I need insurance.
I need Mikhail.
He can handle the conversation and make it clear that there are no second chances. But I don't have his number.
Demi has it.
I pull my phone from my pocket. The screen lights up, but there are no new notifications or traces of Blue. Another round of disappointment hits me.
Focus.
I open the messages, scroll to Demi's name, and type fast.
Me: I need Mikhail to call me.
I hit send. The message whooshes away. I stare at the screen, waiting.
Three dots appear. Then disappear. Then appear again.
Then a message finally pops up.
Demi: Understood. I'll get him the message.
Me: How is she?
More dots appear and disappear.
Demi: She's fantastic!
I jerk my head backward.
Fantastic?
The word lands like a slap, bright and careless, while every nerve in me is still raw from picturing Blue curled on her couch with that razor glinting in the dim light. Relief should flood me. It's proof she's breathing, smiling, maybe even laughing somewhere, but instead disappointment twists sharper. Fantastic means she's moving without me, thriving in a world I'm no longer part of.
My thumb hovers over the keyboard, itching to demand details, to claw back any scrap of her day, her mood, her voice, but I don't type. I can't. The screen stays blank except for those two mocking words, and the silence that follows feels heavier than any threat Mikhail could deliver.
I set the phone face down beside the hourglass, watching blue sand spill in its endless, indifferent rhythm, and for the first time today the dark thrill of control sours. The slow, burning realization thatkeeping her safe means watching her become someone I'll never touch again.
I exhale through my nose and close my eyes. Heat stirs low again with the memory of Blue's thighs parting under my hands, her back arching off the counter, breath ragged, nails scoring lines down my forearms. My cock twitches, thickening against the seam of my slacks. I shift in the chair, force a long breath through my nose.
Not now. Not here.
Get your life back.
I pick up the phone and make more calls to patients. The list shrinks, and my calendar fills again. When the last confirmation is done, I open the job board on the computer and make a posting for a new assistant.
A fresh start.
My stomach flips. Shirley was the best assistant I've ever had.
Don't dwell on it. She made her choice.
I close my eyes for a second. The rush from firing her flickers to life under my skin. It's wrong in all the right ways. Guilt flickers, faint and distant, but reclaiming my power drowns it out.
Blue would approve.
My phone vibrates once against the desk. I glance down.
