The Billionaire Doctor's Runaway Patient

Three days later.

Hope stood at the front of the glass-walled conference room, her fingers gripping a laser pointer so tightly the plastic creaked. A dull, heavy ache radiated from her lower back, wrapping around her sides like a tightening iron corset.

She hadn't filled Corbin's prescription. The thought of taking medicine with his name on the bottle made her skin crawl. Instead, she had bought cheap cranberry extract pills from a corner CVS, hoping it would flush the infection out.

It hadn't. The infection had climbed.

Hope took a shallow breath and clicked to the next slide on the projector. "As you can see, the Q3 projections for the merger show a slight dip in-"

A sudden, blinding spike of agony drove straight through her right kidney.

Hope gasped, the sound echoing loudly in the quiet room. Her knees buckled slightly. The red dot of the laser pointer jerked wildly across the projection screen, dancing over the bar graphs like a manic heartbeat. Cold sweat instantly drenched her underarms.

Franklin Finch slammed his hand flat on the mahogany table. The loud smack made Hope flinch.

"Are you drunk, Spence?" Franklin barked, his face twisting in disgust. "Or did you spend all night popping pills at some club? You're shaking like a junkie."

A few of the senior partners sitting around the table let out low, cruel chuckles.

Hope's face drained of all color. She opened her mouth to defend herself, to say she was sick, but another wave of pain hit her so hard her vision went black at the edges. She gripped the edge of the podium to keep from collapsing.

"This presentation is garbage," Franklin sneered, tossing his printed copy of her deck onto the table. "Get out. You're embarrassing my firm. Don't come back until you can stand up straight."

The humiliation was a physical weight crushing her chest. Hope couldn't speak. She clutched her side, turned, and pushed through the heavy glass door. She limped past the rows of cubicles, ignoring the stares, grabbed her trench coat and purse, and stumbled toward the elevators.

She made it out of the building before her legs gave out.

Right on the corner of Wall Street, the pain ripped through her back with the force of a serrated knife. Hope dropped to her knees on the hard, filthy concrete. The impact sent a shockwave up her spine. She curled in on herself, wrapping her arms around her stomach, tears of pure agony spilling down her cheeks.

People in expensive suits stepped around her. No one stopped. The brutal indifference of New York City pressed down on her.

With trembling, numb fingers, she pulled out her phone. She searched for the nearest public hospital ER. The red text on the screen glared at her: Current Wait Time: 6 Hours.

A sob tore from her throat. She would die in a waiting room chair. Her kidney felt like it was going to burst.

She had no choice.

She opened her blocked contacts list. She stared at Corbin's number. The war between her pride and her physical survival raged in her chest, but the pain was a ruthless dictator. She unblocked the number, but she couldn't bring herself to call him directly. Instead, she dialed the clinic's main line.

"Manhattan Comprehensive," the receptionist answered.

"Hope Spence," Hope choked out, crying openly now. "I need... I need a doctor."

There was a brief pause, the sound of typing, and then the receptionist's tone shifted, becoming incredibly urgent and polite. "Ms. Spence. Dr. Mullen left strict instructions regarding your file. He has an emergency room prepped for you right now. How quickly can you get here?"

Hope's grip on the phone tightened. He knew. He knew she would fail. He knew she would come back. It was a trap, and she was walking right into it.

"Ten minutes," she sobbed.

She flagged down a taxi, practically crawling into the backseat. Every pothole the car hit sent a fresh wave of torture through her body.

When the cab pulled up to the clinic, Hope forced the door open and stumbled out. She pushed through the glass doors. The receptionist didn't ask her to sign anything. She immediately came out from behind the desk, grabbed Hope by the arm, and supported her weight as they walked down the long corridor toward the VIP suites.

The nurse pushed open a heavy oak door. The lights in the room were dimmed.

Corbin was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to the door, sipping from a white ceramic coffee cup. He wore his white coat, his posture rigidly perfect.

Hearing the door, he turned slowly. His icy blue eyes locked onto Hope's pale, sweat-drenched face. There was no surprise in his expression. Only a dark, terrifying calm.

The nurse stepped back and pulled the door shut. The lock clicked. They were sealed in.

Without the nurse supporting her, Hope's legs gave way. She slid down the heavy wooden door, her trench coat pooling around her as she hit the cold floor. She pulled her knees to her chest, gasping for air.

Corbin set his coffee cup down on the counter. The clink of the ceramic was the only sound in the room. He walked toward her, his long strides eating up the distance. He stopped right in front of her, towering over her crumpled form.

He didn't reach out to help her up. He looked down at her, his eyes cold and clinical.

"Over-the-counter cranberry pills," Corbin stated, his voice devoid of any sympathy. "Leading to a retrograde infection and acute pyelonephritis. I assumed a Wall Street analyst possessed basic common sense."

His words were precise, surgical strikes to her pride. Hope tilted her head back, looking up at him through her tears. The humiliation burned hotter than the fever in her blood.

"Leave me alone," she whispered weakly, her voice breaking. "I don't need your lectures."

Corbin let out a dark, humorless laugh. He suddenly dropped down, crouching in front of her. He reached out, his large, warm hand gripping her jaw. His fingers pressed firmly against her skin, forcing her to look directly into his eyes. The sheer dominance in his posture made her breath hitch.

"Leave you alone?" Corbin repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerous, velvety whisper. "You crawled back into my clinic, Ms. Spence. You don't get to dictate the terms anymore."

Hope stared into his eyes. The physical agony in her kidney and the total collapse of her emotional walls hit her all at once. She closed her eyes, a fresh tear slipping out from under her lashes, completely surrendering to the pain and the man holding her.