The Public Humiliation

Nora’s eyes widened, her breath hitching in her throat. "You... you know him?"

Evelyn didn’t answer. The muscle in her jaw pulsed with a rhythmic, aching intensity.

"Stay in the car," she commanded, her hand already on the door latch. "Don't let him see you. I’ll handle this."

"Evelyn, wait—!"

But Evelyn was already gone. She crossed the street like a heat-seeking missile, her rage wrapped in a thin, lethal layer of control.

Inside the restaurant, the man by the window ended a call with the kind of clipped impatience that seemed to reorganize the air around him. Lucien Hale. He wasn't waiting for a romantic date; he was waiting for a business obligation that was late.

"I’m giving you ten minutes," he said into the phone, his voice a cold scalpel. "If you’re not here, I’m gone."

He set the phone down and looked up.

A woman pulled out the chair across from him and sat with a terrifying, quiet confidence.

Lucien’s brows drew together. Evelyn Carter. Again.

"Can I help you?" he asked, his tone flat.

Evelyn’s mouth curved into a joyless sliver of a smile. "Now I get it. Ethan didn't become a world-class liar by accident. It runs in the family."

Lucien’s eyes cooled by several degrees. He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses with deliberate, terrifying patience. "Ms. Carter, if you’re having an episode, I can refer you to a psychiatrist. A very discreet one."

Evelyn leaned back, her gaze drifting—deliberately—down his torso. "Maybe you should get yourself checked first, Doctor. You spend enough time around blood to know that viruses don't care about your white coat."

Lucien’s jaw tightened. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, don’t play the saint." Evelyn’s voice sharpened, cutting through the low hum of the restaurant. "I’ve heard the stories. The doctor with no boundaries. The man who thinks a medical degree means 'no' is just a suggestion."

The accusation didn't just target him; it spat on his entire career.

Lucien’s mouth flattened into a hard line. For a second, it looked like he might stand up and end her right there. But Evelyn kept going, her eyes burning with a primal rage that felt years old, as if he were simply the most convenient target for a life of being hunted.

"Do you use your position to do worse?" she pressed, her voice a venomous whisper. "Is that why you talk down to everyone? Because you’ve spent your life taking what isn't yours?"

Lucien didn’t know her history. Not the full, blood-soaked details. He’d seen the scars, heard the whispers of the kennel, and watched her family treat her like a plague. But he recognized the tone.

This wasn't righteous anger. It was panic wearing armor. It was the voice of someone who had once begged for mercy and received none.

A flicker of something—discomfort? Guilt?—crossed his chest. Then, her next words dragged it under.

"You’re wrong," he said flatly. "And you’re reckless."

"I thought you were just arrogant," she snapped, leaning forward until they were inches apart. "Turns out, you’re dangerous. Stay away from Nora. If you keep harassing her, I’ll put everything online. I won't be gentle, Lucien."

Her phone buzzed. Nora.

Evelyn answered without breaking eye contact with him. "What?"

"Evelyn—where are you?" Nora’s voice was thin with panic. "He just called. He’s threatening to call my dad because I'm late. Where are you?"

Evelyn blinked. "I'm sitting right in front of him, Nora."

There was a beat of static silence.

"No—Evelyn," Nora whispered, the sound full of dread. "You’re two tables off. Two seats forward. The guy I'm supposed to meet... that’s Roy Lane. He’s over there in the blue shirt. Who... who are you sitting with?"

The blood drained from Evelyn’s face so fast her vision went sharp at the edges. She turned—slowly.

She saw the other man. Same general silhouette. White shirt. Glasses. But he lacked the steel, the presence, the overwhelming weight of the man sitting across from her.

The ringing in Evelyn’s ears grew deafening.

Across the table, Lucien watched the realization hit her like a physical blow.

Then, the universe added a final touch of cruelty. A man strode into the restaurant, scanning the room, and spotted them. "Lucien!" he called out, dropping into the spare chair—then freezing as he saw Evelyn. "Wait... do you two know each other?"

Evelyn stood so fast her chair screeched across the hardwood floor. She wasn't running, but she was finished.

"Ms. Carter," Lucien’s voice followed her, cool and edged with a dark amusement.

Evelyn stopped, her shoulders squared, her mask sliding back into place. "What. Do you. Want?"

Lucien leaned back, his eyes tracking every line of her face. "You’re just going to walk away after that performance?"

Evelyn’s chin lifted. "What do you want, exactly? Blood?"

"An apology," Lucien said. "A real one."

"Fine." Evelyn spat the words out like a bitter pill. "I’m sorry."

Lucien didn't blink. "No."

"Excuse me?"

"That apology had no weight," he said calmly. "You just accused a high-ranking surgeon of sexual misconduct in a public space. You did it loudly. And you were wrong."

His friend shifted, looking uncomfortable. "Lucien, come on. Let it go."

Lucien didn't look at him. He looked at Evelyn like she was a surgical site—and he intended to clean it.

"Ninety degrees," Lucien said, his voice steady and inescapable. "Loud enough for the room to hear."

Evelyn didn't move. The silence in the restaurant was deafening now. People were pretending not to look, but everyone was listening. Heat crawled up Evelyn’s neck. The familiar, jagged edge of humiliation tightened around her throat.

She could have walked away. She could have thrown a glass at him.

Instead, she swallowed hard and turned the blade inward.

She bowed. Deep. Clean. 90 degrees.

In a voice that rang clear as a bell through the silent dining room, she said: "Dr. Hale. I am sorry. I was wrong."

Lucien’s expression didn't soften, but something flickered in his eyes—a spark of dark satisfaction. He had broken her pride in public, and he liked the way it looked on her.

He nodded once. "Good."

Nora burst through the door a moment later, grabbing Evelyn’s arm as if pulling her from a wreckage. "I am so sorry!" she blurted toward Lucien. "It was a misunderstanding. We—"

"I asked for an apology. She gave it," Lucien said, his gaze never leaving Evelyn’s face. "That’s enough."

Outside, the man Nora was actually supposed to meet, Roy Lane, surged after them, his face twisted with entitlement. "Hey! Nora! What the hell was that? You bring a friend to insult people and then you run?"

Nora’s hands were shaking, but she did something that surprised even Evelyn. She lifted her chin, her voice trembling but clear. "I don’t like you, Roy. I never have. Looking at you makes my skin crawl. I’m not marrying you. Ever."

Roy turned purple. "You stupid b*tch—I’ll call your father—"

"Go ahead," Nora snapped. "Tell him. I’m done being owned by either of you."

She turned and marched toward the car.

Inside the restaurant, Lucien’s friend whistled low. "I’ve never seen you get that petty, Lucien. Making her bow? You sure you're not interested?"

Lucien stared out the window for a long moment, watching the dark sedan pull away.

"Say that again," Lucien said, his voice deadpan, "and I’ll remove your tongue."

"Okay, okay. But still... you didn't have to humiliate her like that. You know what people are saying? That her family keeps her in a kennel."

Lucien’s jaw tightened. "She isn't sick."

"Then why do they treat her like a leper?"

"Ask her family," Lucien snapped, his irritation returning. "And stop looking at me like I’m supposed to carry her tragedy. I’m a surgeon, not a savior."

But as he turned back to his drink, he knew one thing for certain: Evelyn Carter was no longer just a patient. She was a ghost that had just moved into his head.