The Don's Dangerous Addiction

Before her appointment, Avery received an anonymous card.

There was no signature on the card. Only one line: "047 is waiting for you. Don't disappoint him."

She flipped it over. Nothing on the back.

"047." Was that some kind of number code?

She had no idea what it meant. But the feeling of being set up in advance made her palms sweat.

Avery tucked the card into her pocket, along with the final notice that had arrived from the sanatorium that morning.

A bill for her brother's life-sustaining medication-due next month. The amount was staggering enough to crush whatever pride she had left.

In Obsidian City, on the verge of a stormy night, she was out of options.

If she didn't secure the consultation fee tonight, her brother's ventilator would be unplugged tomorrow without mercy.

She took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy wooden doors of Kessler Estate with cold, trembling fingers.

"Take it off yourself, or I'll do it."

In the darkness, the man's voice was low, hoarse, scraping against her eardrums with a chilling rawness.

Avery stood frozen, paralyzed.

As the heavy presence in the darkness drew closer, she felt the suffocating weight of his male physique looming over her. The air around her seemed to compress under his towering shadow, engulfing her in a scent of cold cedarwood, tobacco, and alcohol.

It was only at that moment that Avery's clinical mind finally caught up with her panic.

She observed the man with his back turned to her. Every breath he took came with an abnormal tremor, as if something inside his chest was violently pushing outward. She could see the veins in his neck, pulsing at an irregular, dangerous rhythm.

A flash of lightning split the sky, illuminating his face. It was a face like a fallen god-strikingly beautiful, yet etched with madness, now stark white in the sudden light.

Avery froze for a second.

His lips were tinged with greyish-purple. This wasn't ordinary poor circulation-it was cardiac insufficiency from physical exhaustion. His eyes were bloodshot, likely from recent, severe sleep disturbances. But his pupils were so dilated that his irises were nearly invisible-exhaustion and mania written across the same face, as if two opposing forces were tearing him apart from the inside.

She had seen faces like this in clinical practice before. Every case had been a nightmare to handle.

Avery pushed down that one second of shock and forced herself to put on her stiffest professional mask.

"Mr. Kessler, now is not the time to discuss my attire. Your heart rate is already over one-eighty. At this rate, you'll die by your own hand."

"My last doctor... your mentor," he suddenly lunged closer, "was in this very room, trying to send me to hell with a micro-bomb hidden on his body."

"And you think I'd let you get that close to me?"

His eyes swept over her. This was not the gaze of a doctor's patient. This was a wolf sizing up its prey before devouring it whole.

His gaze was slow, deliberate, insolent. It fixed on her collarbone first, then crawled downward inch by inch. The weight of his inspection was so palpable it burned against her skin, raising goosebumps on her exposed flesh.

"If you want your payment, prove yourself first." His voice dropped to a low murmur. One hand hooked into her collar while the other waved a check between his fingers.

Avery opened her mouth to argue-but before she could speak, her trench coat was roughly yanked from her shoulders, her sweater torn open, her skirt falling in succession.

Avery was left in nothing but her thin underwear, exposed completely before him.

When the cold air hit her skin, raising a storm of goosebumps, she realized she had nowhere to hide.

Humiliation burned through her like wildfire, scorching from her chest to the tips of her ears. She bit down hard on her lower lip, forcing herself to stay silent. She turned her head away, fixing her gaze on a decorative painting on the wall, stubbornly refusing to meet his eyes. But her rationality quickly took over.

Twenty thousand dollars.

That was the price of a single session-and the cost of one full cycle of the specialty medication her brother needed at the private sanatorium. If it meant keeping her brother alive, she could swallow her pride and grind it to dust.

Ten sessions. A binding contract.

Until the final injection was complete, she could not leave this house. She could not refuse any of his orders.

Dominic's state had become increasingly erratic.

He was breathing heavily, his head slumped forward in exhaustion. His body-overloaded and unsteady-suddenly pitched forward without warning. His heavy, burning frame nearly collapsed onto Avery's shoulder.

"Enough."

Avery stepped forward. Her cool palm cupped his jaw, forcing his face up.

"You're dying, Dominic. Step back. Sit down."

She pushed him into the sofa without giving him a chance to resist. Then she quickly retrieved a syringe from her medical kit, found the right spot, and injected the sedative.

