The hospital doors slide open with a mechanical whoosh as Sarah pushes my wheelchair down the ramp. The afternoon sun hits my face, making me squint after hours under fluorescent lights.
"I hate this stupid wheelchair," I grumble, shifting uncomfortably. My bandaged hand throbs despite the painkillers coursing through my system. "I can walk perfectly fine."
Sarah snorts behind me. "Yeah, I don't get it, honestly. It's just something they do sometimes. Hospital policy or whatever."
"Liability bullshit," I mutter, resisting the urge to stand up and walk the rest of the way myself. The last thing I need is some overzealous nurse rushing out to scold me.
Morgan's sleek Mercedes pulls up to the curb, her red hair visible through the windshield as she leans over to push open the passenger door. Despite everything, my heart does a little flip at the sight of her.
"Your chariot awaits," Sarah says dryly, wheeling me to the car.
"Need help getting in?" Morgan asks, her green eyes scanning my face with concern.
"I'm not an invalid," I protest, standing carefully from the wheelchair. "Just down a finger, not a leg."
Sarah rolls her eyes. "Always so dramatic."
I ease into the passenger seat.
"Your prescriptions," Sarah says, handing a white paper bag through the window. "Pain meds, antibiotics, and something for inflammation. You need to take them with food."
"Thanks, sis," I say, touched by her concern despite her exasperated tone.
Morgan leans across me, her perfume washing over me as she addresses my sister. "I'll make sure he follows doctor's orders. Every pill, every bandage change."
Sarah's expression remains carefully neutral. "I'm sure you will." Her eyes meet mine one last time, a silent warning I'm choosing to ignore. "Call me tonight, okay? I want updates."
"Promise," I say as Morgan puts the car in drive.
We pull away from the curb, leaving Sarah standing beside the abandoned wheelchair, her face a mixture of concern and resignation.
"Your sister doesn't trust me," Morgan says matter-of-factly as we merge into traffic.
"I'm sorry," I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "I know Sarah's being overprotective, but she means well. She's always been like that, ever since we were kids."
Morgan sighs, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. "I really liked your sister, Adam. I swear I had no idea she was your sister when we first met." Her knuckles whiten slightly on the steering wheel. "Those wing and wine nights, those heart-to-hearts about her ex... none of that was fake."
I study her profile as she drives, the perfect curve of her jaw, the way her red hair catches the afternoon light. There's a vulnerability in her expression that makes my chest ache. How could Sarah think this woman would orchestrate some elaborate scheme just to get to me? It makes no sense.
"I believe you."
Morgan's eyes flicker toward me, relief washing over her features. "Thank you," she whispers, her voice catching slightly. "That means more than you know."
We drive in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the city sliding past our windows. The pain medication makes everything feel slightly dreamlike, the edges of buildings softened, colors more vibrant. Or maybe that's just being with Morgan.
—
[Morgan's Point of View]
I can barely keep my expression neutral as I drive, focusing on the road ahead while my heart dances with triumph inside my chest. The corners of my mouth twitch, threatening to break into uncontrollable laughter. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to maintain my concerned facade.
Oh, Sarah. Sweet, protective Sarah. You were so close, weren't you? You laid it all out, the friendship, the timing, the "coincidences," and yet your precious brother defended me. Chose me. My perfect performance of wounded innocence, those carefully timed tears... it was masterful, even by my standards.
Granted I did lose it for a moment.
I glance over at Adam, who's staring at his bandaged hand with a furrowed brow. There's something endearing about his profile in the afternoon light, something that makes warmth bloom in my chest despite the savage glee coursing through me. His blind trust is almost too precious.
"Does it hurt?" I ask, genuinely concerned about his comfort level.
"It's not too bad," he lies, wincing as he shifts in his seat. "The meds help."
Poor, poor Adam. So trusting, so eager to see the best in people. If he only knew how close Sarah came to saving him from me. The thought sends another rush of exhilaration through me, and I have to disguise my laugh as a cough.
"We'll be home soon," I promise, reaching over to squeeze his uninjured hand. "I'll make you something to eat. You need to take your medication with food like Sarah said."
