Bianca I awoke to the unsettling sight of a strange man hovering by my bedside, his hands deftly fastening a familiar cuff around my arm. Although his face was unfamiliar, something in his gaze—an intense warmth and deep concern—made my heart race, as if he genuinely cared for my well-being. Instinctively, I recoiled into the embrace of the plush pillows, desperately putting distance between us. "Shh," he whispered softly, urging me to remain still. His voice was smooth and calming, like a gentle lullaby. "It's okay, Ms. Rossi. I'm just checking your blood pressure. You can go right back to sleep," he said, an air of ease in his tone that resonated with a sense of déjà vu. "Who are you?" I mumbled, still tethered to the remnants of sleep, my mind foggy and slow. "Dr. Phillip Agar," he replied, a warm smile spreading across his face, crinkling the corners of his kind eyes. "It's a pleasure to see you again." "Again?" I echoed, confusion knitting my brow. "I treated you a
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