The scent of peach-from the struggle earlier-had seeped from her neck, thick and unmistakable. His hand slipped from the armrest, his fingertips brushing against the sensitive skin of her throat. The touch was cold, like the caress of death itself.

His eyes remained closed, but a broken whisper escaped his lips.

"...Is it you?"

Before Avery could react, his hand shot up like iron shackles, locking around her wrist and yanking her against his chest.

"I killed so many people looking for you..." His voice was a breathless murmur against her ear.

*Thump.* That was the wild, chaotic beat of Dominic's heart, hammering through his tense muscles and slamming against Avery's own chest without restraint.

His body burned like fire, nearly scorching her bare skin. The crushing pressure of his arm against her sent real fear through her, an undeniable shiver she couldn't suppress.

Looking for *who*? *Me?*

The thought sent her mind into a tailspin, his words echoing over and over: *"I killed so many people looking for you."*

There was no mob boss threat in that hoarse voice. Instead, it was filled with a desperate, obsessive longing-like a steel spike driven deep into her chest.

It took several seconds for her clinical instincts to reassert control. *Delirium?* Or a cognitive distortion triggered by the new medication? But the intensity of his fixation sent chills down her spine. This kind of subconscious projection meant he was identifying someone etched into his very soul-either burning hatred or consuming obsession.

The sedative spread quickly.

Ten seconds later, his full weight collapsed against her. Dominic had fallen into a deathlike sleep.

Trapped in his arms, Avery couldn't move. As she tried to push his heavy body away, her gaze fell on the inside of Dominic's wrist.

In the dim lamplight, there was an old, oddly shaped star-shaped scar.

Avery's pupils contracted violently. A familiar, terrifying chill flooded her entire body.

The outline of that scar was like a rusted key, unlocking a memory she had sealed away for seven years.

A phantom pain shot through her wrist, perfectly aligning with the tearing pain from that night on the gambling ship. The same crushing grip-a hand so powerful it had pinned her to the damp deck until she could barely breathe.

The salty air, the nauseating sway of the ship, the man who had taken her, and her own muffled sobs swallowed by the crashing waves...

Countless fragments came roaring back to life with that scar.

No. Impossible.

She held her breath, staring at the raised, faded line of the scar. Her fingers trembled uncontrollably.

There were too many scars in this world with similar shapes. But when Dominic tightened his grip in his sleep-that bone-crushing pressure-it aligned perfectly with the violence in her memory.

It was too similar.

Not just the scar, but that unyielding savagery that even sleep couldn't soften.

If he *was* that man, she had just willingly walked into the arms of her abuser.

Yet, with his eyes closed, the cruel lines of Dominic's face had softened into something almost vulnerable-almost childlike. The devil of the day looked, in his dreams, like a pitiful patient trapped by nightmares.

The contrast tore at her heart.

She pushed herself up, trying to break free from his grip. Her gaze inadvertently swept across the desk.

A letter sat there, sealed with wax. The seal bore the embossed letter "D," in gold.

Avery's breath caught.

Seven years ago, on that gambling ship, a black diamond ring had slipped from the man's finger. The ring was engraved with the same letter.

She stared at that envelope.

*Coincidence.* There were too many coincidences in this world.

Outside, the rain had stopped at some point. The room was silent except for Dominic's steady breathing. His grip on her remained unyielding, his palm burning against her skin with a dull, persistent pain.

Avery couldn't escape. She lay stiffly in his arms. She closed her eyes and trembled involuntarily.

Morning would come.

She was counting.

One down.

Nine left.

Avery didn't know when she fell asleep. When she woke, she was lying on the stiff leather sofa where she had treated Dominic the night before.

Morning light filtered through the windows. She looked around.

The room was starkly bare-cold grey walls, sharp metallic lines, and the lingering scent of tobacco and cedarwood pressing down on her like a weight.

Avery sat up abruptly, her eyes darting down to check herself.

The trench coat that Dominic had brutally torn from her the night before was now draped back over her shoulders, meticulously arranged.

What made her heart skip a beat was the button from the night before-the one that had popped off-now tucked neatly into her pocket.

Her fingers closed around the cold metal button, her knuckles white.

How could the same man who had ripped her clothes off in a frenzy calmly collect her button in the morning?

Dominic sat in a chair by the window. He had changed into a charcoal-black suit, no tie, the top button of his shirt open to reveal a line of pale, cool skin.

