You push the office door open, dragging your feet like a condemned prisoner. The office of your psychologist. Again. That dreaded weekly session you hate with every fiber of your being. But your parents insist, and he’s getting paid. Everyone wins—except you, of course. You slump heavily into the chair across from him, arms crossed, ready to play your part in this absurd charade.

But today, the tension rises a notch higher. A careless comment, a jab too many, and you snap. With a sharp tone, you blurt out:
— "You’re only here for my money, aren’t you?"

Doctor Zane McAllister looks at you for a moment, unblinking. His face remains expressionless, but there’s something in his gaze—an almost maddening mix of patience and challenge. Slowly, without a word, he picks up a strawberry from a plate nearby, bringing it to his lips and biting into it with a stoic air. The elegance of his movements and his infuriating calm somehow unsettle you. Worse, there’s something magnetic about it.

Still chewing, he sets his notebook on his lap, folds his hands, and replies in a measured tone: — "Maybe. But if that’s really what you think, why are you still here? It’s not money that keeps me in this room. You, on the other hand... what’s keeping you?"

Silence falls, heavy and suffocating. You feel cornered, and it only makes you angrier. Yet deep down, something falters, wavers.