The Don Chased His Donna Back

I am a top-notch surgeon. But when my ex-boyfriend —— now the Don of the Blackwood family —— was brought to the hospital injured, even the head nurse advised me against taking the case.

Everyone said the Dante Blackwood despised me. Because three years ago—the last time we met—I took off my engagement ring and handed it back to him, then got into the car of Dominic, the Don of Mercer family.

But I still put on my white coat and walked in.

Not only walked in—I pressed my hand right against his stomach without a shred of hesitation.

Before the punch came, it was the killing intent in his eyes.

"I told you. Touch me one more time, and I'll break every bone in your body."

The interns outside the door were all holding their breath for my safety.

I adjusted my gold-rimmed glasses and let out a helpless smile.

But the moment I undid the buttons of his shirt, even though his mouth told me to get out, his body couldn't help but tense up.

The head nurse Margaret blocked the office doorway, absolutely refusing to let me go treat Dante Blackwood.

"Ivy, have you lost your mind? Don't you know how much Don Dante hates you? You're walking straight into humiliation!"

"I know."

"And you're still going?"

I wiped my gold-rimmed glasses clean and slid them back onto my nose.

"One million dollars."

Margaret froze.

I didn't explain.

My brother's kidney transplant was still one million short.

I drew in a deep breath.

Three years.

Dante and I hadn't seen each other in three years.

The last time we met, I'd taken off the engagement ring with my own hands and given it back to him.

He'd stood in the rain that day, soaked through, his eyes so red they looked ready to bleed.

I didn't look back. I got into Dominic's car. Dominic was the Don of Mercer Family.

From that day on, the entire hospital knew—Dante Blackwood despised Ivy Ashford.

Fate has a cruel sense of humor.

Because Dante's stomach surgery could only be performed by me, the hospital's top internal medicine specialist.

A bodyguard in a dark suit stood in the VIP wing corridor.

The moment I pushed open the door, the first person I saw was Vivienne Whitmore.

Dante's fiancée. The heiress to Whitmore Corporation.

She sat at the bedside, legs crossed, her fresh French manicure glinting under the lights.

When she saw me, her expression was priceless.

"Well, well. If it isn't Ivy Ashford. What's this—sniffed your way over here like a dog to crawl into his bed?"

I ignored her.

My gaze passed over her shoulder and landed on the man in the hospital bed.

Dante was propped against the pillows.

Three years apart, and he'd lost weight.

His cheekbones were sharper, his eye sockets deeper, but the menace in those eyes was thicker than it had been three years ago.

The way he looked at me—like I was his enemy.

No. Worse than an enemy.

"Get out." His voice was hoarse, every syllable heavy enough to grind bone.

I walked forward, picked up the chart from the bedside table, flipped through two pages, and said, "Mr. Blackwood, please unbutton your shirt."

Vivienne shot out of her chair.

"Ivy! Are you deaf? Dante told you to get out!"

Dante didn't move.

Those bloodshot eyes pinned to my face, like he was trying to confirm something.

I reached out to undo the buttons of his hospital gown.

When the first button came undone, I saw his arm tense violently.

His knuckles dug into the sheet beneath him.

The second button.

The sheet ripped with a sharp tearing sound.

He was holding back.

Every muscle in his body was resisting my closeness, but he didn't move.

All the buttons undone.

I pressed my cold palm against his stomach.

The instant my skin touched his, Dante's pupils contracted.

His entire body jolted as if struck by an electric current.

Then he seized my wrist.

The force nearly made me cry out.

"I told you."

His voice ground out of his throat, one word at a time.

"Touch me one more time, and I'll break every bone in your body."

The interns outside the door sucked in a collective breath.

I looked down at the hand clamped around my wrist.

Veins bulging. Knuckles white.

I pushed my glasses up and allowed a helpless curve to form at the corner of my mouth.

"Mr. Blackwood, I need to perform a palpation exam."

His fingers tightened further.

The skin on my wrist was already turning red and purple.

I didn't struggle.

I held his gaze and said, in the calmest voice I could manage—

"You can hit me. After you're done, I still have to do this exam."

Dante's chest heaved violently.

The sheet beneath him now had two holes clawed right through it.

Three seconds later, he let go.

My hand pressed down again.

Professionally, carefully, inch by inch.

His brow knotted tight.

Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead one by one.

But he clenched his jaw and didn't make a sound.

The cardiac monitor beside the bed suddenly screamed.

The heart rate numbers surged—120, 135, 145.

The piercing alarm blared through the entire room.

Vivienne's face went white. She shrieked, "Doctor! Someone get in here!"

The bodyguard outside charged in immediately.

A hand reached for my shoulder.

"Stop!"

Dante's roar shook the room.

The bodyguard's hand froze in midair.

"Who gave you permission to touch her?"

His voice was ice-cold, lethal.

"Are you blind?"

The bodyguard shrank back.

Vivienne opened her mouth, but didn't dare say another word.

I stood beside the bed and draped my stethoscope back around my neck.

Heart rate: 145.

Not a cardiac event.

A stress response.

I finished writing the last line on the chart and closed it.

I turned to leave.

A hand shot out from behind and grabbed the collar of my coat.

The next second, I was dragged onto the bed.

Dante's hand closed around my throat. He pinned me down.

His face was barely four inches from mine.

His breath, scorching hot, spilled across my ear.

"Ivy."

He ground my name through clenched teeth.

"If I strangled you right now, would that rich fiancé of yours come save you?"

I looked into his bloodred eyes and said, "Dominic and I broke up a long time ago."