Just like that, he moved me into his father’s estate. And me? To spend as little time there as possible—to keep my brain too occupied to think, too exhausted to spiral, too dead on my feet to lie awake inside that godforsaken room listening to my own thoughts rot—I started scheduling myself for back-to-back shifts. Twenty-four fucking seven. At this point, I practically live at the hospital. My body’s starting to give out a little. There’s only so much abuse it can take before it starts protesting. My shoulders ache constantly, my feet feel permanently numb, and some days I’m so tired I genuinely forget what day it is halfway through surgery prep. But honestly? For my mind, it’s perfect. For my career, too. Exactly what it should be. And weirdly enough, with the way things are now… it’s not even that terrible. The rare times I go back to the estate—usually once every couple of days just to sleep—I barely run into anyone. And if I do, nobody bothers me. I keep to myself. They ke
Last Updated : 2026-05-28 Read more