The madness of the night before seemed like a ghost. He was staring at his computer screen, tapping his fingers against the desk occasionally. There was no sign of the man who had lost control just hours ago.

"Twenty thousand dollars." His voice was cool, detached.

He opened a drawer and pulled out a check, already signed.

"This is your payment for last night."

He flicked it across the polished marble tabletop with his fingertip. It slid to a stop in front of Avery.

"Due to the side effects of the medication, my consciousness wasn't fully clear last night. I trust you understand, Dr. Clair, that certain unprofessional noises don't need to leave this room."

He was drawing a line. And he was warning her.

Avery reached out and quickly tucked the check into her coat.

"I understand." She took a deep breath and turned toward the door. "Since the first session is complete, I'll return according to the contract at the next scheduled-"

"Who said you could leave?"

Avery turned back to meet his gaze.

"I thought I made myself clear." She forced her professional mask back into place. "My brother requires care at the sanatorium, and your condition has entered the observation phase-"

"Observation phase means the doctor must remain within sight."

Dominic set down his coffee cup, crossed his long legs, and leaned back in his chair.

He pressed the intercom button on his desk.

"Dr. Clair needs to stay here until the ten sessions are complete."

His voice was low, calm-but his eyes never left her face. His gaze traced her trembling lashes and finally settled on the red marks around her wrist.

"Mr. Kessler, this is illegal confinement!"

"No, Dr. Clair."

Dominic rose and walked toward her, step by deliberate step.

"It's called contract enforcement. After all, if you happened to see something last night that you shouldn't have, the only reason you're still alive is that you haven't finished treating me yet."

He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could see the fine weave of his suit.

"Until the tenth injection is complete, you're not going anywhere."

Dominic's long fingers ghosted across her cheek, barely touching.

"Now, take a shower. The smell of peach on you... is bothering me."

Two black-suited bodyguards appeared at the door, blocking her path.

Avery gripped the check tightly and walked into the bathroom. The moment she locked the door behind her, Dominic's burning grip, his hoarse whisper of "Is it you," came roaring back into her mind.

She reached into her pocket, not even sure what she was afraid of.

And then-her phone buzzed.

An unknown number.

Avery stared at the screen and opened the message. It was an image. Black background, white text: "Project 030."

Her thumb hovered over the screen. Then a smaller line of text slowly appeared beneath it: "You're already inside."

Avery stared at those words, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. She tried to take a screenshot-

Her screen went black.

The message... was gone.

Morning light poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, spreading across the cold grey marble floor like the sterile glare of an operating room lamp.

Avery sat up, her body aching from the awkward position she had slept in. Her eyes swept across the room-

No photographs. No plants. No decorations of any kind. Pale grey walls, metal trim, a space so empty it made her chest tighten with unease.

The memories of last night crashed back into her mind. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

The motion-sensor lights in the hallway flickered on as she walked, clicking off again behind her. The doors on either side looked identical-silent, endless, as if she had stepped into a world cut off from everything else.

At the end of the corridor, two black-suited bodyguards blocked her path.

"Mr. Kessler's orders. It's best if you don't wander around."

Avery stopped. "I need access to Mr. Kessler's complete medical records. Without detailed medical history and medication logs, I can't develop a proper treatment plan. I need to return to my clinic to-"

"Anything your clinic can access, we have here."

The guard cut her off.

"Any resource Mr. Kessler needs for his treatment is also available here. Just tell us what you require."

Her fingertips went cold. Every excuse she had prepared had been shut down with a single sentence.

After changing, Avery was led by the guards toward the study.

The study was dimly lit. Dominic leaned back in his leather chair, dark circles shadowing his eyes. A coin spun slowly between his fingers.

He didn't look up when he heard her footsteps.

"Come here."

Avery walked over. Her phone sat on the desk, sealed in a clear plastic evidence bag.

She reached for it-but Dominic's hand pressed down on the bag before she could touch it.

"My caretaker might call the police if she can't reach me."

"The police?" He finally lifted his eyes, his gaze dragging across her face. "Are you threatening me?"

"Stating a fact."

He stared at her for a few seconds, then laughed. The smile didn't reach his eyes. He tapped his finger lightly against the plastic bag.

"Fine. You can call." He tilted his chin toward a small box on the corner of the desk, its red light glowing. "Speaker. I want to hear every word."

He leaned back, the coin spinning again. "After you're done, you can tell me why you put a listening device in my car last night."

