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“Did Ronnie tell you anything?” Emily’s voice, laced with a hint of embarrassment, came through my phone’s speakers.

She’d called me about two minutes ago, saying that she just wanted to check on me, especially since my client was a tough nut to crack. Emily was a nice young lady with a good heart and would, every once in a while, reach out to me just to check in.

However, the call this evening wasn’t for that purpose. No. I knew exactly where she was headed with the conversation and was waiting for her to spill the beans. I was already exhausted from my session with Raziel Tarasov, and I’d yet to recover from the emotions he’d managed to stir up within me.

The last thing I needed right now was more drama, but I couldn’t exactly turn her down. Emily was one of the few real friends I had at the clinic, and it would break her heart if I ignored her now that she needed me the most.

I slotted the key into the keyhole and turned it, unlocking the door. “You wanna know if he told me about the kiss?” I trailed off, pushing the front door open.

Shutting it behind me, I walked into the house with the phone clasped to my ear. With an effortless move, I tossed the bunch of keys onto the entryway table with a clatter.

“I’m sorry to drop this on you like this, Clary. I know you’re probably dealing with a lot right now,” she said, her voice soft and tinged with helplessness.

“No, no, it’s fine,” I replied, feigning modesty even though I just needed some time to myself—at least for now.

As I stepped further into the house, I shed my jacket and let it drape over the back of the couch in the living room. The soft glow of the table lamps cast a warm ambiance that illuminated the cozy yet comfortable space.

“Talk to me, Em,” I said, encouraging her to pour her heart out.

“It’s just so complicated now, Clary,” she said.

“But you’ve always loved Ronnie,” I said, pausing in my tracks to take off my heels, one after the other.

“Yes, that’s true, but the kiss changes everything now. I’m not even sure how he feels about me,” she stated, her pain and confusion evident.

The hardwood flooring was cool beneath my feet as I padded into the kitchen, the phone still pressed to my ear. “Have you two spoken about the incident yet?” I asked, opening the refrigerator door, the cool air brushing against my skin.

I lowered my head, my gaze sweeping across the neatly organized shelves. There, jars of homemade jam and crisp vegetables stood like soldiers alongside a few carefully wrapped leftovers.

“I’m so embarrassed to face him, Clary. I’m afraid to have a conversation about the kiss because I’m not sure what his response would be,” she said, her voice cracking under the weight of her despair. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You should talk with him. That’s what you should do,” I replied, withdrawing a gallon of milk from the fridge.

Shutting the door with the back of my leg, I walked over to the kitchen island and set the gallon on the countertop.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” she objected, fear creeping into her tone.

“You’re only delaying the inevitable, Em. It’s the only way.” I opened the cupboard and retrieved a glass cup, which I placed on the countertop. “What’s the worst thing that could happen, hmm?”

She drew a deep breath on the other line, falling silent for a moment while I poured myself some milk.

“You’re right,” she said. “I guess I’ll have to face my fears.”

“Em, you’re a beautiful woman. Strong, resilient, loving, and with a pure heart,” I began, my tone dripping with sincerity. “Trust me, Ronnie would be a fool to let you slip through his fingers. It’ll be his loss.”

“Okay, now you’re just trying to make me feel better.” She giggled on the other line, and I could almost envision her cheeks flushing.

“It’s the truth, Emily. You’re everything I said and more, so don’t let anyone make you feel any less of yourself. Not even Ronnie,” I concluded.

She let out a sharp exhale, her voice sounding much better than before. “Thank you, Clary. I knew I could count on you.”

Her appreciation prompted a smile on my tired face, and my fingers rubbed my eyes. “Anytime, Em. Anytime.”

“Alright. I'll leave you alone now,” she said, a glint of enthusiasm creeping into her tone. “Bye.”

“Bye,” I replied, and she hung up the phone.

I released an exhausted sigh, feeling a little relieved now that I could help a colleague. However, the question remained: Who was going to help me in this current dilemma?

My fingers wrapped around the glass, and I lifted it to my lips, emptying the milk down my throat.

Thoughts of Raziel Tarasov flooded my mind like a hurricane. And the more I tried to think of something else, the more the invasion intensified, leaving my brain a tangled mess.

I cupped my face in my palms and shook my head, as if attempting to physically shake off the thoughts of him. Even now, at my place, the rich scent of his cologne still lingered, invading my senses, hence the reason I couldn’t seem to get him out of my head.

His voice resounded in my head, echoing through the void in my mind: “Would you like to go out with me sometime? ”

The audacity he had to ask me out, the courage he exuded, and that intense stare all had me intrigued. His offer was tempting, and for a second there, I almost lost my professionalism. Luckily, I hadn’t—well, not yet, anyway.

Although he left my office without a word, I couldn’t help but feel like that wasn’t his last attempt. Men like Raziel weren’t the kind to give up so easily. I was certain that he’d try again, and a part of me was anticipating his second attempt—I looked forward to it.