His fingers curl around mine, warm and solid. "Thanks, Morgan. For everything."
The sincerity in his voice is almost too much. This beautiful, broken man, defending me to his sister, choosing to stay with me despite her warnings. His heart is enormous, overflowing with a capacity for love and trust that I can barely comprehend.
"I should be thanking you," I say, meaning it more than he could possibly understand. "For giving me a chance despite what Sarah said."
"She doesn't know you like I do," he replies with such certainty that I almost choke on my own delight.
No, Adam, she knows me exactly as I am. She saw right through me.
"Still, it means a lot," I say, adopting a tone of grateful humility that makes me want to cackle with delight.
As we cruise down the boulevard, my mind circles back to the incident. The feed of Adam severing his own finger, the way the blood sprayed across my pristine countertop, it just doesn't make sense.
"Adam," I begin, keeping my voice light, curious, "there's something I've been wondering. How exactly did you manage to cut your finger completely off? That seems like it would take... significant force."
Adam shifts in his seat, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. He glances down at his bandaged hand, then back at the road ahead.
"It's actually pretty stupid," he admits with a self-deprecating laugh. "I was trying to follow this YouTube tutorial. I got really excited about the garnish.
I watch his face as he continues explaining, his eyes lighting up as he gestures with his good hand, describing some complicated knife technique he was attempting to master. Something clicks in my mind as I observe him trying to demonstrate while simultaneously keeping his injured hand still and explaining the YouTube tutorial.
He really can't multitask. At all.
Which honestly is a little cute.
The way his sentence trails off mid-thought when he has to focus on adjusting his position. How he completely loses his train of thought when he glances down at his bandaged hand. The adorable furrow between his brows as he struggles to coordinate his story with his movements.
"So anyway, the chef was doing this fancy julienne thing, and I was trying to hold the carrot like he was, but also look at my phone to see the technique."
I bite back a smile. God, he's so perfectly, deliciously flawed. Most men try to hide their weaknesses, masking them behind bravado and excuses. But Adam just lays them bare, completely unaware of how endearing his shortcomings make him.
"You need to be more careful," I say, injecting just the right amount of concern into my voice. "Maybe I should supervise your cooking from now on."
"I don't need supervision," Adam says with a stubborn lift of his chin. "That would defeat the purpose of me working for you. I'm supposed to make your life easier, not the other way around."
My phone vibrates in my purse, and I fish it out with one hand while keeping the other on the steering wheel. The notification makes my blood freeze in my veins.
Lana: I'm waiting at your house. I've showered and changed outfits. I'm talking to Adam tonight one way or another.
I glance at Adam, but he's staring out the window, lost in thought, completely oblivious to the bomb that's just landed in my lap. That fucking bitch. After everything she's done, she thinks she can just show up at my house?
My mind races through the possibilities. If we go home, she'll be there waiting, ready to fill Adam's head with accusations and tears. I can't have that, not when I've just solidified my position in his life, not when he's chosen me over his sister's warnings.
"Adam," I say, my voice carefully measured as I make a sudden decision. "I've been thinking. You need to rest and recover somewhere peaceful."
He turns to look at me, brow furrowed in confusion.
"I've decided we're going to go to my vacation house in Laguna Beach, okay?" The words flow smoothly, naturally. "It's small, just two bedrooms, but I think I'd really like to see you relax there. The ocean air will do you good."
"Laguna Beach?" he repeats, his expression brightening slightly. "You have a house there?"
"Just a modest little place," I say, already changing lanes to head south. "Nothing fancy, but it's right on the water. Perfect for recuperation."
I can see the wheels turning in his head, the appeal of escaping to a beach house after the trauma of the hospital.
"What about my stuff?" he asks, practical even in his medicated state.
"You broke your phone, right?" I ask, remembering the shattered screen I'd glimpsed in the kitchen chaos.
He nods, glancing down at his pocket where the useless device sits. "Yeah, I dropped it." He wiggles his bandaged hand slightly.
"I can pick you up some clothes," I offer, smoothly navigating the freeway exit that will take us toward Laguna. "Or hell, maybe we can go shopping together tomorrow. Wouldn't that be fun, work hubby?"