The air froze for a moment.

Avery's expression didn't change, but her heart dropped like a stone. He knew. He had known from the very beginning.

She was silent for three seconds, then tore open the evidence bag, pressed speakerphone, and dialed her caretaker, Kate.

"Avery! Where are you-" Kate's voice was thick with tears.

"Kate, listen carefully." Avery cut her off. "I have an urgent project. I'll be away for a few days. Handle the 'patient' according to Protocol Three. Tell Julian I'll pay the fees on time."

"Understood. But someone came by today..." Kate lowered her voice. "He said he was your colleague. Asked which school Dorothea goes to. I didn't tell him, but he waited downstairs for a long time before leaving."

Avery's fingers tightened around the phone. "What did he look like?"

"He wore a mask and a hat. I couldn't see his face. Avery, I'm scared-"

"Stick to the protocol. Don't open the door."

She hung up.

She set down the phone and looked up, meeting Dominic's eyes.

"A child?" His eyes narrowed slightly.

"The listening device was my mentor's idea." Avery took a deep breath. "He said your previous treatments were all abandoned midway. He needed to know your true condition."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"You can choose not to. But it's the truth."

"Wenger." He repeated the name, rolling it over his tongue like he was tasting something bitter. "Your mentor. The one who recommended you to me."

"Yes."

"So from the very beginning, he planned to send you in as a pawn?"

"I'm not a pawn." Avery's voice steadied.

"I agreed to plant the device because I needed to track your progress. An uncooperative patient makes any treatment plan worthless. I needed data-not his trust."

Dominic stared at her for a long moment. Then he rose, walked around the massive desk, and stopped less than five centimeters from her.

His towering shadow consumed her entirely. The pressure of his presence forced her to tilt her head back just to meet his gaze.

He was too close.

The deep V of Dominic's open collar drew her gaze-she could see the sharp hollow of his collarbones, the broad chest rising and falling beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

Her clinical mind, almost against her will, supplied the assessment: perfect bone structure, extremely low body fat, powerful muscle fiber.

She knew exactly what kind of explosive force lay beneath that body-last night, he had used that same absolute strength to pull her into his arms with one hand.

But her professional "clinical observation" had somehow twisted into something else entirely-an unwanted heat she couldn't name.

She dug her nails into her palm, furious at herself for the involuntary attention she was paying to this dangerous man.

"Interesting." Dominic lowered his head.

He extended his long, slender fingers-not touching her, but tracing a slow, deliberate path through the air from her cheek down to the curve of her collarbone. The faint, almost imperceptible chill of his nearness raised goosebumps across her skin.

"Dr. Clair, in this room, people who anger me usually don't live to see the next sunrise. You're still alive only because you're useful."

His voice was low, resonant as a cello. "As for Wenger, I'll handle it. The listening device-consider it a debt you owe me."

Avery forced herself to look away from his chest, crushed the conflicting feelings rising in her throat, and met his eyes.

"How do I repay it?"

"You'll find out soon enough." He stepped back, breaking the dangerous proximity between them. "Now get ready. The first formal session starts in ten minutes."

He turned toward the door, pausing as he passed her.

"One more thing-what's Protocol Three?"

Avery didn't answer.

He didn't wait. He pushed the door open and walked out.

His footsteps faded down the hallway.

Avery stood frozen, her palms slick with cold sweat.

"Protocol Three" was the last line of defense she had left for her caretaker-

When Dorothea's episodes became uncontrollable, administer a strong sedative and lock the door. It was the last resort she never wanted to use, but the only way to protect her daughter from harming herself.

But that wasn't the only thing on her mind now.

The masked man. The one who had asked about Dorothea's school.

She turned-her peripheral vision caught the red light still glowing on the corner of the desk.

Recording. From the moment she had entered this room, every word had been recorded. Including her admission about the listening device.

The door opened.

Dominic returned, tossing a folder onto the desk without stepping inside.

"You said you needed data." He paused. "This is Wenger's medication records and lab reports from the past seven years. Page thirty-eight. Take a look."

He didn't explain further. He left.

Avery stared at the folder. She walked over and opened it.

Page thirty-eight.

Only a single black-and-white photo, poorly printed. An interior shot of a laboratory. A row of numbered tags hung on the wall. Her eyes landed on one of them-

030.

Her fingers stopped moving.

