Chapter 17: Wrong Past

SEBASTIAN

I swivel in my chair, last night's event replaying in relentless loops. No matter how I tried to fall asleep, it never came—not just because of her request to do it again, but because my body has begun to crave her, and I despise how much space she’s taking in my head. I watched her leave so early this morning without a word, her steps sharp and hurried, frustration burning off her like heat. I knew she was furious. Because after I left her, she stormed out of the pleasure room, kicking the door again and again in frustration because I offered nothing—no answer.

But no, regardless of how much my body desires her, I can’t afford to act rashly. Control is the only thing keeping me standing. Because if this happens again—if I let myself taste that sweetness one more time—I might end up the prey. And that is something I refuse to turn into.

I plug in my earbuds and play the video from last night. My body goes tense the instant her moans flood my ears—low, broken sounds that slip under my skin and settle somewhere dangerous. I close my eyes, letting them sink in, not just to hear but to feel; it sounds like enchanted music pulling at parts of me I should keep locked away.

Damn it. I need to see her.

Then it hits me.

Her bracelet.

She left it behind. This is the perfect excuse—a reason to see her without admitting the true one. I send a message and observe it, and in a short split second, the read receipt appears almost instantly. Something inside me shifted; that means she’s been waiting for my message too.

I draw in a slow breath, my eyes closing again as my fingers tap against the desk in a steady rhythm. My mind is already sketching out what I’ll do when she walks into the office.

A sudden knock on the door shatters the moment. My heart drops instantly.

She’s already here? That's impossible. It takes her at least thirty minutes to drive from her place to my office—not ten. And I don’t have a single patient scheduled this morning.

“Come in,” I say, keeping my voice steady.

The door swings open, and the sight of her makes my skin crawl. My fist tightens on instinct.

She steps inside with that same bold and unsettling confidence, her lips curling into a knowing smile. She winks before closing the door behind her.

“Hello, Sebastian,” she says smoothly. “Did you miss me?”

She turns slowly, giving me a full 360 as if she owns the space.

In every profession, there are people who make you question your choices—people who test your boundaries simply by existing. She is one of them. A patient I once treated in Florida. Admiration was never enough for her; it had to be an obsession. When that wasn’t returned, it turned into something darker. Stalking.

I had made it more clear to her I don’t engage in intimacy with my patients. And I won't cross that boundary.

Alma was exceptional anyways.

But no matter how I made it clear, this woman was unwilling to see that.

And now, she had tracked me all the way back to my hometown.

“Sebastian,” she said softly, “do you know how I felt when I heard you were transferred to New Mexico?” She sighed and settled into the chair across from me, removing her sunshades. “I didn’t think I’d survive it.”

She paused.

And her expression changed into something sharp and ugly flashing through her eyes. “Then I heard you were getting engaged.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I can’t let that happen.”

I leaned back slowly, fingers interlaced, staring at her in stunned disbelief.

She's seven years older than me. A forty-year-old woman.

This wasn’t admiration. This was an obsession—and it is completely insane.

“What do you want, Mrs. Frederico?” I ask, my gaze fixed on her—sharp, empty.

She smiles and rises to her feet. Her steps are slow, her fingers trailing along the edge of my desk before she reaches me. Without asking, she turns my chair and settles onto my lap. Her intoxicating perfume hits hard, heavy enough to choke, but I don’t flinch. I’ve seen this scene too many times. It doesn’t move me.

“I want you to satisfy me,” she says shamelessly. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll pay you more than any hospital ever could.”

“Mrs. Frederico,” I reply calmly, keeping my voice measured and calculating, “your husband is running for mayor. What do you think happens when he finds out about your little secret life?”

Her expression cracks. Her eyes widen in shock, her face dripping with fear.

No matter who you are in this world, you always answer to someone. And she is no exception. She fears her husband more than anything else—and she knows I perceive it.

Suddenly, the door flies open.

Mrs. Frederico stiffens, her eyes snapping toward it. I don’t need to turn to know who it is—only one person barges into my office like she owns the place. The pure audacity of her always gets on my nerves.

And yet—I must say.

Her timing is fucking perfect.

She prowled in like a hungry tigress, every movement forceful. With a rough push, she slammed the stainless-steel food flask onto my desk.

Her other hand yanked Mrs. Frederico off my lap before Mrs. Frederico could even process what was happening. Victoria’s hand came down hard, slapping her twice. The sound broke through the air violently.

Mrs. Frederico's eyes widened in shock, and she turned back, returning the slap. In an instant, they were on each other, their hands tangling in each other's hair, pulling and grabbing.

Mrs. Frederico is fifteen years older than Victoria, but her small frame made her look almost like five years older. They were both two dangerous women, and the last thing I could ever do was intervene between two forces like this—especially when neither of them meant anything to me.

Their voices filled the room, raw and fierce. If it weren’t for the soundproof walls, security would have been dragging them out by now for disturbing the hospital’s peace.

Their fight grew intense, with Mrs. Frederico continuously landing blow after blow on Victoria.

“Enough,” I said, and for a second, they froze. Victoria still attempted to push, but I repeated, sharper this time, “I said enough.”

They finally let go of each other, their faces battered and bruised, their hair messy.

“Sebastian, why would this old woman be sitting on your lap?” Victoria snapped, glaring.

“Don’t you dare call me an old woman, you fool,” Mrs. Frederico shot back, venom in every word.

Victoria bristled, ready to lunge again, when a soft knock rattled the tense air.

And slowly the door clicked open; my breath caught. The one person I had wanted to see more than anyone stepped in, her eyes widening at the scene before her.

She gasped, stunned at the two women in front of her.

And before I could stop it, a filthy, pleased smile tugged across my face.