Page 5

I heaved a heavy sigh, feeling a slight surge of unease as I smoothed out the wrinkles on my pencil skirt. My manicured fingers adjusted the wire-rimmed glasses perched on my face. I wasn’t sure why I chose the nerdy look—maybe I thought the glasses would make me appear more professional.

My hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and my makeup was subtle yet polished. A faint flutter swelled up in my chest, betraying my nerves despite my composed exterior.

“You’ve got this,” I muttered to myself, nodding in affirmation.

My heels clicked against the fine wooden floor as I paced back and forth, breathing in and out in an attempt to summon some courage. I raised my head and glanced at the wall clock, my heart skipping a beat at the realization that my client could walk in at any time.

At the very last minute, my client had changed. It seemed that this new patient was even more high-profile than the case Dr. Kim had initially assigned me, but she claimed it was necessary for me to take this one on; she had the same faith in me. Thankfully, the original case was going to Emily, not Carol.

Dr. Kim had hinted at the man’s volatile nature. She said, “He’s a bit of a handful with some serious anger issues.” It wasn’t the words that had spooked me; rather, it was the stern expression on her face.

In order to distract myself from this unwanted fear that had me second-guessing myself, I glanced around my new office. A sense of reassurance washed over me as I inhaled the sweet aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting from the coffee maker in a corner.

The space was calm and serene, with soft gray walls and a plush area rug in a soothing blue hue. The center of the room was dominated by a sleek modern desk flanked by two comfortable armchairs.

Just then, I heard the door open, and as I turned toward the entrance, my eyes fell on an imposing man strolling in. Behind my glasses, my eyes widened ever so slightly, and my heart paused for a second.

It may have been a little dark that night at the club, but I had a good look at the fight starter, and I never forgot a face. It was him. He was all dressed up in an impeccably tailored black suit and with a much calmer demeanor, but it was him. I was certain. He looked charming, handsome, and dashing, but he was the same devil I saw that night.

No wonder this case took priority , I couldn’t help but think as I observed him.

As he approached me, the scent of his cologne enveloped the air around me, and his sharp blue eyes never left my face. His dirty-blond hair was slightly tousled like the other night, and his blazer highlighted his broad-shouldered frame.

The blank expression he wore further accentuated his ruggedness, and his aura exuded confidence, power, and danger. He wasn’t a man to be messed with, and I knew that for sure—I’d witnessed his rage firsthand.

A surge of anxiety surged through me, and there was a sudden dryness in my throat. His presence commanded attention, and I felt small before him, his imposing frame towering over me.

The man was gorgeous—I couldn’t deny that—and staring at him caused my legs to turn to jelly. How could someone as handsome as him be so cruel and heartless? But the most important question remained: How was I going to handle such a character? Was I even up to the challenge? Where did I start from?

I struggled to steady my breathing and appear as professional as possible—composed and in control. That was the aura I exuded, but deep within me, I was in dire need of help. This situation was way above my experience. And now, I couldn’t help but wonder what exactly it was about me that convinced Dr. Kim Kurt to assign me to the case—especially knowing it was more complicated than the initial high-profile client.

Oh, dear Lord, I don’t wanna mess this up, I prayed in my mind, my gaze locked on this man’s intimidating stare. Like a drum, my heart pounded in my chest as I struggled to maintain an air of confidence and composure.

My palms were sweaty, and it seemed like my legs could no longer carry my weight. However, I was the doctor here, and he was my client. This was my space, and that meant that I was in control. The DA’s office had granted me power over him. Regardless of who he was, within this space, I called the shots.

With a discreet move, I exhaled softly, a fraction of my fear and anxiety dissipating into the air.

He halted in front of me and introduced himself, his voice deep and husky. “Raziel Tarasov. I have an appointment with a therapist.”

Immediately, my professional mask slipped into place, and I extended a steady hand. “Welcome, Mr. Tarasov. I'm Clarice Evelyn, and I’ll be facilitating our sessions together.”

Raziel’s brows arched slightly, a glint of surprise flickering in his gaze. His eyes dropped to my outstretched hand before darting back to my face as he shook my hand. His grip was delicate yet firm, and I felt a jolt of electricity course through my whole body. Despite the shock, I maintained my composure, pretending to be unfazed by his touch.

“Please, take a seat.” I withdrew my hand, masking my nervousness with a courteous smile.

His fingers expertly unfastened the buttons of his blazer as he sank into the plush armchair and crossed his legs, one over the other. His confidence was admirable yet intimidating, and I could only hope that I wouldn’t mess this up.

I settled into my chair with a pen and a notepad in my hand as his piercing gaze locked on my face. His intense stare was a clear indication that he was studying me for reasons best known to him. However, I had a pretty good idea of what might be running through his mind.

The man was almost twice my age and might even be old enough to father a girl like me. He must have found this situation weird, and indeed it was.

The air was thick with tension, and I could almost hear my own heart racing slightly faster. The intensity of his stare didn't make things easier either, and I couldn’t let him intimidate me.

“Shall we begin?” I said, my voice low and professional. I crossed one leg over the other. “May I just confirm that you’re aware of the confidentiality and boundaries of our therapeutic relationship?”

His lips curled into a sly grin, and he asked, derailing completely off course, “How old are you, eighteen?” His gaze remained steady.

My brows furrowed at the condescension in his voice, and I felt a pang of irritation swell within me. “Excuse me?” The words fell from my mouth, mirroring my displeasure.

Raziel paused for a moment, a hand under his chin with a pesky little smirk dancing on his lips. “Carry on,” he said, his voice low and even, like he knew he’d crawled under my skin.

