Chapter Thirteen: The Power Clash

The auditorium of Hamilton Medical City pulsed with quiet anticipation, the kind of hum that happens when too many egos in white coats and polished suits gather in one place. The board meeting was more crowded than usual. Everyone knew today was special: the formal introduction of a Hamilton heir stepping directly into the executive board.

Sarah Smith sat rigidly in the second row, her back pressed against the chair as though perfect posture could shield her from what was about to happen. Her fingers clutched her notepad so tightly that the edges bent under her grip. She told herself she was prepared, that she was here as a doctor, nothing more, nothing less.

But her heart betrayed her, beating loud and uneven against her ribs.

Don’t be ridiculous. You’re a professional. He is just another executive.

But her body knew better. It remembered. The warmth of his bare skin under her palms. The sound of his low, restrained moan when she touched him. The brazen curl of his toes against the hospital sheets. The smirk that haunted her sleep.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the chairman’s voice finally rang out, cutting through the restless murmur. “Allow me to formally introduce Mr. Liam Hamilton, heir of Hamilton Medical Group, and now an active executive overseeing Hamilton Medical City.”

Applause broke like a wave through the hall.

And then he walked out.

Liam Hamilton, in a suit that fit like it was crafted by sin itself, crisp and dark against the glow of the auditorium lights. His presence filled the stage before he even said a word, magnetic and commanding. The applause swelled, but Sarah barely heard it.

Because his eyes had already found her.

That smirk, slow, deliberate, and devastating, curved across his lips. He looked at her like he could still taste her. Like this entire performance was a private game meant only for her.

Sarah’s throat tightened. Oh, God. Not here. Not in front of everyone.

When the chairman finished the introductions, Sarah thought she could hide in the crowd, melt into her seat and escape notice. But fate or perhaps Liam had other plans.

“Dr. Sarah Smith,” the moderator announced, “will now present the updated protocols for the VIP Ward.”

Her pulse spiked.

No. Not now. Not in front of him.

But there was no escaping.

She rose on shaky legs, tugging at the edges of her white coat as though it were armor. The long walk to the podium felt like wading through fire. She adjusted the microphone, her voice carefully neutral as she began.

“Good afternoon. The VIP Ward has always been distinguished by its patient-centered care…”

Her words were polished, crisp, well-rehearsed. But she wasn’t speaking to the board anymore. She was speaking against the weight of his gaze.

Because Liam wasn’t looking at her slides. He wasn’t nodding at her statistics. He was looking straight at her the same way he had looked at her when she’d pressed trembling fingers to his abdomen, when his gown slipped open under her hands.

And then, just when she thought she could hold herself steady, his voice cut through the room.

“Careful, Doctor,” Liam drawled, pitched perfectly to carry across the hall. “Your hands are trembling again.”

The board members chuckled. A few executives exchanged amused glances. To them, it was playful banter from a charming heir.

But Sarah froze, heat crawling up her neck. Her palms dampened against the podium. Her body remembered the night before, the tremor of her fingers against his bare chest, the way he’d arched ever so slightly beneath her touch.

Her breath hitched. He’s doing this on purpose.

Forcing her voice calm, she continued, “As I was saying, patient confidentiality and comfort remain our highest priorities—”

“Comfort,” Liam repeated, smooth as velvet, deliberate as a blade. His lips twitched into a knowing smile. “Yes, I imagine you’re quite… attentive to that.”

More laughter filled the room.

Sarah wanted to sink into the ground. No one else heard what she heard in those words. No one else knew that “comfort” meant her fingertips brushing the ridges of his abs, her heart hammering in her ears while his toes curled and uncurl against the hospital bed.

She swallowed, fighting to keep her voice from breaking. She powered through the rest of her presentation, though every slide blurred and every sentence scraped against the edge of humiliation.

Finally, the applause came, polite and professional. Relief washed over her, until the chairman spoke again.

“Thank you, Dr. Smith. Mr. Hamilton, since you’ll be directly overseeing this ward, would you like to respond?”

Sarah’s stomach dropped.

Liam rose with deliberate grace. He buttoned his jacket, slow and purposeful, his every movement calculated. When he reached the podium, he didn’t turn to the crowd. He turned to her.

“Dr. Smith has presented an excellent framework,” he began smoothly, his voice calm and commanding. “Her… hands-on approach to patient care is particularly impressive.”

The hall erupted in polite laughter again. To them, it was witty. To her, it was a knife sliding deeper.

Sarah clenched her jaw, her nails digging crescents into her palm.

Then Liam leaned just slightly toward her, his cologne wrapping around her, his voice dropping low enough that only she could hear.

“Tell me, Doctor,” he murmured, his lips so close she felt the heat of his breath, “do you tremble this much for all your patients? Or only for me?”

Sarah’s knees nearly buckled. Her chest rose and fell too quickly. She wanted to slap him. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to disappear.

But instead, she lifted her chin, eyes blazing, voice barely above a whisper.

“Only when they forget their gowns.”

For the first time, the smirk faltered. Briefly. His eyes darkened, something sharp and primal flickering there.

The applause swelled again as Liam straightened, facing the audience with effortless composure. He gave the closing remarks with the poise of a man born to rule. But Sarah knew, underneath that smooth exterior, she had struck back.

Still, when the meeting adjourned and the crowd began to disperse, Sarah caught his gaze one last time. That smirk had returned, faint but deadly.

And the promise in his eyes was clear.

This was only the beginning.

Their private sin had just become a public game.

And Sarah Smith was caught in the center of it.

But before she could slip away with the departing crowd, Liam’s voice cut across the hall once more.

“Dr. Smith.”

Every head turned. Sarah froze.

Liam stood near the podium, his hands casually in his pockets, his gaze fixed solely on her. His voice was steady, authoritative, carrying the weight of his name.

“I’d like you to personally brief me further on the VIP protocols. In my office. This afternoon.”

The room buzzed with curiosity, whispers rippling through the board members. It was perfectly reasonable, perfectly professional, on the surface.

But Sarah heard what no one else could. She heard the deliberate emphasis. The personally.

Her pulse spiked. Her skin flushed hot beneath her coat. Her legs felt unsteady as her colleagues cast her envious, amused glances.

“Yes, Mr. Hamilton,” she managed, her voice tight, her professional mask barely holding.

Liam’s smirk widened, slow and lethal. His eyes dragged over her one last time before he turned away, dismissing the rest of the board with that same easy authority.

Sarah stood frozen, her world spinning. Because she knew, this wasn’t about protocols. This wasn’t about the VIP ward.

This was about power. About him reminding her exactly who he was.

And what he could still make her feel.