Chapter 46: Snowflake
Every newcomer was assigned a private patient that week, a test of skill and endurance, the senior doctors said. Even Jennie and Raymond had been chosen. The hospital buzzed with nervous energy, white coats brushing past one another like restless ghosts under the fluorescent lights.
Raymond leaned over Isla’s desk, his coffee steaming faintly in his hand. “So… do you know who your patient is?” he asked, voice casual but laced with concern.
Isla pretended to check her clipboard, though her fingers trembled slightly around the edge of the file Matteo had given her the day before. The name printed in dark ink still haunted her.
“Yes,” she lied softly, forcing a smile. “An old man. Owns some big company, apparently.”
Raymond’s shoulders eased, and his lips curved faintly upward. “Good. I was worrying for nothing.”
Jennie appeared beside them, balancing her stethoscope around her neck like a necklace. “What about you, Dr. Raymond?” she teased, leaning on the counter. “Got your patient yet?”
“Some rich kid is recovering from an accident,” he said, smirking. “Shouldn’t be too bad.”
Jennie groaned dramatically. “So both of you already know yours, and I don’t. All they told me was his name.”
“His name?” Isla asked, pretending interest. “Who is it?”
Jennie flipped open her note. “Johnson Willingly. Do you know him?”
Isla shook her head, and Raymond did the same.
“I hope” Jennie muttered, pushing her bangs from her eyes. “ and pray it wasn’t some politician trying to buy sympathy.”
“Why do we have to live with them for three weeks anyway?” she went on, exasperated. “Some people even have to travel out of town.”
Raymond sipped his coffee and shrugged. “They’re testing our commitment. Seeing how we handle responsibility outside the hospital. We’re supposed to monitor, assist, and observe.”
Jennie pointed accusingly at him. “Then why are they testing you? You’re already a doctor.”
“New doctors have different tasks,” Raymond replied. “We visit. You interns live with them. Think of it as… immersive experience.”
Jennie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, immersive suffering. I hope mine’s at least polite.”
Raymond chuckled softly. “You’ll survive. Besides, people sometimes build real bonds through this. It’s how some patients choose their family doctors.”
Jennie grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “Lucky them. I’m going home to pack before I change my mind. See you both in three weeks time.”
“See you,” Isla said, waving. Her smile lingered only until Jennie disappeared around the corner.
When she turned back, Raymond was still there. His eyes lingered on her face, not probing, not invasive, but quietly watchful, as though he could sense the unease buried under her calm.
“You don’t have to walk me home,” Isla said softly, zipping her bag. “I’m leaving early tomorrow anyway.”
He smiled faintly, though something uncertain flickered behind his eyes. “I’m not worried.”
But the way he said it didn’t sound like a joke.
\---
That night, Valmont City slept under a quilt of snow. The streetlights outside Isla’s apartment glowed like tiny moons, their reflections rippling faintly across the icy pavement. She couldn’t sleep.
The file lay open on her bedside table, staring back at her like a silent accusation.
Patient: Lorenzo De Luca.
Her throat tightened at the name. Even after all these months, the memory of his voice could still find her, dark and low, threaded with power and danger.
You saved my life, Isla.
She closed the file quickly, her pulse drumming in her ears.
\---
By dawn, the city was blanketed in white. The kind of snow that muffled the sound, made everything look innocent, as if the world had pressed pause. Isla stood by her window, breath fogging against the cold glass. Her reflection looked small and pale against the storm’s glow.
She wore her hospital uniform beneath a heavy beige coat, her scarf looped tightly around her neck. Her fingers brushed against the small bottle of pepper spray she slipped into her pocket. Just in case.
At exactly eight, the low hum of an engine broke the quiet. Tires crunched over fresh snow.
She peered out.
A sleek black car waited at the curb, headlights slicing through the fog.
Her stomach dropped. Her pulse stuttered in her throat.
“Not again,” she whispered.
Still, she forced her steps steady as she walked down the icy stairs, suitcase in hand. Her boots squeaked faintly on the frosted pavement.
The driver, tall, silent, dressed in a dark wool coat, opened the door and gave a small nod. “Miss Monroe.”
His voice was deep, unfamiliar, but too calm.
She hesitated only a second before sliding into the back seat.
The door closed with a muted thud. Inside, the air smelled faintly of leather and winter pine. The hum of the heater filled the silence, but it did nothing to melt the chill crawling up her spine.