030... Julian's medical records had that same number too.

She didn't have time to process what that meant. She flipped straight to the last page.

Unlike the others, this page had no photos. Even the table entries were handwritten, the script neat and precise.

The list was divided into three columns-Name, Number, Remarks.

Her eyes scanned down, finally stopping at the seventh row.

*Avery St. Clair.*

She thought she had misread it. She pulled the folder closer, reading again.

Yes. The birth date matched perfectly.

The Number column was blank. The Remarks column contained two lines of stark, brutal text: *Candidate A / Blood sample match rate: 99.7%.*

Next to it, smaller text in darker ink-added later, it seemed:

*Antibody profile unique. Capable of neutralizing residual compounds in Subject 047. Long-term monitoring recommended. Do not eliminate.*

In that instant, Avery's blood turned to ice.

Her neck went numb, cold spreading down her spine like a slow poison.

It had never been a coincidence.

The high salary, the life-or-death contract-

Wenger had carefully selected her, offered her up like a sacrifice to this monster-as his "only antidote."

Dominic *was* Subject 047.

A sudden ringing filled her ears. All the sounds in the study faded into the distance. Only those words remained, seared into her vision.

What did any of this mean? She had no idea. But her hands were shaking-she didn't even notice until the edge of the folder cut into her fingertip, leaving a thin red line.

**BOOM-**

A dull explosion ripped through the air. The entire corridor trembled. The floor-to-ceiling windows cracked with a sickening screech. Avery instinctively dropped to the ground, covering her head with her arms.

The folder fell from her hands, the last page landing face-up, pressed into the broken glass.

"All units, on alert!"

The ringing in her ears drowned out everything else.

Red emergency lights flickered erratically. Smoke filled the hallway. The shouts of bodyguards, gunfire, footsteps-all of it blurred into a single chaotic roar.

A hand grabbed her wrist from above, pulling her up with a force that made her stumble.

"Get up."

Dominic's voice came from above. He didn't look at her-just pulled her deeper into the corridor. Avery was forced to follow, her medical kit slipping from her grasp. She instinctively turned back-

"Forget it."

At the end of the hall, he pushed open a door, shoved her inside, and locked it behind them.

The room was dark. A storage closet. Outside, the gunfire continued, muffled by the thick walls.

Avery leaned against the wall, gasping for air. Dominic stood by the door, his back to her, listening.

Her gaze caught on a single glaring detail-

The black fabric of his shirt had been torn across his broad back. Beneath it, the tight muscles of his shoulders were exposed, a fresh trail of blood seeping steadily from a wound.

"You're injured."

"Scrape."

"I'm a doctor." Avery's voice steadied. "Let me see it."

Dominic turned his head to look at her. The dim light from the hallway seeped through the crack in the door, cutting a sharp line across his face.

"You're a psychiatrist."

"I'm an MD. I can handle external wounds."

She stepped forward. Her knees felt weak, but her hands were steady. She found the emergency kit in the corner, opened it, and pulled out antiseptic wipes and tweezers. Her movements were practiced, precise. She examined the wound.

"It's not deep, but there might still be fragments inside. It needs to be cleaned."

He didn't sit. He just leaned against the wall, turning slightly to expose the wound.

Avery stepped closer. The moment the antiseptic touched his skin, Dominic's muscles tensed-just for a second.

He didn't make a sound. He didn't even change his breathing. But she saw it-his fingers clenched, then slowly relaxed.

She used the tweezers to remove the fragments embedded near the surface. Small, shallow-but when they came out, the blood welled up faster. She quickly stopped the bleeding and bandaged the wound. As the gauze wrapped around his shoulder blade, her fingertips briefly brushed his skin.

Burning hot.

"Done."

She stepped back.

Dominic looked down at the bandage, rolling his shoulder slightly. It held.

"That bullet," he said, "was meant for you."

Avery looked at him, not responding immediately.

Her mind was already working.

*Meant for her? With explosives?*

She wasn't a security expert, but she wasn't stupid. The villa's windows were bulletproof. The hallways had motion sensors. Every corner had cameras. If someone just wanted to kill her, a single sniper shot would have sufficed.

The moment she stepped out of the study-that would have been the perfect opportunity.

Using explosives meant someone wanted to create chaos. To breach the defenses of this house.

To get to *him*.

She looked at Dominic.

"That bullet wasn't meant for me."

