Misdiagnosis in andrology, My Billionaire Husband

The room was so quiet Jeanine could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall. Conrad stared at the silver needle quivering slightly in the skin of his hand. He flexed his fingers cautiously.

Jeanine sank to the floor. The adrenaline was draining out of her, leaving her limbs heavy as lead. She pulled up the leg of her scrubs. A shard of glass was embedded near her ankle bone. She pulled it out with a wince, pressing a tissue to the cut.

"You want money," Conrad said. It wasn't a question. It was an accusation.

Jeanine stood up, ignoring the sting in her leg. "I told you. I want my license. I want the lawsuit gone."

Conrad looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time. "That trick is useful. But it's not worth five million dollars."

Before Jeanine could argue, his phone on the nightstand began to buzz again. It vibrated violently against the wood.

GRANDMOTHER flashed on the screen.

Conrad squeezed the bridge of his nose. He looked like a man standing on the edge of a cliff. He reached for the phone to decline it, but stopped.

"She's going to keep calling," Jeanine said softly. "Until you pick up."

Conrad's head snapped toward her. "Were you listening at the door?"

"I heard enough," Jeanine said. Her heart hammered against her ribs. This was insane. This was suicide. But she thought of Jennings. She thought of the ventilator humming in her mother's room.

"You need a shield," she said, the words tumbling out before she could regret them. "Your family is pressuring you. You need them to stop. And I... I need to keep my job."

Conrad slowly turned his body toward her. The pain was manageable now, allowing his arrogance to return in full force. "Are you suggesting you play the role of my girlfriend? You have quite the ambition for an intern."

"It's a transaction," Jeanine said, her voice catching as his intense gaze bore into her. "I have... I have severe social anxiety. I s-s-stutter when I'm nervous. I have zero interest in you romantically. You're safe with me."

Conrad scoffed. He looked her up and down with open disdain. Her scrubs were three sizes too big, hiding her figure. Her hair was shoved into a lumpy surgical cap. Thick, black-rimmed glasses slid down her nose.

"Look at you," he sneered. "You look like a librarian who got lost in a laundry chute. Bringing you home would only prove my incompetence, not my stability."

Jeanine felt the heat rise in her cheeks. Without a word, she reached up and pulled off the surgical cap. Golden blonde hair cascaded down her back in heavy waves. She took off the glasses.

She looked up at him. Her eyes were wide, the color of honey in the sunlight. Her bone structure, usually hidden by exhaustion and bad lighting, was delicate and aristocratic.

Conrad blinked. For a fraction of a second, the sneer faltered.

"I... I can act," Jeanine stammered, the stutter betraying her as she faced his judgment. "I can b-be presentable."

Conrad watched her struggle with the words. A strange look crossed his face-something dark and possessive.

The phone stopped ringing, then immediately started ringing again. This time, it was a FaceTime request.

Conrad looked at the phone, then at Jeanine. He made a decision.

He reached out, grabbed her arm, and yanked her forward.

"Hey!" Jeanine yelped as she lost her balance. She fell onto the bed, landing awkwardly against his chest. His arm clamped around her waist like a steel band, pinning her there. He smelled of sandalwood, crisp linen, and the faint metallic tang of the needle.

He hit the green button.

"Conrad!" An elegant elderly woman filled the screen. She was wearing pearls and a look of stern disapproval. "Why are you ignoring your mother? You must come home this weekend, and you must bring-"

"I'm not ignoring anyone, Grandmother," Conrad said. His voice changed instantly. It became warmer, lighter. "I've been occupied."

He turned the camera slightly so Jeanine's face filled the frame. She was pressed against his bare chest, her hair messy, her cheeks flushed red from the fall.

"Grandmother, this is Jeanine," Conrad said smoothly. "She's... taking care of me."

Jeanine froze. She felt Conrad's fingers dig into her waist, a silent command. Smile.

She forced the corners of her mouth up. "H-Hi."

The old woman on the screen gasped. Her eyes widened. "Oh my heavens. Is that... are those scrubs?"

"She's a doctor, Grandma," Conrad lied effortlessly. "Surgical intern."

"A doctor!" The grandmother clasped her hands together. "Oh, Conrad! Finally! Someone with a brain! And she's beautiful!"

Jeanine felt Conrad's chest rumble as he chuckled. It was a fake sound, but effective. "Yes, she is. We're a bit busy right now, Grandma. I'll call you later."

"Bring her to the Hamptons!" the grandmother shouted as the screen went black.

Conrad dropped the phone.

He released Jeanine instantly, pushing her away as if she were contagious.

"Deal," he said, wiping his hand on the sheet.

Jeanine scrambled off the bed, smoothing her scrubs. Her heart was racing so fast she thought she might pass out.

"Be at my office tomorrow at 8:00 AM," Conrad said, his voice back to glacial coldness. "You'll sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement. It will be thicker than your medical textbooks. Now, get out."

Jeanine grabbed her bag and fled.

Outside in the hallway, she leaned against the wall, gasping for air. She could still feel the heat of his skin where her cheek had pressed against him. It smelled of danger.