A Dangerous Curiosity

Philip Seymour had never been a patient man.

Every decision he made was swift, precise, ruthless. In the world he ruled, hesitation meant death. Yet here he was, confined to a hospital bed, stitched up and kept alive by the steady hands of a woman who had no idea what kind of man she had saved.

Verlonis Rachel.

The name lingered in his mind like smoke. He had repeated it silently to himself, testing the sound, savoring it. Nurses had come and gone, doctors hovered, but his eyes always searched for her—the nurse with the calm voice and the fearless eyes.

She was different. He knew it the moment their gazes met. She wasn’t impressed by his wealth or power. She wasn’t intimidated by his guards standing like shadows in the hallway. And that made her more dangerous than any rival he had ever faced.

Because she made him feel.

And feelings, Philip knew, could destroy men like him.

---

Rachel adjusted his IV drip, noting his vitals on the chart, her brow furrowed in concentration. She didn’t speak unless necessary, but her presence filled the room with quiet strength.

“You should be resting,” she said without looking at him. “Your body went through trauma. Pushing yourself will only slow recovery.”

Philip smirked faintly, his voice rough. “Are you always this commanding with your patients?”

Her lips curved in the faintest smile. “Only the stubborn ones.”

He studied her closely. There were no diamonds, no painted lips, no expensive perfumes. Just clean scrubs, tired eyes, and a softness that didn’t belong in his brutal world. She smelled faintly of antiseptic and lavender soap. Real. Honest. Untouched by corruption.

And for that reason, Philip Seymour—Mafia King, richest man in the city—was hooked.

---

Later that night, when Rachel left to attend another patient, Philip’s most trusted man, Marcus, entered the room. He was tall, broad-shouldered, a scar slashing across his jawline.

“You shouldn’t still be here, boss. The streets are boiling. Mancini’s men think you’re dead. If word spreads—”

“Let it spread,” Philip interrupted, his tone sharp but calm. “Fear works better than bullets. They’ll hesitate if they think I’m gone. That buys us time.”

Marcus shifted uneasily. “And this nurse? You’ve been watching her like she’s the only one in this building.”

Philip’s gray eyes narrowed, a dangerous gleam in them. “She saved my life. That’s not something I forget.”

Marcus frowned. “She’s innocent, Philip. Not one of us. If people find out you care—”

“They won’t.” Philip’s voice hardened, silencing him. Then he leaned back, his gaze drifting to the door Rachel had walked through. “But I want to know everything about her. Where she lives. Who she loves. What she fears. I want her guarded day and night.”

Marcus hesitated. He had seen this before—Philip’s obsessions. The Mafia King was not a man who desired casually. When something caught his eye, he claimed it, consumed it, possessed it until there was nothing left. And Marcus knew, with a cold certainty, that Rachel would not escape.

“As you wish,” Marcus said finally.

Philip smirked faintly. “Good. No harm will come to her. Not from anyone. She’s mine now.”

---

The next morning, Rachel left the hospital after a 12-hour shift. She pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders, shivering in the crisp dawn air. She had no idea that a black SUV trailed her from a distance, discreet and silent.

Inside, Marcus watched her every move, reporting back to his boss.

“She takes the bus,” Marcus muttered into his phone, incredulous. “Lives in a small apartment near the east side. No family nearby. Works long shifts. Doesn’t seem to have anyone waiting for her.”

On the other end of the line, Philip listened in silence, his lips curving slowly. “Perfect. Keep eyes on her. No contact. Not yet.”

But Rachel was not oblivious. As she fumbled with her keys outside her apartment, a strange shiver ran down her spine. It felt like eyes were on her, like shadows followed too closely. She glanced around, heart racing, but the street was empty, only the hum of the city waking around her. She shook her head, convincing herself it was just exhaustion.

Still, unease lingered as she entered her small one-bedroom apartment, locking the door behind her.

---

Days passed. Philip recovered, faster than the doctors expected, though Rachel knew it was more from sheer willpower than medical science. He was restless, always watching her, always asking for her specifically.

“You should let other nurses check on you too,” she said once, exasperated.

“I don’t trust them,” he replied smoothly. “Only you.”

Her brow arched. “Why? I’m no different.”

His gaze locked onto hers, intense enough to make her heart stutter. “You’re not like anyone, Rachel.”

She turned away quickly, hiding the flush on her cheeks. She told herself he was just grateful, that this was nothing more than patient-to-nurse attachment. But deep down, something in his voice, in those steel-gray eyes, unsettled her.

Because it felt like a promise.

---

That night, after finishing her shift, Rachel walked home alone. The streets were quieter than usual, but her instincts prickled. Halfway down an alley, a figure stepped out, blocking her path.

“Pretty nurse,” a voice sneered. “Working late again?”

Two men emerged from the shadows, their eyes glinting with malice. They reeked of alcohol, their grins twisted.

Rachel’s breath hitched. Fear stabbed through her chest, but she kept her voice steady. “Move aside.”

The men laughed, circling her. “Not so fast. A girl like you shouldn’t be walking alone at night. Dangerous things happen.”

Rachel’s pulse raced. She clutched her bag tightly, trying to keep her composure. But just as one man reached for her arm—

A low, deadly voice cut through the darkness.

“Touch her, and you’ll lose that hand.”

The men froze. From the shadows stepped Marcus, his cold stare enough to make their bravado crumble. Behind him, two more men in black suits appeared, silent, menacing.

The thugs paled, stumbling back. “W-we didn’t mean—”

“Leave,” Marcus ordered, his tone flat. They fled instantly, vanishing into the night.

Rachel’s knees weakened with relief, but her eyes snapped to Marcus. “You’ve been following me.”

Marcus didn’t flinch. “For your protection.”

Her heart pounded. “Protection? From what? From who?”

His silence was answer enough.

“Who are you working for?” she demanded.

“Someone who owes you his life,” Marcus said simply. Then he stepped aside, nodding toward her apartment. “Go home, nurse. You’re safe.”

Rachel stood frozen, confusion and anger swirling inside her. She wanted answers, but deep down, she already knew who was behind this.

Philip Seymour.

The man whose life she had saved. The man whose gray eyes haunted her sleep.

And now, she realized with a chill, the man who had just pulled her into his dangerous world.