Avery took a breath, forcing the residual smoke from her lungs, steadying her voice.

"I'm the only variable. I'm just the buy-one-get-one-free bonus they threw in to get to you."

The corner of Dominic's mouth twitched-a faint, unreadable curve.

"You're very smart."

It wasn't a compliment. Avery felt it land like a hawk's talons closing around its prey. This deeper entanglement with danger should have terrified her. And yet, somewhere deep in her chest, an absurd, almost shameful part of her-the part she refused to acknowledge-felt a flicker of satisfaction at being recognized by a man who stood at the pinnacle of power.

He held her gaze for a moment, then turned away without responding.

The gunfire gradually subsided. Dominic took a brief call, exchanged a few clipped words, and hung up. He looked at her.

"Come with me."

He led her through the corridor into a windowless room. Grey walls, metal furniture-it looked like an interrogation room. A single table, two chairs, a camera mounted on the wall.

He pressed a remote. A screen on the wall flickered to life-surveillance feeds from every corner of the villa.

"Sit."

Avery didn't move. Her attention fixed on the darkened camera feeds on the screen.

"Three entry points blown." Dominic leaned against the table, watching her. "Two bulletproof windows shattered. They used military-grade explosives."

Her fingertips went cold.

The door opened. Drake entered, placing a phone on the table.

"Boss, we just intercepted an encrypted transmission." He kept his head lowered. "It was sent to the East Dock. Someone's instructing them to tamper with your shipment tonight."

Dominic's gaze darkened. "Source?"

"The signal originated in the north part of the city. The encryption matches the method used in the warehouse incident."

"Track it. Don't tip them off."

Drake nodded and withdrew.

Avery stood to the side, absorbing the exchange.

Explosion. East Dock. The same night.

She said nothing. But she connected the two events in her mind.

Before leaving, Drake paused. He pulled a transparent evidence bag from his pocket and placed it on the table.

"Found at the blast site. Retrieved from the debris-it doesn't belong to the villa."

Dominic glanced down, saying nothing. He waited until Drake had left before picking up the evidence bag and emptying its contents onto the table.

The moment the black diamond ring engraved with a "D" rolled out onto the surface, Avery's mind went completely blank.

The night the storm had swallowed the gambling ship flooded back in an instant.

The weight of the stranger pressing down on her, so heavy she could barely breathe-it crashed over her, overwhelming.

And afterward, after he had left, she had curled up alone in the tangled sheets, staring at the black diamond ring discarded beside her-her entire body shaking violently.

It all came rushing back.

"You recognize this." Dominic's voice shattered the cage of memory.

Avery's teeth clamped together, her jaw tight. She instinctively hid her trembling hands beneath the long table, her nails digging deep into her palms.

Dominic missed nothing. He caught every micro-movement.

She could feel his gaze like a blade, tracing slowly down the side of her face, finally landing on her violently shaking hands.

He had countless methods to break her here, to interrogate her until she cracked. He could have forced every detail out of her.

But after several seconds of suffocating silence, Dominic simply slipped the black diamond ring back into his suit pocket.

He didn't press.

"I've seen something similar." Avery evaded his piercing scrutiny.

"Where?"

She didn't answer. Her hands trembled. She kept them hidden beneath the table, refusing to let him see.

Dominic watched her for a few seconds. His gaze traveled from her face down to her concealed hands. It lingered for just a moment.

Then he pocketed the ring without pressing further.

"Today's attack-it was Wenger."

Avery's head snapped up. "My mentor?"

"Yes."

"He has no reason-" She stopped. A contradiction stabbed at her throat like a splinter. "If he wanted to kill you, why did he send me to treat you?"

Dominic held her gaze, not answering immediately.

Silence stretched between them. She could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall.

"Doesn't it seem inconsistent?" Avery's voice steadied. "He recommended me to take over his work. He sent me here to treat you. And on the other side, he's bombing your house. What is he actually trying to achieve?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know. But those two actions don't make sense together."

Dominic was silent for two seconds. His long fingers tapped a slow, rhythmic pattern against the table.

"How long have you known Wenger?

"Six years."

"Do you think you know him?"

Avery didn't answer.

Six years. She had studied under him, done research, written papers. He had been her mentor, her guide. When she was at her lowest, he had given her a teaching assistant position so she could care for her brother while continuing her studies.

But she realized, with a sudden pang, that she truly knew very little about him.

