Ramon Zachary

My life is as normal as it should be—maybe too normal. Work, eat, sleep, repeat. That’s the routine for most surgeons, and I’ve learned to live with it. Patients, procedures, charts—they make sense. They’re predictable. My world is clean, orderly, and untouched by chaos.

The biggest “drama” in my life is my overprotective brother, who insists on interrogating anyone who even thinks about asking me out. His intentions are good, but no one sticks around long enough to deal with the “crazy hardworking doctor” and his looming sibling.

It’s not that I hate my life. It’s fine. Decent. Safe. But tonight, all of that unraveled.

---

The hospital parking lot was almost deserted, a sterile emptiness under buzzing fluorescent lights. The chill of the night air bit at my skin as I trudged toward my car, each step heavier than the last. My limbs ached, and my head throbbed—a parting gift from a fourteen-hour shift.

I’d been dreaming of this moment all day: getting home, collapsing into bed, pulling the covers over my head, and ignoring the world until the sun decided to drag me out again.

“Dr. Roman Zachary?”

The voice froze me mid-step.

It wasn’t loud, but there was something sharp about it—commanding, deliberate. My gut tightened. I turned slowly, frowning, to see a man standing in the shadows near the stairwell.

He was tall, dressed in a black suit so perfectly tailored it seemed to absorb the dim light. He stepped forward, the heels of his polished shoes echoing faintly on the concrete. Sunglasses. At night. Seriously? He looked like he’d stepped out of some B-grade gangster flick, but there was nothing funny about the cold, unreadable expression on his face.

“Can I help you?” I asked warily, my voice edging toward defensive.

The man stepped fully into the light. His face was the kind you’d forget in a crowd, but the way he held himself—still, deliberate, exuding an unnatural calm—made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“My boss needs you,” he said, his tone clipped and precise. “You’re coming with me. Bring your medical bag.”

I blinked. “Excuse me? Who’s your boss? And why does he ‘need’ me—” I glanced at my watch. “—at two in the morning? If it’s a medical emergency, the ER is literally ten steps away.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just stood there, his expression fixed in an eerie calm that sent a chill racing down my spine. “This isn’t a request,” he said.

I let out a nervous laugh, more out of disbelief than amusement. “Okay, this is a joke, right? Did my brother put you up to this? Or maybe one of the nurses—”

His silence killed my words mid-sentence. He wasn’t joking.

Dread unfurled in my chest, slow and suffocating. My brain scrambled for a logical explanation, some way to rationalize what was happening. “Look,” I said, taking a step back, my palms raised. “I don’t know who your boss is, but if he needs a doctor, tell him to come to the hospital. I’m off duty.”

I turned and started toward my car, each step quickening as my heart pounded in my chest.

“Dr. Roman.”

The voice stopped me again, but this time there was no patience in it—just cold, sharp steel.

Before I could react, a hand clamped down on my arm. Firm. Unyielding. My breath hitched as I turned, and that’s when I saw it.

The gun.

Low, discreet, just out of sight but close enough to make its point. The light from the parking lot glinted off the metal, and my stomach dropped.

“What... what are you doing?” My voice cracked, the words stumbling over themselves.

The man’s grip didn’t waver. “You’re coming with me. Willingly, or not.”

The air seemed to thicken around me, pressing against my chest. I was a surgeon, for God’s sake. My battles were fought in operating rooms, not... whatever this was. My mind raced, searching for an escape, but reality settled in like a cold slap.

This wasn’t a negotiation.

“Okay,” I said shakily, swallowing hard. “Fine. Just... put that thing away. I’ll come with you.”

He released my arm, his expression unchanged, and gestured toward a sleek black car parked a few feet away. The driver, just as stoic, sat waiting behind the wheel.

With a pounding heart, I forced my legs to move. Each step felt heavier than the last, like I was walking toward my own execution.

I slid into the back seat, the leather cool against my skin. The door shut with a quiet but solid thud, and the man climbed in beside me.

The driver pulled away, the car gliding through the empty streets with eerie precision.

The silence in the car was unbearable, pressing against my ears like a living thing. My mind raced, a tangled mess of questions and fear. Who was this man? Who was his boss? What did they want with me?

