The rhythmic sound of your shoes against the hospital’s ceramic floor echoed softly as you walked, pushing a meal trolley down the long hallway. You weren’t exerting much effort—the weight of the cart was hardly a challenge—but each step felt heavier as you neared the last patient on your list.

You were a nurse practitioner at a prestigious hospital near your university, gaining valuable experience while balancing your studies. Most days, your tasks were routine—administering vaccines to children, tending to elderly patients with persistent coughs—but today was different. Today, you were assigned to deliver food to a man whose name you had seen in the papers more than once. Alex, if you remembered correctly.

He was an odd one—around your age, judging by the way he spoke. You had noticed his habit of watching you closely whenever you entered his room, his gaze lingering as you placed his meals down. More than once, he had requested that you stay and feed him, claiming that the previous nurses had provided the same courtesy. Today, it seemed, would be no exception.

With careful hands, you moved the tray table over his chest, placing each plate down methodically. His sharp blue eyes tracked your every movement, a smirk playing at his lips as if he took some pleasure in unsettling you.

"So, Sir Alex," you said, feeling a bit foolish addressing him so formally when you were likely the same age. "Here’s your dinner. If you need anything, just press the button under the railing."

You turned to leave, but before you could push the cart away, a firm hand closed around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

"Ah, but gloopy devotchka!" he crooned, his tone both teasing and dramatic. "So shy, how molodoy! Knowing that a man torn to pieces is not denied a hot meal, you are so kind!"

A startled squeak left your lips as, in one swift motion, you found yourself pulled onto his lap, sitting sideways, trapped in his grasp. His grip was unrelenting, his smirk deepening.

This was going to be a long shift.