Dominic's voice was flat. "Wenger isn't the man you think he is. He was my doctor for many years. I trusted him. He knew my medical history, my physical condition-better than anyone."

He paused.

"And then he had my house bombed."

Avery said nothing. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white.

"A doctor who's been with me for years suddenly tries to kill me. Don't you wonder why?"

"Why?"

"Because someone's behind him." Dominic's voice turned cold. "He's not the mastermind. He's just a pawn."

"Then why don't you-"

"Don't what? Kill him?" He cut her off. "He's dying anyway. What would be the point?"

Avery froze. "Dying?"

"Pancreatic cancer. Late stage. He doesn't have long."

She stared at him, her mind reeling. Wenger had never told her. His pallor, the trembling of his hands, his increasingly frequent absences-the details came flooding back, clicking into place like puzzle pieces.

"So you're keeping him alive to find out who's behind him."

"Yes."

"And me?" Avery's voice tightened. "Are you keeping me because I'm his pawn too?"

Dominic looked at her and didn't deny it.

"You're his student. He trusts you. Or at least, he thinks he can control you. As long as you're here, he feels secure."

"So you're using me too."

"Yes." His tone was flat. "Just like he's using you."

Avery's nails pressed deep into her palms. Pain radiated from her hands to her wrists, but she didn't let go.

"I need Wenger's complete medical records," she said. "The ones you have-"

"They were destroyed in the explosion."

Her head snapped up. "What?"

"The archive room was in the blast zone. Most of the paper records burned." Dominic's voice betrayed no emotion. "The electronic backups are on Wenger's servers. His encryption. I can't access them."

Avery stared at him, searching for any crack in his expression. His face was an impenetrable wall.

"You need those records to treat me," Dominic said. "And the records are with Wenger. If you want them, you'll have to go to him."

"You want me to find Wenger?"

"Yes."

"You've had me locked in this house since yesterday-I can't even walk down the hallway alone. Now you want me to walk right up to the man who just bombed your house?"

Her voice came out louder than intended. She could feel her composure slipping.

Dominic watched her. His expression didn't change, but she knew he was studying her.

"Do you have a better idea?"

She didn't answer. She didn't.

"Aren't you afraid I won't come back?"

Dominic held her gaze for two seconds. "You'll come back." His tone was absolute-a statement of fact, not hope.

That certainty ignited something in Avery's chest-a flash of pure, hot anger.

He knew about her sick brother. He knew about her clinic. He knew all her weaknesses, all the threads that tethered her to this world.

Before this depth of insight-this dissection of her very soul-she had no secrets. None at all.

Dominic pulled something from his pocket and tossed it onto the table. Her phone.

"Twenty-four hours. Don't disappoint me." He turned and walked toward the door.

Avery grabbed the phone. The screen lit up with a cascade of unread messages from Kate, her caretaker.

The latest one, sent just two minutes ago:

"Someone broke into the house. Dorothea has been taken."

Avery stared at those words. Her heart stuttered, and the phone nearly slipped from her fingers.

Her mind went blank. She instinctively moved toward the door, only to be stopped by a guard.

She shoved the phone screen in his face, her voice raw. "My daughter has been taken. If you stop me now and something happens to her, you can explain it to your boss."

The guard hesitated for a second. Then the radio crackled.

Dominic's voice, only two words: "Let her go."

Avery ran out of the villa.

The front door of her home was open. Kate sat on the couch, standing up the moment she saw Avery, tears streaming down her face.

"Two men came-they said they were from your clinic, here to check on the child. I let them in, and then Dorothea-"

Avery didn't wait to hear the rest. She kicked open her daughter's bedroom door.

The little girl who should have been sitting on the carpet drawing was gone.

Avery's gaze froze on the empty room-

Broken crayons scattered across the floor. The small cotton rabbit plush that had been her daughter's companion for six years, its ears frayed and worn, lying alone on the edge of the bed.

On the windowsill, a note fluttered in the wind, its rustling sound sharp and grating:

"The child is safe. It's time for you to come find us."

In that instant, the broken crayons and the abandoned rabbit blazed in Avery's vision-turned blood-red by the fury and desperation flooding her heart.

She would walk into any hell for the laughter in this room. Even if it meant offering herself up to the devil who controlled this entire city.

Footsteps sounded from outside the door.

"Dr. Clair. Come with us."