Chapter 5
2032words
This was no ordinary medical facility. With Italian marble floors, Austrian crystal chandeliers, and priceless artworks in the waiting area—the place resembled a five-star hotel rather than a clinic. But this was exactly what I needed. The city's most influential people came here for private medical consultations.
Including my target.
"Miss Vance, Dr. Davenport will see you now." The receptionist's voice was soft and professional.
I followed her down the long corridor, where Julian Davenport's medical certificates and awards hung on the walls. Harvard Medical School, Johns Hopkins, Mayo Clinic—an impressive resume.
The moment the office door opened, I saw him.
Julian Davenport looked more mature and charming than five years ago. His tall figure was wrapped in a perfectly tailored white coat, his dark brown hair had subtle waves, and those blue eyes that once gave me warmth were now even more profound.
He froze the instant he looked up and saw me.
"Ella?" His voice was barely above a whisper.
"Dr. Julian." I maintained a professional distance, but something in the corner of my heart began to stir.
He quickly stood up, almost knocking over the coffee on his desk. "I... I can't believe it. Is it really you?"
"Surprise." My smile carried a carefully calculated warmth. "I hear you're the most sought-after doctor in town now."
Julian's eyes never left my face, as if afraid I might disappear. "You... you look... incredible."
Indeed, I had meticulously designed my appearance today. A deep teal silk blouse, perfectly fitted pencil skirt, Christian Louboutin heels. I looked like the embodiment of success, nothing like the broken girl from five years ago.
"Please sit." Julian gestured toward the leather chair opposite his desk, but his hand trembled slightly.
I sat down gracefully, crossing my legs. "I'm here because I need some... medical consultation."
"Of course, I'd be happy to help." Julian regained his professional composure, but his eyes still scanned my face, searching for traces of the past. "What kind of consultation?"
"Some preventive screenings, health assessments. My current lifestyle is very demanding, and I want to make sure my body can withstand this... stress."
Julian nodded and began typing information into his computer. "We can arrange a comprehensive physical examination, blood tests, imaging studies..."
"Julian." I interrupted his professional rambling. "Do you remember? Metropolitan General Hospital, trauma ward, that afternoon five years ago?"
His fingers stopped moving on the keyboard. Slowly, he looked up at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and recognition.
"Every day." His voice was hoarse with emotion. "I remember every day."
That afternoon at Metropolitan General Hospital, I had just woken up from another round of surgery. My body wrapped in bandages, my spirit completely crushed. Julian was just an intern then, but he was the only one who would sit by my bed and talk to me about books, movies, and dreams, rather than just discussing my injuries.
"You gave me hope, Julian." My voice softened, allowing a hint of genuine emotion to show through. "During those darkest days."
Julian stood up and slowly walked to my chair. "Ella, I... I wanted to protect you back then, but I couldn't do anything. I was just an intern, I had no authority, no influence..."
"But you had compassion." I looked up at him, letting my vulnerability show for a moment. "That's rarer than power."
He crouched down, bringing our eyes to the same level. "I always wondered what happened to you afterward. I tried to find you, but you disappeared..."
"I needed to disappear." My honesty made his breath catch. "I needed time to... rebuild myself."
Julian's hand slowly reached out, almost touching my face, but stopped midway. "You succeeded. You became... magnificent."
This wasn't a rehearsed script. This was real attraction, a real connection. Two broken souls recognizing each other.
"Julian, I'd like to schedule a private consultation. Tonight, after your regular working hours."
His pupils dilated slightly. "That's... highly irregular."
"My situation is complicated. I need privacy, I need discretion." I leaned closer, letting my perfume envelop him. "I need to be with someone I trust."
Julian swallowed hard. Professional boundaries and personal desire battled in his mind.
"What time?" Desire had won.
"Ten o'clock."
---
That evening, the Davenport Clinic was empty and silent, with only dim security lights providing minimal illumination. I entered the building using the code Julian had given me and found his private consultation room.
Julian was already waiting for me, having changed out of his white coat into a casual navy sweater and jeans. Even in the low light, he still looked like a golden deity.
"You came," his voice carried a nervous energy.
"I said I would."
We stood there for a while, two people in the empty medical facility, surrounded by equipment and silence. The atmosphere was filled with unspoken history and desire.
"Ella, I need to be honest about something," Julian's candor was sudden and raw. "For five years, I've never forgotten you. In fact, I never stopped thinking about you. When you walked into my office today, I felt... felt like I could finally breathe again."
His confession created a crack in the armor I had carefully constructed. I came here tonight with a plan, but Julian's sincerity was undermining my calculations.
"Julian..."
"I know this sounds crazy, and I know we barely know each other now, but I want to help you. Whatever you're dealing with, whatever brought you back, I want to be part of your life again."
He stepped closer, his presence warm and inviting, like sunshine after years of darkness.
"You said you wanted privacy and discretion. Whatever you need, I can provide. No questions asked."
This was my chance. Time to see if Julian really meant what he said.
"Julian, before we go further, you need to see the real me." My voice became firm, dangerous. "Not the polished version you met today, but who I really am now."
Confusion flashed across his face. "What do you mean?"