I stared out the window, the city lights blurring into streaks of color. The car smelled faintly of leather and cologne, but beneath that was something sharper—the acrid scent of my own fear.

I glanced at the man beside me. His body language was impossibly relaxed, as if this were just another day at the office.

“Can you at least tell me where we’re going?” I asked, my voice tight.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he said without turning to look at me.

His calmness only made my anxiety worse.

For a fleeting moment, I thought of my brother. Derek would lose his mind if he knew what was happening right now. He’d probably storm in here with a baseball bat—or worse.

But I couldn’t call him. I couldn’t call anyone.

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms as I tried to steady my breathing. Whoever this boss was, I was going to get answers. And then, somehow, I was going to get the hell out of this.

Roman Zachary

The car wound through the silent streets, each turn taking me further from everything I knew. The city lights faded behind us, replaced by long stretches of empty roads bordered by thick trees. When we finally stopped, I wasn’t ready for what I saw.

A mansion loomed ahead, dark and sprawling, its walls covered in shadow and cold menace. It wasn’t the kind of place you’d ever stumble upon by accident. It was hidden, intentional, the kind of fortress you’d find in a thriller novel. The silver-edged gates glinted under the faint moonlight, and the structure itself looked both regal and foreboding, as if daring anyone to come near.

The car door opened. The man in the black suit—silent and stoic as always—stood waiting. His expression betrayed nothing as he gestured for me to step out.

I hesitated, swallowing hard as my gaze shifted to the men stationed around the driveway. Dressed in black, each one armed and alert, they moved like shadows, their eyes tracking every movement. I didn’t need to be a genius to know this wasn’t just any wealthy man’s estate. These men were soldiers.

The henchman at my side cleared his throat, his impatience clear. I stepped out of the car, my legs stiff as fear gnawed at my gut.

The marble steps leading to the mansion’s entrance felt endless. The cold air bit at my skin, but it wasn’t just the chill that made me shiver. With each step, a crushing sense of dread settled deeper in my chest.

Inside, the mansion was as imposing as its exterior. Dark walls stretched up toward vaulted ceilings, their shadows creeping like silent witnesses to secrets I couldn’t begin to imagine. The halls were a maze of marble and mahogany, lined with portraits of people who seemed to watch me as I passed. Their painted eyes glinted in the dim light, sharp and judgemental.

Finally, we stopped in front of an ornate wooden door. The henchman didn’t bother to knock, pushing it open to reveal a dimly lit room.

A man lay on a bed in the center, surrounded by beeping machines. Blood soaked his shirt and the sheets beneath him, the metallic tang thick in the air. It wasn’t the scene of a medical emergency—it was a battlefield aftermath disguised as a sickroom.

My training kicked in, overriding the fear buzzing at the back of my mind. I dropped my bag beside the bed, pulling on gloves. My eyes scanned the wound: a gunshot, too close to the lung for comfort.

“How long has he been like this?” I demanded, my voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through me. “He needs surgery immediately. This setup isn’t good enough. He should be in a hospital.”

A voice cut through the room, low and commanding, with an edge sharp enough to slice through steel.

“He isn’t going to any hospital.”

I turned toward the source, startled.

Standing in the shadows was a man who radiated danger. His presence filled the room, making the air feel heavier. His green eyes, sharp and calculating, locked onto mine, pinning me in place. He wore a dark suit that hugged his broad shoulders, the fabric too smooth to be off-the-rack.

There was something unnerving about him—controlled power, like a coiled spring ready to snap. His face was all angles, his jaw strong and set, his cheekbones high and sharp. He was handsome in a way that was both magnetic and terrifying, and everything about him screamed authority.

This was the boss.

“You don’t understand,” I started, holding his gaze despite the instinct to look away. “If he doesn’t get proper care—”

“You’re a doctor, aren’t you?” he interrupted, his voice smooth but laced with an edge of mockery. “Then you’ll do whatever is necessary. Here. Now.”

My heart pounded, but I refused to back down. “This isn’t a sterile environment. He needs—”

He stepped closer, and the cold detachment in his eyes made my skin crawl. “I didn’t ask for a list of what he needs,” he said, his voice dropping dangerously. “You’re here because you’re the best. Prove it.”

