The Coldhearted Surgeon's Billionaire Revenge

The water pressure in the shower was pathetic, but the heat was real. Anya scrubbed her skin until it was pink, trying to wash away the phantom sensation of Belle's perfume and Bentley's rage.

She dried off and changed into the only other clothes she had packed: a pair of grey sweatpants and an oversized Yale t-shirt.

She felt smaller in these clothes. Less armored.

The house smelled musty. She needed fresh air.

She opened the sliding glass door to the back patio. The ocean roared in the distance, crashing against the cliffs.

The patio faced the side of Julian's house.

She froze.

Julian's house was a lantern in the night. The walls were floor-to-ceiling glass. He had no curtains. He lived his life on display, daring the world to look.

She could see into his living room. It was stark, minimalist. White leather couches, abstract art, a fireplace that spanned the entire wall.

Julian was there.

He had shed the suit jacket. His white shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He held a tumbler of amber liquid-whiskey, neat.

He was pacing. He looked like a caged tiger, full of restless energy. He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up.

He stopped.

He looked straight out the glass wall, directly at her patio.

Anya stood in the shadows of the overhang. She was invisible. She had to be.

But Julian walked out of his living room, onto his own dark patio. Now he stood in the same darkness she did, a silhouette against the lighted room behind him. He raised his glass, toasting the shadows where she stood.

Anya's phone rang in her hand.

She looked at the screen. Unknown Number.

She answered it, her eyes locked on the man on the opposite patio.

"Hello?"

"Peeping is illegal, Dr. Blair."

His voice was rich, intimate, as if he were standing right behind her.

Anya flushed. "You live in a fishbowl, Julian. You're practically begging for an audience."

"I have nothing to hide," Julian said. He took a sip of his drink. She could imagine the movement of his throat as he swallowed. "Do you?"

"I'm just getting some air," Anya said defensively.

"You're hiding," Julian corrected. "From Bentley. From the board. From the decision you have to make."

"I'm not hiding from myself."

"Then why are you in that mausoleum?" Julian asked. "My legal team is on standby. We can draft the terms for the emergency board meeting now. Or you can hide in there and let Bentley consolidate power at the hospital."

"What do you want, Julian?" she asked, repeating the question from the elevator.

Across the lawn, Julian stopped moving. He turned fully toward her direction.

"I told you," he said, his voice dropping lower. "I want you to collect what you're owed."

"The patent is leverage," Anya said.

"You know I'm not talking about leverage," Julian said.

The silence stretched. It was heavy, laden with implication.

Anya felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold.

"Goodnight, Julian," she said.

"The clock is ticking, Anya," he replied. "Bentley is weak, but he's not stupid. He's making calls right now."

He hung up.

Across the way, Julian walked back inside his glass house. The lights went out all at once.

The sudden darkness was jarring. Anya blinked, trying to adjust. She felt blind.

He was still there, in the dark, watching her. But now she couldn't see him.

She retreated into the house and locked the sliding door. She pulled the curtains shut, overlapping the fabric so not a sliver of light could escape.

She lay in the unfamiliar bed, staring at the ceiling.

Not leverage.

The words echoed in her head.