I didn't answer. Instead, I began slowly unbuttoning my silk blouse. Julian's eyes widened, but not with desire—with concern.
"Ella, you don't need to—"
"Yes, I do." I let the blouse fall to the floor, revealing my lace bra. But that wasn't my purpose.
I reached behind me, unzipping my skirt. The fabric pooled at my feet, leaving me in just underwear under the clinical lighting.
Julian's breath caught, but not because my body was beautiful.
But because it was a map of violence.
Scars covered my torso, arms, thighs. Some were thin and precise, surgical scars from multiple reconstructive surgeries. Others were jagged and cruel, documenting blunt force trauma. And some were perfect circles, cigarette burns forming terrible constellations across my ribs.
Most prominent was a thick, twisted scar that ran from my left shoulder blade across my spine and extended down to my hip. It looked like a topographical map of some hellscape.
Julian, this trauma-seasoned surgeon, stared at my body, his face etched with horror and heartbreak.
"My God, Ella..." his voice broke.
"This is who I am now, Julian. Not the successful woman you see during the day, but this." I pointed to my scarred skin. "Every scar is a story, a lesson, a reason I came back."
Julian seemed to freeze, processing the visual evidence of unimaginable cruelty. As a doctor, he could read my body like a medical textbook—each mark telling him precisely what kind of violence I had endured.
"Who did this to you?" his voice was barely audible, but I could hear the anger gathering underneath.
"Does it matter? They're still out there, still powerful, still untouchable." I shrugged as if discussing the weather. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"
Julian looked up at my face, his blue eyes burning with something I'd never seen before. Not just sympathy—but rage.
"I want to kill them," the words were primal and honest. "I want to find whoever did this and tear them apart with my bare hands."
Gotcha.
Slowly, I moved closer to him, close enough that the heat from his body warmed my exposed skin.
"That's the problem, Julian. You can't just kill them. That's too easy, too quick. They need to suffer. They need to lose everything they cherish, bit by bit, until they beg for death."
Julian's hands clenched into fists, knuckles turning white. "Tell me who they are."
"It's not that simple." I reached out, gently placing my hand on his heart. I could feel it pounding. "This isn't about one person. It's about the entire system, the entire family, generations of wealth and power that protected them while they destroyed me."
"Then we'll destroy the whole damn system."
His intensity surprised me. The gentle intern I remembered was gone, replaced by a man with murder in his eyes.
"We?" I asked softly.
Julian's gaze returned to my scars, paying special attention to the massive wound that extended from my back to my hip. Without asking permission, he slowly reached out, his fingers barely touching the twisted tissue.
Contact sent electricity coursing through my body. Not sexual, not entirely—but something deeper, more intimate. A touch from someone who understood both healing and destruction simultaneously.
"Tell me about this one." His fingers traced the path of the scar, light as feathers but burning hot.
"Belt buckle. Metal. Heated on the stove first." My voice remained steady, despite his touch igniting flames. "Seventeen stitches, three skin grafts."
Julian's jaw clenched, and I could hear his teeth grinding. His fingers moved to another scar, round and precise, on my ribs.
"This one?"
"Cigarette. One of many. They liked patterns."
His touch moved to the jagged line on my abdomen.
"Kitchen knife. Not deep enough to hit organs, but deep enough... to send a message."
With each revelation, Julian's breathing grew heavier. His professional detachment crumbled, replaced by primal rage.
"Why?" he finally whispered. "Why would they do this to you?"
"Because I was different. Because I was poor. Because I thought I deserved better." I moved another step closer, until my bare chest almost brushed against his sweater. "Because they could."
Julian's hands rose to frame my face, his thumbs grazing my cheekbones.
"I should have protected you. I should have done something—"
"You couldn't," I interrupted. "But you can now."
"What do you mean?"
I reached out and placed my hands over his.
"I don't need a knight, Julian. I don't need someone to rescue me, pity me, or try to heal me." My voice dropped to almost a whisper, intimate and lethal. "I need an accomplice. I need someone willing to go to hell with me, someone who understands that some wounds are meant to fester until they poison everything around them."
Julian stared at me, understanding slowly dawning in his eyes.
"You didn't come here for medical advice."
"No."
"You're here for revenge."
"Yes."
"And you want me to help you."
"I want you to choose." My challenge hung between us like an unsheathed blade. "You can make excuses about ethics and professional responsibility, tell me to seek therapy and try to 'move on.' Or..."
"Or?"
I stepped back, letting his hand fall from my face. Standing there, under the clinical lights, covered in scars, I had never felt so powerful.
"Or you can admit that seeing my body, knowing what they did, has ignited something dark within you. Something you've always suppressed beneath your perfect medical career and social reputation."
Julian's eyes fixed on mine, but I could see the struggle within him.
"I have a confession, Julian." I continued, my voice like silk covering steel. "I didn't just survive what they did to me. I let it change me, forge me into something new. I'm not back as a victim, but as an executioner. I'm going to destroy everyone who ever hurt me, slowly, systematically, until their perfect lives are nothing but ashes and regret."
I paused, letting the words sink in.
"The question is—are you going to stop me, or help me sharpen my knives?"
