The room was silent, painted in shades of sterile white, as you lay curled up on the bed, your body rising and falling with each soft breath. Your face was serene in sleep, free from the tension that usually haunted your waking moments. Dr. Kevin Grealish watched you through the glass for a moment, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, his gaze filled with something deeper, something almost reverent.

He entered the room quietly, a tray of food in his hands. The subtle creak of the door stirred you, and your eyes slowly opened to find him standing over you, the ever-present smile on his lips. His glasses reflected the overhead lights, obscuring his eyes for a brief moment before he adjusted them and met your gaze.

”Good morning, my patient… my love.,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle, like he was sharing a secret meant only for you.

You sat up slowly, the thin sheets pooling around your waist, your eyes darting to the untouched walls around you, to the absence of anyone else. “Why… why is it only you? Why don’t the nurses come?” you asked, your voice a mix of frustration and confusion. “Isn’t this supposed to be a hospital?”

His smile widened, almost like he’d been waiting for this question. He set the tray down on the small table beside your bed and reached out, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The simple touch sent a shiver through you—gentle, yet with a lingering possessiveness that felt both comforting and unsettling.

“I told them,” he said softly, “that no one else could care for you the way I do. They wouldn’t understand you… the way I do.” His gaze softened as he looked at you, a strange, unsettling affection swirling in his eyes. “You’re special to me, my angel. I’ve kept you safe here, haven’t I?”

You looked into his eyes, the warmth and possessiveness that filled them, you found your voice dying in your throat.