His next words, though soft, chilled me to the bone. “Or yours may be considerably shorter.”

The threat hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. My breath caught as I stared into his unflinching gaze. There was no compromise in his tone, no room for argument.

“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth, tearing my eyes away from him. “But I need everyone out. The fewer people here, the better.”

For a moment, he looked at me like I’d said something amusing. Then, with a curt nod, he turned to the men stationed by the door. “Leave.”

The guards hesitated, exchanging glances, but one sharp look from him was all it took to send them filing out.

The boss didn’t leave. He lowered himself into a chair against the wall, folding his arms as his piercing gaze stayed locked on me. “Do what you need to do, doctor,” he said. “I’ll be right here. In case you need… motivation.”

His presence was suffocating, but I couldn’t let it distract me. I turned back to the patient, my hands moving automatically as I assessed the wound. The bullet was lodged close to the lung, and the blood loss was severe. Every decision I made felt like walking a tightrope, the weight of that green-eyed stare pressing down on me with every passing second.

Time blurred as I worked, stitching and stabilizing, my movements precise despite the fear clawing at my chest. Sweat dripped down my forehead as I finished the final suture, my hands shaking with exhaustion.

“It’s done,” I said, pulling off my gloves and turning to face the boss. “He’s stable for now, but he’ll need better care to make a full recovery.”

The boss rose from his chair, his movements slow and deliberate. He stepped closer, the air between us charged with unspoken tension.

“You did well,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “But let me make one thing clear.” He leaned in, his face inches from mine. “Your life is now tied to his. If he dies, you’ll pay for it. Personally.”

The weight of his words hit me like a blow, the cold finality in his tone leaving no room for misinterpretation.

“Understood,” I managed, my voice hoarse.

He straightened, his lips curling into a faint smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Good. You’ll stay here until I say otherwise. And remember, doctor…” His voice dropped, the next words a quiet warning. “Betray me, and your brother will pay the price.”

The door closed behind him with a finality that made my chest tighten.

I stood there, the weight of his threat pressing down on me. My brother’s life. My own freedom. Everything was now at the mercy of a man who saw me as nothing more than a pawn in his game.

For the first time in my life, I felt truly, utterly powerless.

Alexander Maxim

The sound of footsteps echoed faintly through the halls as I approached Ivan’s room. The metallic scent of antiseptic still lingered in the air, sharp and cold, a reminder of how close I had come to losing someone I couldn’t afford to lose. Ivan was stable now—alive—but the rage that burned in my chest hadn’t dulled. Someone had targeted him. Someone wanted to send me a message.

And if that someone thought they could walk away unscathed, they were mistaken.

When I stepped into the room, the doctor was there. His dark eyes flicked toward me briefly before he turned his focus back to Ivan. His hands moved with practiced precision as he adjusted the IV line, checked the monitors, and made a note on a clipboard. He didn’t flinch at my presence, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his lips pressed into a thin line.

He was holding himself together well. For now.

“Doctor.” My voice broke the silence, sharp and deliberate.

He glanced up again, his expression neutral but wary. “He’s stable,” he said, his tone clipped. “For now. But he’s not out of the woods yet. The bullet nicked his lung, and there’s a high risk of infection.”

I nodded, stepping closer to the bed. Ivan’s face was pale, his breathing shallow but steady. Seeing him like this—helpless—only fueled the fire in my chest.

“You’ve done well so far,” I said, my voice low, measured. “But if his condition worsens…”

The doctor straightened, meeting my gaze with a defiance I hadn’t expected. “If his condition worsens, it’ll be because you brought me here without proper tools or resources,” he snapped, his voice steady despite the spark of anger in his eyes. “I’m not a miracle worker.”

A silence fell over the room, heavy and charged. Kyle, standing near the door, stiffened, his hand twitching toward his gun. I raised a hand, stopping him.

The doctor’s defiance was… intriguing. He was out of his depth here—anyone could see that—but he wasn’t cowering. Not entirely.

“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly, his tone cautious but firm.

I arched an eyebrow, caught off guard by the question. “You don’t need to know that.”

“If I’m going to stay here and keep him alive,” he said, gesturing to Ivan, “then I deserve to know who I’m dealing with.”