The city slipped by in silence, white rooftops, frozen fountains, pale morning light glinting off glass. Isla’s fingers twisted in her lap. Every passing street made her heart beat faster. The world outside blurred, familiar landmarks vanishing until the view opened into long, snow-dusted hills and an iron gate looming ahead.
Her breath caught.
No mistaking those gates.
She’d crossed them once before, the night that changed everything.
The De Luca mansion rose like a shadowed fortress against the pale sky, its tall windows glinting cold and gold. Even from inside the car, she could feel its presence, immense, silent, watching her.
The gates swung open.
The car rolled through and came to a stop before the grand entrance. The driver stepped out and circled to open her door.
“Miss Monroe,” he said again, polite, distant.
Her fingers tightened around her suitcase handle. “Thank you,” she murmured, though her voice felt far away.
Snow crunched beneath her boots as she stepped out. Her breath clouded in the cold air. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to turn back, but she forced herself forward, one hesitant step at a time.
The massive doors opened automatically, and a wave of warmth brushed against her frozen cheeks. The interior was just as she remembered, marble floors that echoed softly beneath each step, golden light spilling across dark wood and glass. It smelled faintly of cedar and smoke.
She exhaled shakily and looked around. The silence was too perfect, too deliberate.
And then…
Strong arms wrapped around her from behind.
Tight. Familiar. Possessive.
Her breath hitched sharply. “Hey!” she gasped, struggling. “Let me go!”
The hold only tightened.
“Stay still,” his voice murmured, low, commanding, dangerously calm.
That voice.
Her heart stumbled.
His warmth pressed against her back, his breath grazing the shell of her ear.
He inhaled slowly, his tone darkening to something intimate, unsettling.
“I almost forgot how good you smelled, snowflake.”
Her stomach twisted violently. Her body reacted before her mind did, she shoved backward, twisting out of his grip, the suitcase toppling beside her. The pepper spray was in her hand before she even realized it.
“Stay back,” she warned, her voice trembling. “I’m serious.”
Lorenzo stood a few feet away now, tall and composed, his expression unreadable.
He wore a charcoal turtleneck beneath a long black coat that hung open at the collar. A bandage wrapped around his neck and another around his hand, stark white against his tanned skin. His hair was slightly tousled, his jaw darkened with faint stubble.
Even wounded, he looked like something carved from control and danger.
His lips curved faintly, though not with amusement. “That’s new,” he said softly, nodding toward the spray. “You think that’ll keep me away from you?”
“Don’t come closer,” she said, voice sharper this time. Her finger hovered near the nozzle.
He chuckled, low and rough, the sound vibrating in the quiet hall. “Adorable.”
“I mean it, Lorenzo,” she snapped. “Don’t…”
But he stepped forward. The faint click of his boots on marble echoed like a warning. His eyes locked on hers, a shade of blue so deep they almost looked cold.
She took a step back, heart racing. “Stop right there.”
“I don’t want to,” he murmured.
Her hand trembled. She pressed down on the spray, a sharp hiss filling the air, but he moved too fast, raising his injured arm to block it. The mist splattered across his sleeve instead of his face.
In the same instant, he caught her wrist. The pepper spray clattered to the floor, spinning once before settling between them.
“Still so brave,” he whispered, voice softer now.
She struggled, but his grip was steady, not painful, but immovable. His eyes burned into hers, and for a moment, something unreadable flickered there. Anger? Regret? Something darker?
“What do you want from me, Lorenzo?” she demanded, her voice cracking just slightly.
He didn’t answer at first. Instead, his thumb brushed along her cheek, a touch so gentle it made her breath hitch.
His palm was warm, steady, the faint scrape of rough skin against her softness.
“Don’t,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Don’t do that.”
But he did, tracing a line down her jaw as though memorizing her again. Then he leaned closer, close enough that she could feel the whisper of his breath against her skin, faintly metallic, faintly bitter, like someone who hadn’t slept in days.
“I told you once, Isla,” he murmured. “You saved my life.”
He leaned in until their foreheads nearly touched. His voice dropped to a whisper.
“That means my life belongs to you. But I’m not sure you’ve realized…”
His fingers brushed her chin, lifting it slightly. His blue eyes burned into hers with quiet intensity.
“…that also means you belong to me.”