The hospital discharge papers were barely dry when Adrian Blake stepped into the world again—right into a wall of flashing lights and shouting voices.
"Adrian! Over here!"
"Tell us what happened on set!"
"Are you really seeing someone?"
The paparazzi circled like vultures around a corpse, snapping photos as he shielded his eyes with his good hand. He was wearing a hoodie and sunglasses, but the cast on his wrist made him impossible to miss.
"Give me a damn minute," he muttered under his breath, pushing through the crowd toward the waiting car.
As the door slammed shut behind him, he slumped into the backseat, exhaling sharply. "Drive," he told his driver, not bothering to ask where.
He rubbed his temples, head pounding from the relentless questions and flashbulbs. He had been gone only a week, but in celebrity time, that was enough to breed a dozen rumors—rehab, failed stunt, breakdown. And now, there was one more rumor surfacing, thanks to a well-timed photo someone had snapped through the hospital courtyard fence.
A grainy image of Adrian Blake, smiling faintly as he sat beside a woman in a white coat.
"Mystery Doctor Melts Adrian's Ice?" the headline had read that morning.
He scoffed, tossing the crumpled tabloid aside. Dr. Evelyn Hart would lose her mind if she saw it.
Evelyn had seen it.
She sat at her desk, eyes narrowing at the photo on her phone screen. The image wasn't very clear, but the curve of her jaw and the angle of her posture were unmistakable. She was furious—not because of the rumor itself, but because of the exposure. She loathed attention. Anything that might blur the line between her clinical detachment and personal life was a threat to the equilibrium she had fought so hard to maintain.
The knock on her door came too soon.
"Dr. Hart?" Dr. Langley poked his head in, suppressing a grin. "Looks like you're famous now."
She glared at him. "If you're here to gossip, turn around."
"Just saying, the nurses are buzzing," he said, stepping in anyway. "First time anyone's seen you have a conversation that lasted more than ninety seconds. Let alone with Adrian Blake."
Her voice was like ice. "Drop it, Langley."
He raised his hands in surrender. "Got it. Message received. But, uh… there's something else."
She looked up. "What?"
He handed her a memo. "Hospital board wants to talk. Apparently, a major media outlet wants an exclusive interview—with you."
She stared at the paper. "Absolutely not."
Langley shrugged. "Didn't think so. But they also mentioned… donor potential. Seems Blake's recovery under your care is creating some very public goodwill. And the hospital's under pressure to ride the wave."
Evelyn stood, heart thudding. "I don't care about publicity. I care about medicine."
Langley gave her a long look. "Yeah. But sometimes you don't get to pick what saves your hospital.
Later that evening, Evelyn's phone buzzed. She debated ignoring it, but the name on the screen gave her pause.
Adrian Blake.
Against her better judgment, she answered. "You caused quite the mess."
He sounded sheepish. "I know. I didn't mean for any of it to happen. One photo and suddenly we're a couple."
"I'm not your rebound rumor, Mr. Blake."
There was a pause. "I know that. I just—look, I wanted to warn you. The media's spiraling. My publicist said someone might even try to get a shot of you outside the hospital."
She went quiet.
"I'll handle it," he added quickly. "I can issue a denial, make a statement—"
"No." Her voice was firmer than even she expected. "No denials. That will just feed them more."
He hesitated. "So what do we do?"
Evelyn looked out the window of her office, the night settling outside like a dark curtain. "Nothing. We wait for them to lose interest. And in the meantime, you stay out of trouble."
"I was hoping you'd say I should visit the hospital again," he teased gently.
She almost smiled. Almost.
"Goodnight, Mr. Blake."
But just before she hung up, his voice came softly through the speaker. "You know, I meant what I said in the courtyard. You helped me more than you know."
Her fingers lingered on the screen.
"And maybe," he continued, "you're not as frozen as everyone thinks."
The next morning brought the twist no one expected.
News broke with a single leaked photo—not of Adrian Blake, but of Evelyn.
A younger Evelyn. Pre-med. Standing at a funeral, eyes red and swollen. The article beneath it speculated recklessly.
"Dr. Evelyn Hart's Tragic Past: Sister's Death and the Birth of an Ice Queen."
It was clear: someone had dug deep, pulled her trauma into the public eye.
And the final line of the article chilled her more than any headline.
"Sources suggest her recent closeness with actor Adrian Blake may be more than professional—could this be the crack in her carefully controlled image?"
Evelyn stared at the screen, numb.
Not only had they exposed her, but they had stripped her of control.
She had spent years burying the past—and now, it was on every screen in the country.
Somewhere far away, in a penthouse overlooking the city, Adrian Blake read the article too.
And he didn't hesitate.
He reached for his phone.
This time, he would be the one helping her carry the weight.
Because healing, as she had said, didn't come in isolation.
It came from choosing, again and again, not to walk away.