The term slips out naturally, retesting the waters, seeing how he responds after a long day.
The endearment brings a warm smile to Adam's face, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that makes my stomach flutter with so much warmth.
I love this man. I'm going to make him smile so fucking much before he dies.
"That'd be nice. I think that sounds like a lot of fun."
I feel a surge of power as I squeeze his fingers gently. Crisis averted. Lana can sit on my doorstep all night for all I care, we'll be miles away, safely ensconced in my beachfront sanctuary where she can't reach us. Where Adam will be all mine.
"If you want," I say, keeping my voice casual as I merge onto the highway heading south, "you can sleep with me in my room tonight. I'd hate if you accidentally slept on your finger the wrong way."
His cheeks flush immediately, the color spreading down his neck as his eyes dart to meet mine before quickly looking away. I can practically see the memories flooding back, his body pinned beneath mine on my silk sheets, his wrists secured above his head with my Hermès scarf as I rode him mercilessly. The way he begged so prettily when I denied him release, how his eyes rolled back when I finally allowed him to cum.
Last night truly was a lot of fun.
"I, um..." he stammers, shifting in his seat as his body responds to the memories. "I don't know if that's a good idea with my hand like this."
"I'll be gentle," I promise, my voice dropping to a silky purr. "Well, gentler than last night."
His sharp intake of breath tells me everything I need to know. He remembers exactly how I dominated him, how I took control completely, and how much he loved surrendering to me.
"You liked it," I state simply, not a question but a fact. "When I took charge. When I told you exactly what to do."
Adam swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "I did," he admits.
"I can see that," I say, my voice a gentle caress in the quiet car. "You've had such a long day, Adam. Let me take care of you tonight."
His eyes meet mine briefly before returning to the road ahead. There's hesitation there, a conflict playing behind those warm brown irises that I find utterly delicious.
"Morgan, I don't want to just jump into something casual," he says finally, his voice soft but firm. "And like you said, I don't want to make you my rebound. You're worth more than that."
I smile a little, thinking about how upset he looked when I casually rejected him earlier. How his face fell, his eyes clouded with disappointment. That perfect moment when I made myself more desirable simply by appearing unattainable.
"A lot's changed today, hasn't it?" I say, reaching over to stroke his cheek with my fingertips. "This morning, you were my employee with all your fingers. Now you're sitting beside me, heading to my beach house, defending me to your sister."
He leans into my touch, just slightly, but enough to make my heart race with triumph.
"Yeah," he agrees, a hint of wonder in his voice. "It's been a crazy day."
I tap my fingers against the steering wheel, inspiration striking me as we cruise down the coast. The sun glitters across the ocean to our right, painting Adam's profile in golden light as he gazes out the window.
I'm not sure I can wait much longer.
"I have an idea," I say, my voice casual despite the careful calculation behind my words. "What if we try something different while we're at the beach house?"
Adam turns to me, curiosity written across his face. "Different, how?"
I keep my eyes on the road, letting the suggestion seem spontaneous rather than the meticulously planned next step in my strategy. "What if we treat this like a trial run? While we're on vacation, we could... date. Be lovers. See how it feels without the pressure."
His eyes widen, and I can see his pulse quicken at the base of his throat. "You mean like... boyfriend and girlfriend?"
"Exactly," I say, allowing a hint of vulnerability to color my tone. "If it doesn't work out, no hard feelings. When we go back to the city, we just return to being employer and employee. Clean break." I shrug as if this isn't the most important moment of our relationship so far. "Think of it like a little vacation romance."
Adam's cheeks flush that delicious shade of pink I've come to adore. He fidgets with the edge of his bandage, clearly flustered by my proposition.
"Are you sure I'm... you know, fine for you?" he asks, his voice small and uncertain. "I mean, you could have anyone."
I pull the car over at a scenic overlook, the Pacific stretching endlessly before us. Turning to face him fully, I let my carefully constructed mask slip just enough to show the hunger beneath.
"It's like I told you earlier, Adam. You have to really want me," I say, my voice dropping to a husky whisper as I lean closer. "No pussying around. If we do this, I need you all in."
"I do want you."