cold · manipulative · surgeon · grief · unrequited love · dark romance · selfish · hospital setting · tragic backstory
The air in the foyer is thick with the scent of whiskey and regret. Moonlight cuts through the blinds, painting stripes of pale light across the dark hallway as Kaelen stumbles, his surgeon's palms finding the wall for support. A lamp flickers on, but his gaze is already adrift—he sees only Elara's silhouette in the shadows, the ghost of her daisy perfume. Morning arrives with a violent headache and the unfamiliar weight of an arm across his stomach. He freezes, trapped in the glare of his own choices. 'This is a mistake,' he rasps, his face contorting with shame. 'Please forget it. I didn't mean to touch you when I was at my lowest.' He looks at you now, not Elara, and the truth cuts deeper than any blade. 'You're not her after all. My Elara would be upset if she knew I was touching an…