The pull between us was undeniable, and I was afraid that with this growing emotion inside me, things might sprawl out of control.

His signature smirk flashed in my head.

I wiped a palm across my face in an attempt to push it to the back of my mind. No matter how much I tried to lie to myself, the truth remained that I found him attractive— really attractive—and that was a problem.

Once done with the gallon of milk, I returned it to the fridge, shut the door, and headed upstairs. I needed a shower. Maybe the water would ease me of this mental stress.

I pushed my fingers into my temples, moving them in a massaging motion as I ascended the stairs. Raziel had occupied my mind long enough, and I desperately needed to get him out. This was all shades of wrong, and the more I entertained thoughts of him, the harder it became to think of anything other than him.

This whole situation screamed trouble, but I couldn’t help myself. I was drawn to him. Why? I wasn’t exactly sure yet. I shouldn’t like the way I felt when thinking about him— somewhat…aroused. It was bad and unprofessional. Could it be helped, though? Not necessarily.

I strolled into my comfortable bedroom, the cozy interior illuminated by the golden glow of the evening sun filtering through the window. I shed my clothes, and naked, I stepped into the bathroom to freshen up.

Somehow, it helped. I felt a little better after bathing, and while I sat in the living room after sundown, my mind was occupied with the program playing on TV.

With my nightgown draped over me, I sat on my couch, my legs on the cushion. A half-eaten bowl of cereal sat beside me as the TV’s screen lit up the room, illuminating my face.

Then, I heard the knock on my door.

I glanced at the wall clock. It was almost eight o’clock, and I wasn’t expecting anyone. I rarely had visitors, let alone at night, so who could it possibly be?

I hadn’t finished processing the first knock when I heard it again.

Alarmed, I grabbed the remote and turned the TV off, my eyes squinting ever so slightly as I looked in the direction of the front door. I rose from the couch and cautiously glided over to the entrance, my curiosity getting the best of me.

As I halted by the door, I heard footsteps retreating from the other side—not quickly, like in a hurry, but majestic. I grabbed the door handle and pulled it open, my gaze sweeping across the empty street.

That’s weird , I thought to myself, as there was no one within my line of vision.

The street was cool and deserted, with lamps casting long shadows across the sidewalks. A neighbor’s dog barked in the distance, its growl and howls puncturing through the night.

I turned to my left and right, but there was still no sign of anyone, and that had me spooked—kind of. I was in no mood for jokes tonight; besides, it wasn’t even Halloween yet.

As I was about to get back inside and lock my door, my eyes dropped to the floor, and that was when I saw the gift box sitting there.

I jerked my head and, again, scanned the surroundings meticulously before picking up the box. My eyes narrowed as I read the hand-written message on the card attached to the package. “I hope the dress fits. Get ready by 9.”

I hadn’t seen the sender’s name yet, but in my head, only one voice played while I read through the text. The tone was masculine and dripping with authority, an aura I was very familiar with.

I flipped the card over, and a small grin spread across my face as my eyes fell on the lone word written in italics—the name “Raziel.”

This gesture melted my heart in a way I never anticipated, and despite reservations, I couldn’t help but blush. My fingers reflexively pushed some stray strands behind my ear.

One last time, I raised my head and scanned the surroundings before stepping back inside to lock my door. I pursed my lips, trying to suppress my smile as I headed back to the living room, holding the light gift box in my hands.

I knew that he wasn’t going to give up so easily. I knew he’d try again, and that part of me that wanted this was glad. This commanding invitation didn’t leave any room for rejection, and although it stung a little, I was able to convince myself not to be offended by it.

I set the package on the coffee table and sank into the sofa, my eyes pinned on the box, decorated with a red ribbon. With my fingers in my mouth, I delicately chewed on my nails, contemplating my next move.

This was wrong, not to mention dangerous, but I wanted it. Deep down, I wanted to hang out with him and damn the consequences. However, there were rules to this profession, and one of those rules was that patients were forbidden territory. Our relationship was supposed to be strictly therapeutic and nothing more.

Anxious, I tapped my foot against the floor, my heart racing with anticipation. My pulse quickened as I stared blankly at the box, feeling stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea.

A huge part of me wanted to go out on this date with him, but the reasonable part of me was against it.

This is a bad idea, a faint voice whispered in my head.

My eyes darted toward the wall clock to calculate how much time I had to make a decision. Should I go with him or should I not?

After a moment of contemplation, I concluded that this was an opportunity to get to know him better beyond the four walls of my office. Going on this date was purely for the sake of helping him—it was for his own good. At least, that was what I told myself to help lessen the guilt for breaking the rules.

I heaved a sigh and rose to my feet, finally deciding to go out with him. It was wrong, and I might regret it later, but the magnetic pull between us was too strong to ignore, making it impossible to reject his invitation.

One date with him wouldn’t hurt. Would it?