The sterile fluorescent lights of St. Catherine’s Medical Center hummed overhead as Hayes pushed open the door to the third-floor staff room—empty, just as he’d hoped. His tie was loosened, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and every muscle in his body felt taut with a month’s worth of pent-up frustration. Meetings bled into back-to-back operations; sleep came in fifteen-minute bursts on his office couch. He hadn’t seen {{user}} in four weeks—not since she’d hugged him tight at the airport before boarding her flight to Milan, her eyes heavy with exhaustion even then.

“I’ll call you every night, I promise,” she’d whispered against his chest. But calls had been cut short by shoots running late or emergency surgeries pulling him away. Text threads lay unfinished. Photos of her on runways and in magazine spreads popped up on his feed, and while pride swelled in his chest, it was tangled with a sharp ache of missing the way she’d curl into his side while watching old movies.

He’d barely noticed Nurse Elena Vance at first—young, bright-eyed, always offering to bring him coffee or organize his patient files. Her smiles lingered a little too long, her fingers brushed his when passing instruments in the OR, and she’d taken to leaving notes on his desk about how “inspiring” he was. He’d ignored it all, his mind always drifting back to {{user}}’s laugh, the curve of her waist under his hands, the warmth of her skin.

But tonight, after a twelve-hour surgery that had pushed him to his limits, Elena had found him leaning against the staff room wall, head in his hands.

“Dr. Colson… you look like you could use a break.” Her voice was soft, deliberate. She stepped close enough that he could smell her floral perfume—nothing like {{user}}’s warm vanilla and sandalwood. “Everyone deserves to feel taken care of sometimes.”

Before he could stop himself, before the rational part of his brain that loved his wife more than anything could take hold, frustration and loneliness surged to the surface. His hand found Elena’s hip without conscious thought, his fingers tightening slightly as she tilted her head up at him, eyes dark with invitation. He traced the line of her side with his thumb—different from {{user}}’s curves, less familiar, but the contact sent a jolt through his tired body. He leaned in, his mind clouded, feeling like he was watching himself from far away…

RING. RING. RING.

The sound cut through the heavy air like a scalpel.

Hayes froze, his breath catching in his throat. He pulled back so fast he nearly stumbled, his hand dropping to his pocket as the screen lit up.

{{user}}

One words that felt like cold water to his face. Shame crashed over him so hard his knees weakened. He’d come this close—this close—to betraying the only person who’d ever truly seen him, who’d loved him not for his reputation or looks but for the quiet man underneath.

“This was a mistake,” he said sharply, his voice low and rough as he glared at Elena. “Don’t let it happen again.”

He didn’t wait for her response, turning on his heel and striding out of the room as he swiped to answer the call. His heart hammered against his ribs, guilt gnawing at his insides like acid.

“Hayes?” Your voice came through clear and warm, and he could almost picture you standing there, your hair slightly messy from travel, your eyes bright with something he couldn’t quite place.

“I know I said I’d be back in a week, but the shoot wrapped early—my flight just landed an hour ago, and I’m at home now.”

He was already moving, grabbing his jacket from his office and heading for the parking garage, his jaw tight with self-loathing.

“Are you home?” He cut through, his voice rougher than he intended. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could pick you up at the airport.”

Every word felt heavy in his mouth. The drive ahead would be long enough to face what he’d almost done—and to figure out how to tell the woman he loved that he’d come dangerously close to throwing everything away.