Dear Dr. Warwick

: Coincidentally, I Have an Eight-Pack

3

The breakup went smoothly. Ian Alastair transferred a huge sum of money to me as compensation.

And I was the epitome of a model ex-girlfriend: moved out and blocked him everywhere, all in one smooth motion.

I even blocked every single friend connected to Ian Alastair, making a clean sweep of it.

I put all the money from Ian Alastair into savings, keeping just a portion to invest in my own business.

Life after the breakup was going great. If I hadn't worked myself so hard that I nearly landed in the hospital, you could even say I was thriving.

Today, I was clutching my test results, anxiously waiting for the doctor to speak.

But the man in the white coat simply sat there with his head down, completely silent behind his glasses.

I'd thought it was just an upset stomach from overworking myself.

But seeing his reaction, 'Don't tell me I have a terminal illness?'

The moment that thought crossed my mind, before he could even look up, I covered my face and burst into miserable sobs.

"Doctor, I can't be this unlucky, can I? I haven't even become a rich woman yet! And more importantly, I still haven't found a boyfriend with an eight-pack!"

His shoulders trembled. Unable to hold back any longer, he finally looked up, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a slender finger.

"Miss Kane, you're fine. It's just low blood sugar. Be sure to eat your meals on time."

"..."

The tears I'd been trying so hard to force out instantly got stuck. I stared at his signature charming eyes.

"It's you?"

'Dammit, how did I manage to embarrass myself in front of this handsome doctor again?'

The doctor with the charming eyes raised an eyebrow at me. "Miss Kane, as it happens, I have an eight-pack."

"..."