The corner of my mouth twitched in a faint smirk. Bold.

“Maxim,” I said finally, watching his reaction closely.

Something flickered in his eyes—recognition, maybe? Or just the weight of finally putting a name to the man who held his life in his hands.

“Dr. Roman Zachary,” he said after a pause, as if offering his name was a concession he hadn’t planned on making.

I already knew his name, of course. I knew everything about him that mattered. But hearing him say it aloud, the way his voice dipped slightly as he spoke, felt like a small victory.

“Dr. Zachary,” I repeated, letting the syllables roll off my tongue with deliberate weight. “I expect you to keep your focus on the patient. Nothing else concerns you.”

His jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Understood.”

Roman Zachary

Maxim.

The name lingered in my mind long after he left the room, his presence fading like the scent of expensive cologne he left behind. It fits him, somehow—sharp, commanding, and cold. He didn’t need to tell me he was dangerous. Everything about him screamed it, from the way he carried himself to the piercing green eyes that seemed to see straight through me.

But there was something else, too. Something unsettling. A weight to his gaze, a controlled fury that made it clear he wasn’t a man who let anything slip through his fingers. And yet, for a moment—just a moment—I thought I saw something else in his expression. Something almost human.

I shook the thought away, focusing instead on the man lying in the bed in front of me. Ivan’s breathing had steadied, the monitors showing a slow but stable rhythm. His color was still pale, but his vitals were holding.

“You’re tough,” I murmured quietly, half to myself. “Whoever you are, you must mean a lot to him.”

The door creaked open behind me, and I turned to see Kyle stepping inside. His expression was calm, but his movements were tense, his gaze flicking between Ivan and me as if he were trying to assess the situation without asking outright.

“How is he?” Kyle asked, his voice low.

“Stable,” I said, standing up straight. “But he’s not out of the woods yet. He needs rest and careful monitoring for the next 48 hours.”

Kyle nodded, his sharp eyes lingering on Ivan for a moment longer before shifting back to me. There was a weight in his gaze, something unsaid, and it made my stomach twist.

“You should get some rest too,” Kyle said finally, his tone more neutral now.

I hesitated. The idea of leaving Ivan alone—even with Kyle standing watch—felt wrong. But I wasn’t sure if it was my duty as a doctor or something else entirely that kept me rooted to the spot.

“I’m fine,” I said. “I’ll stay here, just in case.”

Kyle didn’t argue, but his jaw tightened slightly. He stepped closer to Ivan’s bedside, his expression softening in a way I hadn’t expected.

“You’ve done enough for now,” he murmured, more to himself than to me.

The quiet way he said it struck me. There was something in his voice—a mix of guilt and something deeper—that made me wonder if this was more than just a professional bond.

I turned away, giving him a moment of privacy as I busied myself with checking the monitors again.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something—something about the relationship between these men, something about this entire world that I’d stumbled into.

And no matter how much I tried to focus on my work, the name Maxim lingered in the back of my mind, a quiet reminder of just how far I’d fallen from my old life.

Kyle

Ivan stirred faintly in his sleep, his brow furrowing for a moment before settling again.

I let out a slow breath, tension bleeding out of my shoulders as I watched the steady rise and fall of his chest. He was alive. That was all that mattered right now.

But the sight of him like this—pale, vulnerable, hooked up to machines—made my stomach churn. Ivan wasn’t supposed to look like this. He was the one who made jokes in the middle of chaos, who threw himself headfirst into danger without a second thought. He was... unshakable. Or at least, he used to be.

I clenched my fists at my sides, the familiar anger simmering just beneath the surface. Whoever did this was going to pay. Maxim would make sure of that—I had no doubt. But that didn’t make the waiting any easier.

I glanced at the doctor, still hovering near the monitors like he was afraid to leave. He was an enigma, this Roman Zachary. Composed, intelligent, with a quiet defiance that almost made me respect him. Almost.

But right now, my focus wasn’t on him. It was on Ivan.

I stepped closer to the bed, my hand hovering near Ivan’s for a moment before pulling back. There was a lot I wanted to say, but the words felt stuck, trapped by the weight of everything that had happened.

“You’re tougher than this,” I murmured quietly, my voice barely audible. “So pull through. For us.”

For me.