The Billionaire's Regret
The doctor came in with a slim medical bag, neat glasses, a professional smile, and the face of a man who had probably assumed this morning that he was simply coming for a child’s follow-up, not defending a thesis before a domestic mafia in the shape of handsome humans.
“Dr. Morel,” Sebastian said, extending his hand, “thanks for coming.”
The doctor shook it, then turned to me and smiled more warmly. “Madame Belsky.”
“Doctor.” I lifted two small fingers in greeting because I was too beautiful and too lazy to stand quickly.
Poppy immediately waved. “I’m still alive.”
“That is very good news,” he said, walking closer. “How are you feeling today?”
“Better. But still a little tragic.”