I subtly clenched my jaw and drew a deep breath, dispelling the negativity creeping into my heart. A warm, courteous smile spread across my face as I leaned forward, my pen poised over my notepad. “Let’s start with the basics,” I began, my tone laced with confidence and composure. “Mr. Tarasov, can you tell me a little about what brings you here?” I locked eyes with him.

“Don’t you already know that?” he questioned, his voice flat and dripping with disinterest.

I went silent, my expression stern yet welcoming—a subtle sign that I still awaited a response from him.

He heaved a sigh and answered, “I’m just following orders, Doc. The court thought it would be a good idea.”

“And what do you think? Do you share their opinion?” I asked, my eyes boring into his with a sudden confidence.

He cocked his head to the side, retaining his smirk. “Would you like me to lie or tell the truth?”

“We’re discussing your feelings, Mr. Tarasov. The truth would be appreciated,” came my response.

“Well, in that case, the truth is that I know this to be a complete waste of my precious time, and I cannot wait to be done with it,” he said, his voice laced with disdain and, unfortunately, sincerity.

That was his undiluted thought, and without knowing it, he'd just given me a head start. My eyes fell on my notepad as I scribbled my findings before raising my head again. “Why do you feel this is a waste of time, Mr. Tarasov? Do you think you cannot be helped?”

“Help is for people who have a problem,” he said, looking right at me.

“And you don’t?” I questioned, holding his gaze. I studied his body language and the slight changes in his flat expression.

Raziel paused for a while, absently stroking his jaw, unwilling to answer a question as simple as that. In my line of work, silence was also a reply, and I’d received my answer. Raziel was in denial, and beneath all that arrogance and pride was a man in need of help. He’d never admit it—his ego wouldn’t let him, but I was willing to do my job.

“Mr. Tarasov, can you describe your current living conditions for me? Do you live alone or with others?” My question broke the silence between us.

His eyes squinted, and his brows knitted together, highlighting the puzzled look on his face.

I went ahead to clarify my question further. “Your living situation can provide valuable insight into your support system and stress levels.” I paused, letting my explanation sink in for a moment. “Also, your response will help me understand your daily routines and potential triggers for anxiety and, well…anger.”

He adjusted in his chair and toiled with his cufflinks, his expression neutral. “I have a place. It’s…fine.”

That was a little more than vague, but I’d let it slide for now. I scribbled down my notepad and faced him again. “Can you tell me what you do for work?”

“I’m a businessman,” he replied, his tone keen and sharp.

My eyes narrowed, locking on him as I searched for any sign of emotion. But the man was good at keeping a straight face. His expression was stoic, blank, and almost unreadable. I analyzed his behavior these past few minutes and made a mental note to dig deeper into his background. There was more to this closed-off individual than he was letting on

I’d lingered on the basics long enough; it was time to get to the point.

I braced myself for the outcome.

I cleared my throat and adjusted my glasses. “Tell me, Mr. Tarasov, how do you feel about the club incident?”

His expression darkened slowly, and his eyes furrowed. “I don’t do feelings , Doc. A man crossed a line, and I punched him in the face,” he said with a low and unapologetic voice.

“I think you did a lot more than just punch him in the face,” I replied, holding his intimidating gaze.

“How would you know? You weren’t there,” came his flat response, his eyes never leaving my face.

Oh, but I was. Raziel just didn’t know it—not yet, anyway. He had no idea that I saw him unleash the beast within. Maybe it would be better to keep it that way, at least for now.

“I saw the videos online, Mr. Tarasov,” I stated, observing his countenance and waiting for the slightest change in his mood.

Raziel remained calm and collected, unfazed by my words. “Like I said…he crossed a line.”

“Is that how you treat everyone who crosses one of your lines?” I questioned, eager to hear his response so I could know where to place his level of madness. In his silence, I continued, my tone measured but pointed. “Mr. Tarasov, do you agree with me that you have the tendency to let your anger dictate your actions?”

His expression darkened, and his jaw tightened, hinting that I’d struck a nerve. Raziel uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, his voice a low whisper. “You act like you know…but you don’t.” The slight pause came when his eyes bore into mine.

“Maybe,” I responded, holding my ground, unfazed by his sharp words. “But I do know that you lack self-control.”

His brows furrowed, and his fingers clenched into fists, his eyes pinned on me like a hook to a fish. My heart skipped a beat as I wondered if I’d just lit a match too close to the fire.

“Let me guess,” he began, a glint of anger flashing across his rugged yet handsome face. “You’re going to fix me—make me a little bit better with your fancy notebook and your patronizing smile.” He leaned back in his chair, watching me with a stern look.

The mockery in his tone couldn’t be more obvious, and it triggered me. But I was the professional one here, and my reaction should differ from his.

“As ironic as it may sound, it’s not far from the truth. But by all means, please do go on,” I said, wearing an equally stern expression. “I’m fascinated by your insightful analysis of the therapeutic process.” The words tumbled out of me, dripping with sarcasm.

He let out a scoff, his lips curling into a smirk. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

His question caused my heart to skip a beat in my chest, but I maintained my composure. I clenched my jaw in order to mask my nervousness as he leaned closer again.

He stared deeply into my eyes and said softly, his voice husky and laced with menace, “You have no idea what you’re dealing with here, Doc.”

I swallowed, bracing myself. “You’re right. I don’t. But that’s why we’re here.” I held his gaze and softened my expression. “So, please, let me help you.”

For the next few seconds, it was silent between us, each staring into the other’s eyes.

Raziel was as dangerous as he was broken, and deep within me, I was already wondering how I’d handle such a man. Was I up to the task?

Would this case make me or break me? Would I fix him, or would he ruin me? One thing was certain, though: This was going to be a lot tougher than I thought.