This is my life, she thought. I earned my place here. And no headline or rumor will take that away from me.
By the time she reached the surgical wing, she was already focused on her next task.
A new day had begun—and Jillian Smith was ready to own it.
Later in the morning, Jillian was halfway through reviewing a patient chart when she heard an unusual stir in the hallway. Curious glances, whispers. She stepped out—and there he was.
Ethan Hunter, standing tall in his crisp suit, exuding a quiet dominance that made even the senior doctors straighten up.
Their eyes met. Jillian's heart skipped.
"Mr. Hunter," she said formally, lips twitching at the corners.
"Dr. Smith," Ethan replied, voice low and teasing. "I believe I have a follow-up appointment... or should I call it a house call?"
Jillian fought the warmth rushing up her cheeks. "You should have scheduled through proper channels."
"I could," Ethan said, stepping a little closer, voice dropping, "but then I wouldn't get to see your face light up like this."
Around them, the hospital buzzed on—but in their bubble, it was just the two of them, unspoken affection hanging heavily between glances and half-smiles.
"I'll have someone check you in," Jillian managed, turning quickly, but not before he caught the tiny smile she couldn't hide.
And Ethan thought to himself, No matter what storm comes next, I'm standing right here.
Jillian tightened the strap of her medical mask as she flipped through Ethan's file, pretending not to notice how he lounged smugly on the examination table.
He looked far too comfortable for a man supposedly here for "follow-up care."
"You know," Ethan said with a mischievous glint in his eye, "if this is how MyCorp's VIP patients are treated, I might consider getting sick more often."
Jillian shot him a warning glare over her clipboard. "Maybe next time, I'll assign you to Dr. Sun instead. He's very fond of enthusiastic patients."
Ethan chuckled, the rich sound wrapping around her like a warm breeze. "No offense, Doc, but I prefer your brand of torture."
As she moved to check his vitals, Ethan deliberately shifted, causing a pile of forms on the side table to scatter. Jillian sighed, bending to gather them quickly.
Ethan joined her, and for a fleeting moment, their fingers brushed. Jillian froze, her heart betraying her by pounding far too loudly in her ears.
Their eyes met. Neither spoke.
Just then, another doctor—Dr. Lin—passed by, offering Jillian a friendly smile and a casual, "Morning, Dr. Smith. You look radiant today."
Before Jillian could even respond, she felt it—the subtle shift beside her.
Ethan's posture stiffened. His eyes narrowed slightly, though he said nothing.
Later, as she adjusted the cuff around his arm, Ethan spoke low, only for her ears:
"You're mine now, Jillian. Don't let anyone forget it."
Jillian almost fumbled the cuff.
She straightened quickly, cheeks heating. "Ethan..." she warned under her breath. "Not here. It's inappropriate."
He leaned closer, the ghost of a smile on his lips, but obeyed—pulling back with a reluctant sigh. "Fine. I'll behave... for now."
When the official check-up wrapped up, Ethan didn't leave immediately. Instead, he claimed he needed to "wait for the test results."
Jillian knew better—but she let it slide.
They sat in a quiet corner of the hospital's rooftop garden, both sipping coffee in the fading afternoon light.
No urgent talks, no heavy confessions.
Just soft conversation—about favorite books, old songs, places they wanted to visit.
Jillian listened to Ethan describe a little café he liked in Italy, his voice warm and relaxed. For the first time in a long while, she felt... safe.
Underneath the teasing and the tension, something deeper took root—something neither dared name yet.
And somehow, that made it all the more real.
The soft chatter between them lulled into a comfortable silence. Jillian closed her eyes briefly, feeling the gentle breeze brush against her skin.
Ethan was still there beside her—silent, patient—like he wasn't in a rush to be anywhere else.
Just as Jillian opened her mouth to speak again, her phone buzzed insistently in her pocket.
She frowned, fishing it out.
Grandmother.
Her heart warmed immediately. Without hesitation, she answered, voice soft and respectful.
"Grandma?"
"Jillian, my girl," her grandmother's lively voice crackled through the line. "So it's true? You finally caught yourself a man?"
Jillian flushed, casting a side glance at Ethan, who was now openly eavesdropping with a smirk.
"Grandma, it's not... It's complicated," she mumbled.
"Nonsense," her grandmother declared. "I want to meet him. Bring him home for dinner soon, you hear me? If he's good enough to call himself your fiancé, he's good enough to sit at my table."
Jillian sputtered. "Grandma, it's... it's still new—"
"No excuses. I'll be waiting," came the firm reply before the call abruptly ended.
Jillian groaned, hiding her face behind her hands.
Ethan chuckled lowly. "I take it I'm invited?"
She peeked through her fingers to glare at him. "You heard that?"
He only shrugged innocently. "I'd be honored to meet the woman who raised a stubborn little hurricane like you."
Jillian couldn't help it—she laughed, light and helpless.
Maybe… maybe bringing Ethan home wouldn't be so terrifying after all.
Later that evening, after some playful arguing over grocery lists and who was the better cook (Ethan insisted he was, Jillian rolled her eyes), they found themselves in Jillian's kitchen.
Ethan wore a dark apron—one that Jillian barely remembered owning—while she struggled to chop vegetables without laughing at how serious he looked.
"You're holding that knife wrong," Ethan said, sliding behind her to adjust her grip.
His hands covered hers, guiding them carefully. His warmth pressed against her back, steady and protective.
Jillian's heart skipped embarrassingly.
"I know how to chop," she muttered, even though she didn't pull away.
He didn't argue. Just leaned closer and murmured, "Good. Then you'll help me impress your grandmother."
They moved around each other in the small kitchen, the atmosphere light, the occasional brushes of hands sending sparks through Jillian's chest.
Flour somehow ended up on Ethan's cheek, which made her laugh so hard she nearly dropped a bowl.
He retaliated by smudging flour on her nose, claiming it was "war strategy."
By the time they finished cooking, Jillian was breathless with laughter and more relaxed than she'd been in days.
The table was filled with hearty dishes—comfort food with a homemade touch—and Ethan looked at her with something deeper than amusement.
"You look happy," he said simply, softly.
Jillian blinked, surprised.
And smiled.
"Maybe because... for once, I am."
Their eyes locked for a moment too long. Jillian looked away first, busying herself with cleaning—but she couldn't wipe the silly grin off her face.