Lahat ng Kabanata ng Your Lips to Mine #4: The Billionaire's Heartbeat: Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 20

I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, adjusting the collar of my blouse for the third time. Dinner with friends was supposed to be a relaxing affair, but tonight, my mind felt anything but relaxed. The text invitation from Maya earlier that afternoon had been persistent. Maya: “Dinner. Eight. No excuses, Dr. Matthews. You need a break.” Her enthusiasm left no room for negotiation, and honestly, I could use the distraction. Between James’s increasingly frustrating demeanor and Rachel’s thinly veiled suspicion, the walls of the hospital were starting to feel suffocating. I grabbed my bag and headed out, hoping a night with familiar faces would help me recalibrate. --- The restaurant was one of those trendy places downtown with exposed brick walls and Edison bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Maya had secured a table near the back, and as I approached, I spotted her chatting animatedly with Dr. Eric Holland, one of the hospital’s surgeons, and Dr. Nina Patel, a fello

The hospital’s fluorescent lights buzzed softly, a constant hum that had become the soundtrack of my days. It was nearing 6 p.m., but my shift was far from over. I shuffled through patient files at my desk, the weight of the day pressing on me. There was always one more test to review, one more chart to update, one more decision to make. Just as I leaned back to stretch my aching shoulders, the door to my office burst open. Maya Torres, my eager and ambitious mentee, stood in the doorway, her face pale and her hands clenched at her sides. "Dr. Matthews," she said, her voice trembling. "I need to talk to you. Now." My stomach dropped. Maya was many things—determined, bright, and a bit overzealous—but she wasn’t easily shaken. Whatever had happened, it wasn’t good. "Come in," I said, gesturing to the chair in front of my desk. She didn’t sit. "It’s about Mr. Graham in room 304," she began, her words tumbling out in a rush. "I... I think I might have made a mistake." A thousa

There are moments in a doctor’s life when the patient’s condition isn’t the only thing that weighs on them. Sometimes, the complexity of the person sitting in front of you—what they’ve been through, what they’ve become—can be just as difficult to diagnose. With James Hawke, the battle was always a little bit more than the heart problems I was treating. It was his pride, his stoic resolve, and his unrelenting control over everything in his life. But as I learned over time, that mask of power wasn’t built from nowhere. There was a history behind it. A history that had shaped him into the man I saw today. It was an afternoon like any other when James’s past began to surface. We were sitting in my office, reviewing his latest test results. His condition had plateaued, which was a small relief, but it was clear that the mental and emotional toll of his illness was starting to catch up with him. As we sat there, his face as unreadable as ever, something shifted—something in the way he held

The weight of the day pressed down on me more heavily than usual. The hospital had been relentless—emergencies, late-night surgeries, and a series of consultations that left me physically drained, mentally exhausted. By the time I got to James’s room, the sharp edge of fatigue had settled deep into my bones, and I was ready to just get through the routine check-up and then disappear into my own solitude. But of course, nothing in my life had been routine for months, and nothing involving James ever seemed to be. His condition had been stable for a while, but today, something felt different. His usual aloofness had softened, replaced by a palpable tension in the air between us. He looked worn out, as though the emotional toll of the last few weeks was finally catching up to him. His brow was furrowed, his lips tight, and there was a heaviness to his posture that made my chest tighten with concern. We had crossed so many professional lines in the time I’d been treating him, but even so

I knew this moment would come. I had been preparing for it for weeks, even months, and yet when it arrived, I wasn’t ready. James’s condition had been deteriorating steadily, and despite all the treatments, all the medications, all the attempts to stabilize him, I could see the toll it was taking on him, and on me. The weight of his situation was no longer just a clinical problem to be solved; it was personal, deeply personal. It had started as just another case. Another patient in need of care, of my expertise. But somewhere along the way, something had shifted. He wasn’t just a patient anymore. He wasn’t just a man I was treating for a heart condition. He had become someone whose well-being I worried about, someone whose struggles made my own chest tighten with concern. He had become someone I cared for in a way I hadn’t expected. And now, I was standing on the precipice of a decision that would determine his future. Or at least, that was what it felt like. His condition had reach