It was a misty and rainy night, wet and damp.
The Azure Phoenix Club.
Claire Prescott had just escaped a boring class reunion when someone suddenly rushed up to her and blocked her way.
"Claire, give me a hand."
The man, dressed in a flamboyant burgundy shirt loosely hanging on his body, stood in front of her, his tall and slender figure revealing an urgent situation.
However, he was Jensen Hargrave, the pampered son of Eternia Properties, notorious for his indulgence in nightlife, always flirting with her whenever they met and affectionately calling her "sister Claire."
She had no desire to be involved with his kind, "Sorry, I'm busy."
Jensen reached out to stop her, "My friend has a headache and could use your pulse-taking. It won't take long."
"I—" just as she was about to speak, her phone was snatched away.
She reached out to grab it back, but the man held it high above his head, not letting her succeed.
Jensen's face instantly turned sullen, gritting his teeth as he threatened, "Claire, don't take my goodwill for granted; it's an honor for you to be asked to see a patient."
Claire clenched her fists, glaring at him in silent fury.
Regardless of her attitude, Jensen suddenly grabbed her wrist and strode toward a VIP room, dragging her along.
Both men and women filled the room, and as they entered, all eyes turned toward them.
Light and shadows danced, casting over vibrant-colored drinks on the table, models enveloped in seductive black silk, their clothes easily torn with the slightest tug, presenting a scene of extravagant debauchery.
It was clear the people in this room partied hard.
However, the atmosphere seemed somewhat tense.
In her confusion, Jensen dragged her in front of someone.
A man with long legs lounged on a leather seat, wearing an immaculate and elegant white shirt, casually rolled up at the sleeves, his elbow resting on the armrest, fingertips clutching an unlit slim cigarette.
As he lifted his head, their gazes unexpectedly collided, his handsome features suddenly etched in her mind.
Claire's heart skipped a beat, she was utterly stunned before him.
Keane… Keane Lowell?
The man's noble silhouette flickered under the changing colors, appearing like an illusion before her, making her feel somewhat surreal.
She blinked lightly, repeatedly confirming.
Her heart was already racing uncontrollably.
Jensen introduced her, "Mr. Lowell, you mentioned having a headache earlier. This is a very skilled young doctor from the Sinclair Apothecary. Let her check your pulse."
His demeanor was reservedly humble, a stark contrast to his earlier arrogance.
What kind of person was sitting before them, capable of making the usually domineering Young Master Hargrave behave with such meek obsequiousness?
Jensen turned to her, "Claire, if you can cure Mr. Lowell's headache, I'll reward you with anything you want."
His eyes unceasingly signaled intense warnings.
Claire snapped back to reality, breaking free from Jensen's hold, involuntarily glancing at Keane again.
He hadn't spoken, leaving her unsure if he wanted her medical attention, merely watching her calmly, his gaze making her heart anxious and flustered.
Eventually, she couldn't resist.
She steadied herself mentally and kneeled before him.
The man's hand had distinct veins, long and gentle.
After a moment of hesitation, she calmly laid his hand flat and placed three fingers on his pulse, quietly asking, "Besides the headache, is there any other discomfort?"
His eyes fell on where they touched, after a while he replied, "No."
A single word, his voice extraordinarily deep.
Light swept over his superior and chiseled features, his nose was high and his facial lines perfect, exuding an inherent noble tension.
His deep, peach blossom eyes, however, lacked their former warmth.
Under his presence, she felt the air grow thin.
It seemed he didn't remember her anymore.
It took an immensely long time for her heart to completely settle.
As time passed, something indescribable flickered in Claire's eyes, and a faint blush spread across her cheeks.
She glanced at the model standing not far away.
Beneath the black silk, the snowy white skin of her chest was faintly visible, and her body had just the right amount of allure, filled with temptation, perfect for drawing in passionate men.
Staring at her so directly, the model inexplicably felt a sense of dread, "You're supposed to be diagnosing, why are you staring at me?"
Speaking up, the model turned to Jensen, "Young Master Hargrave, can she really diagnose?"
Having diagnosed for so long without a sign, Jensen was starting to get impatient.
There's a saying: Unafraid of smiling Western doctors, but dreading the seriously focused traditional practitioners.
While she took his pulse, her sudden focus on others seemed rather eerie.
Yet, the young doctor's eyes were naturally pure and elegant, her gaze calm and serene, though a glint of something had momentarily flickered through, making her thoughts unfathomable.
Still, no one in this room was someone she could afford to offend, so they figured she wouldn't dare act recklessly.
"Claire, how is Mr. Lowell's health?" he urged gently.
Claire withdrew her gaze, turning to Keane, and asked, "Do you have a girlfriend?"
The room fell silent.
Perhaps due to the personal nature of the question, the atmosphere suddenly turned awkward.
But as a woman asking such a question, it indeed had the potential for misunderstandings.
Keane looked at her calmly, his thin lips parting slightly, his deep magnetic voice carrying a trace of pressure, "Does whether I have a girlfriend influence your diagnosis?"
She remained composed, "Just answer."
Seemingly reluctant to reveal or perhaps unwilling to speak, after a few seconds of silence, the man replied, "No girlfriend."
As good-looking as he was, claiming not to have a woman was hard to believe, but judging by his pulse, he indeed hadn't had sex in a long time.
Claire withdrew her gaze, her voice lowering slightly, "Try not to watch illicit films in the future."
The words instantly sparked vivid imaginations, the people in the room widened their eyes in disbelief, even a subtle ripple appeared in Keane's eyes.
Under their gaze, she continued, "There's excess internal fire; you need to balance your energies and follow natural laws."
Jensen asked, perplexed, "What do you mean by balancing energies? Is it serious?"
Claire caught a glimpse of Keane's expression, deliberated for a moment before explaining, "Cut down on porn, and consider dating more."
Once those words were out, Keane's leg twitched slightly, and his noble face momentarily stiffened, his gaze towards her filled with indescribable helplessness.
Diagnosing him was akin to stripping him bare, leaving him no privacy.
No matter his status, the most mature and healthy body to her was merely a map of meridians, where the condition of his organs was plainly visible.
"It's just a headache, where were you looking at?" His tone bore no oppression, instead, it had a touch of indulgence.
He casually withdrew his hand, only for her to seize it again, holding it down firmly, leaving him no chance to retreat.
A sly glint flashed in her eyes as she looked up at him, "Traditional medicine examines the whole, not just isolated symptoms. Sir, please be patient and let me complete the diagnosis."
Keane relaxed his brows, casually responded, "If you continue diagnosing, could you also tell which hand I use?"
Claire's face flushed red instantly, even her grip on his hand weakened.
Their onlookers barely held back their laughter, watching the two of them with peculiar expressions.
Wait a minute…
Wasn't Keane known to be detached, uninterested in women? Was all of that just bluff?
From the adjacent seat, Milton Rivers lit a cigar and suddenly addressed her, "Young lady, make sure you know who Mr. Lowell is in front of you, compare him with Young Master Hargrave who brought you in. Saying he is lonely and lacking women, stripping him of dignity, aren't you worried you'll be unable to practice medicine anymore?"
His tone carried a mocking undertone.
Claire released his hand, her face slowly darkening.
Keane's headache was feigned; physically, he was problem-free. She had no idea of Keane's identity or the game they were playing.
However, business is business.
"You all brought me here to diagnose him, you asked for the privacy to be revealed, and if you don't like my truthful diagnosis then find another doctor."