Chapter 1
By the time I walked out of St. Catherine's Medical Center in Manhattan, I had nothing left to give.
My legs ached from twenty-four straight hours on my feet. My scrubs were wrinkled, my hair had escaped its bun hours earlier, and there was still a small stain of dried blood beneath one fingernail that refused to come off no matter how hard I scrubbed at it in the staff bathroom. I didn't want dinner. I didn't want conversation. I wanted my bed, and I wanted it faster than the subway could get me there.
The rain had just stopped, leaving the streets shimmering under the streetlights along Amsterdam Avenue. My rideshare app showed a black SUV waiting at the south entrance, and I spotted one with its rear door already cracked open. Without thinking, without checking a plate number I was too exhausted to even see clearly, I climbed inside.
The leather seat felt softer than my mattress at home. The cabin carried a faint scent of cedar and expensive cologne, the kind of luxury I had only ever seen in magazines I flipped through in waiting rooms. I hugged my work bag against my chest and within seconds, exhaustion won completely.
I never heard the driver quietly say, "Sir, there's already someone in the back." I never noticed another door opening. I never realized someone had taken the seat beside me.
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The feeling of being watched slowly pulled me awake. When I opened my eyes, a tall man in a perfectly tailored navy suit sat beside me with remarkable composure. His dark eyes rested on me without irritation or amusement, as though he had simply decided to wait until I figured it all out on my own.
My heart nearly stopped. "This isn't my car," I whispered.
