ch.4

Maya's Pov

I let out a guttural scream, the sound easing some of the tension in my chest.

What just happened?

My life was fine two days ago. I had a plan, finish my residency, become the future of Ophthalmology, pay off my medical debt and help my parents. Not treat goons or operate on murderers.

The shrill cry of my phone takes me out of my thoughts. My mother's name flashes on the screen and I grunt.

“Hello sweetie,” my mum says, her voice as cheerful as ever.

I clear my throat, looking at the boxes of unopened items and stacks of medicine books lining the coffee table. “Uh, hi mum.”

“How are you? How is the big city?”

“It's fine, how are you, how is Dad?” I ask, wiping away my tears.

“We're fine, but you're dad, he went to see Dr. Charles and he says his blood pressure is shooting up and his vision is getting blurry,” she says, worry laced in her tone.

“Uh, is he taking his medicine properly?” I ask, knowing how stubborn he can be.

“Yes, I remind him every day. Maya, I'm worried,” she says. “I've been reading that—”

I stop her mid-sentence. “Mum, stop reading information online if he continues taking his medicine every day and follows the proper diet he is going to be fine.”

“We don't have enough for him to eat the proper diet listed on the charts they gave us.”

I massage my temples, wondering what kind of karma saddled me with this kind of problem.

“Hey, we said I'm the one that's going to worry about the money and you are going to worry about taking care of dad, right?”

“Yeah but —”

“No buts Mum, I will send you some money this week for you to get everything you need okay.”

“Okay I love you,” she says with a resigned sigh.

“I love you more, you and Dad both.”

I disconnect the call, looking at the blood smeared all over the floor. I grab the cleaning tools from the bathroom and some gloves. The smell of disinfectant and bleach mixed with dried blood wafts in the air. I cannot open the windows, not with a dead body in my closet or the smell of blood drying on the floor. I scrub the wood till my arm starts to ache. A sob threatens to break out as a piece of wood prickles at my skin. I throw the scrubber to the end of the room, taking off my gloves. I walk to the closet ready to get rid of Chase's body but my heart skips a beat when I find it empty.

I clutch my chest, looking around the empty house. Did he take it? Dead bodies don't just disappear.

A knock snaps me out of my thoughts and he walks in with a smug look on his face. He holds another file and I grunt, falling to the floor.

Cassian's pov

Maya sits on the floor, her hair a tangled mess on top of her head. Her smooth legs are folded to her chest, her fingers absentmindedly twirling a piece of hair. Her tiny apartment feels uninhabitable, with cardboard boxes cluttering every corner and walls covered in various scribbles and peeling paint. The kitchen, though cramped, appears functional but she looks like she has never set foot in it.

I lock the door behind me sitting on the armrest. Her eyes remain fixated on the rug, the blood that was on it washed clean.

“Have you made a decision yet?” I ask, not wasting any time.

She lets a whiny sound from her throat, pulling her hair. “No, yes I don't know.”

“I need an answer.”

She removes her head from between her knees, looking at me. Freckles bunch at the bridge of her nose, the redness at the tip telling me she has been crying. “I don't even know your name yet.”

“Cassian White.”

“What?”

“That's my name.”

“I'm twenty six you cannot be burdening me with that kind of decision, I'm supposed to be concentrating on my residency, not on you,” she says, exhaling deeply.

I snicker. “You're twenty-six carrying the burdens of a forty-year-old woman, you have been working since you were eleven, so no I'm not burdening you to the contrary I'm helping you out of your miserable life,” I say.

She gasps. “Excuse me?”

“I’m a busy man Maya, I don't have the time to babysit your feelings.”

She nibbles on her lip, the pink thing popping out. She looks away as if she can't believe everything happening to her.

“Fine.”

“Fine, what?”

“I will operate on you.”

I smile. “That's more like it.”

“What now?” She asks, pushing her hair back.

I slid the file to her. “That is a contract saying that I will clear all your medical debt and pay you twenty-five thousand each month if you sign it.”

That might sound like a lot to her, but it's changed to me.

She takes the piece of paper skimming through it. “It also says that you will clear half of my medical debt when I move in with you and the rest when I'm able to save your eyesight,” she says, disbelief laced in her tone.

“Yes, you didn't think it would be that easy?.”

“Move in with you, I'm not moving in with you.”

I scoff. “How will you treat me if you don't live with me?” I need her at my palms length.

She shakes her head. “I have bought every medical supply and the machines. What is left is you.”

“You want me because you want me to live with you.”

“You will have your own room.”

“I don't care,” she shouts. “You're manipulating me.”

“Manipulating you? I'm even doing you a favor. Do you think you will ever make that much money working here in L.A? You can't even afford to put food on your parent's table, you need the money, I need your skill.”

“ I can find another doctor, Maya,” I add, despite knowing how desperate I am. I need someone that I can watch and we'll not risk my chair as the leader of B-T-13.

She sighs, continuing to go through the contract. “You will tap my phone and every device I take into the mansion and I have to sign an NDA!”

The light from the window falls on her face, as she stares at her feet.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“So that if you ever think of betraying me your word will be inadmissible.”

She stands, inhaling. She has a small cut in the knee that you would miss if you didn't look closely.

“Hurry up, I have other things to deal with,” I pressed.

“Why do I need to sign this? Criminals don't have contracts.”

I laugh. “Because even criminals need rules don't you think?”

My head tilts and I stand. “I will walk out this door and find another doctor, where will you find someone that is offering to help you.”

“This is not helping,” she says, swinging the papers. “This is you robbing me of my life.”

“You call this life?” I ask. “I am doing you a favor. If you don't want to do it, think about your family, your father's medication.”

I take a pen from my jacket and offer it to her. She takes it reluctantly going through the pages again.

“Someone will come to collect your things and take them to the mansion,” I add, taking the papers from her.

“Wait,” she calls.

“Will I still get to work at the hospital?”

“Yes”

“I'm still learning, working there will give me more experience and I can research your condition.”

“I said yes,” I mumbled, wondering why she was explaining herself.

I exit the door looking over the contract. Just like I thought she didn't read the last one and still signed it, maybe she isn't as smart as I thought.