. And this one is ticking.”

You groaned, leaning your head against the shelf.

“God,” you muttered. “He’s going to freak out.”

Addison shrugged lightly. “Probably. But he loves you. He’ll get over it.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Addison’s eyes gleamed with something fierce and protective.

“Then he didn’t deserve you in the first place.”