Lately, my social media feed has been flooded with breast cancer awareness videos. Maybe it was just in my head, but I actually started feeling a faint ache in my chest. Being the cautious person I am, and to nip any potential issues in the bud, I immediately booked an appointment with a breast specialist. I chose the most expensive top specialist, with a $75 consultation fee. I figured the higher the fee, the more reputable the doctor. But when I arrived at the hospital, I found out it was a male doctor… At 8 AM, the breast clinic at Metropolitan General Hospital was packed. Other exam rooms had just a few stragglers, but outside my doctor’s door, a massive queue had formed. It seemed people’s disposable income had really increased. So many were willing to pay $75 for a consultation, and most of them were young women. These women were incredibly cheerful, looking less like patients and more like fans at a meet-and-greet. The women coming out of the exam room were strange too; their faces were flushed with an odd, rosy glow, like ripe peaches. What was going on? Was this some new medical procedure I didn’t know about? “I’ve been refreshing the hospital app since midnight. Persistence pays off—I finally got an appointment with Dr. Julian!” “My sister highly recommended him. She said Dr. Julian’s technique is amazing; after he examines you, you feel like you’re floating on air. I wonder if it’s true…” “It’s true. You’ll see once you try it. Besides, looking at Dr. Julian’s handsome face, even the worst symptoms just fade away.” … I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the loud chatter of the two women ahead of me was impossible to ignore. So… Dr. Julian was a man? When I booked, I only paid attention to which doctor was most expensive; I didn’t check the details page. Seriously! I was here for a medical check-up, not to gawk at some guy. What were these women even thinking? And having a male stranger examine my chest felt incredibly awkward! I decided to sneak out and cancel the appointment before my name was called. But before I could leave, the exam room’s electronic prompt chimed. “Chloe Thompson, please come in.” Well, there went my $75 down the drain. Nervously, I knocked and entered. Inside, a man in a white coat sat behind a desk. He wore gold-rimmed glasses and was looking down, writing something. From my angle, I couldn’t clearly see his face. But his hair was thick and dark, and I couldn’t help but think he probably wasn’t a very skilled doctor. “Excuse me, Dr. Julian, I think I booked the wrong appointment. Would it be possible for you to—” “What?” He frowned, looking up and cutting me off. A striking, handsome face met my gaze. In that instant, my heart pounded, and I held my breath. Do you believe in love at first sight?
The words I’d prepared vanished the moment he looked up. I shook my head, dumbfounded. Wrong appointment? No, this was my fate! Dr. Julian asked me some routine questions, which I answered honestly. “Do you have a boyfriend?” “No.” His usually serious and professional expression seemed to soften when he heard my answer. At twenty-seven, this was the first time a man had spoken such direct words to me—especially one as handsome as him, exactly my type. “A-all of it?” I stammered, a blush creeping up my neck. “Including my bra?” “Yes.” I’d never been to a breast specialist before, so I didn’t know if this was normal. But his words sent a shiver through me, making my heart race and my hands tremble slightly. In front of him, I slowly unbuttoned my shirt, one button at a time, revealing the smooth, pale skin underneath. “Keep going.” Dr. Julian’s voice was low and calm, but his intense gaze never left my body. Maybe I was too nervous, but the bra that usually came off easily now seemed stuck. The atmosphere grew awkward. Dr. Julian crossed his arms, wearing an expression that seemed to say, “I’ve seen this before.” I gave up struggling and turned my back to him. “The clasp in the back seems stuck, and I can’t reach it. Dr. Julian, could you help me?” There was a brief silence in the exam room. Then, a pair of hands touched my back—cool, steady hands that quickly found the clasp. The familiar tightening, then loosening. I knew the clasp of my bra had been undone. I expected Dr. Julian to step back politely, but instead, he gently pulled me closer and slipped the bra off! “Ah!” His movements were so quick, I gasped and instinctively covered myself. “How am I supposed to examine you like that? Put your hands down and lie on the exam table.” Dr. Julian’s tone was completely professional, as casual as if he were discussing the weather. The more nonchalant he was, the more I felt like I was overreacting—completely missing the faint smirk on Julian’s lips.
I lay on the exam table, my hands nervously fidgeting with my skirt. The exam room was dimly lit, and I stared at the ceiling, my heart racing. The soft thud of footsteps grew closer, and I squeezed my eyes shut, too embarrassed to look at Dr. Julian. When you can’t see, your senses of touch and hearing become incredibly sharp. I heard a rustling sound beside me, then a pair of hands gently cupped my breast. I could feel his fingers—long, skilled, with a slight coolness that was surprisingly reassuring. Dr. Julian suddenly pressed down firmly, catching me off guard, and I winced in pain. “Ah—” “Don’t move. This could be hyperplasia. Let me check again.” His voice was colder than his touch. I immediately tensed up, not daring to move. I wondered if I was imagining things, but it felt like Julian was deliberately teasing me. His fingers seemed to dance across my skin—sometimes light, sometimes firm—sending shivers down my spine. The sensation was so intense that I had to bite my lip to keep from making any embarrassing sounds. I endured it, torn between discomfort and something else, just wanting the exam to end. Just when I thought I was about to give up entirely, Julian’s hands stilled. I opened my eyes and saw him backlit, slowly wiping his hands with an alcohol wipe. “Dr. Julian, is that all?” Julian paused, then leaned in suddenly, his voice low and teasing: “Are you saying you want me to continue?” His hot breath on my neck sent a shiver down my spine. I shook my head frantically, pushing him away and scrambling behind the privacy screen. He had such a handsome face, but why did he keep saying such suggestive things? “Dr. Julian, what’s my diagnosis? Is it serious?” Julian was typing on his computer. Without looking up, he said, “The exam seems fine. Go get an X-ray, then come back.” “Let’s exchange SnapChat IDs,” he called as I stood to leave. “It’s my personal account. You can message me directly if you have questions.” Julian’s SnapChat profile picture was a knitted flower, which didn’t quite match his image—it was actually kind of cute. The flower felt oddly familiar, but before I could think about it, the next patient knocked and entered, so I had to say goodbye to Dr. Julian. While waiting for the X-ray results, I received a call from my landlady, Mrs. Hayes. The moment I answered, her uncontrollable sobs filled my ear: “Chloe, dear, where are you? Can we meet up now?” Mrs. Hayes was a sophisticated middle-aged woman, always composed and rarely showing vulnerability. Seeing her like this, I didn’t even wait for my results. I quickly left the hospital and rushed to meet her. But I never expected to find my belongings scattered all over the hallway when I got home. The front door was wide open, and inside, people were roughly throwing my things out. My blood pressure spiked. My vision blurred, and I almost fainted on the spot. What was going on? Had my home been ransacked by robbers?
The men moving furniture inside were all burly and strong; there was no way I, a small woman, could confront them alone. Just as I pulled out my phone to call the police, Mrs. Hayes emerged from the elevator. “Oh, Chloe…” The tear stains on her face were still wet, and two dark circles under her eyes were prominent. She looked utterly distraught. “Mrs. Hayes, you’re here just in time. What’s going on?” Through Mrs. Hayes’s sobs, I slowly pieced together the story. Her husband had been in a car accident and needed surgery. The medical bills were astronomical, forcing her to sell her cars and properties. And the apartment I was renting just happened to have a buyer… “Mrs. Hayes, I deeply sympathize with your situation, but shouldn’t you have told me in advance? Now my things are scattered everywhere, my luggage is tossed out like trash, and it’s already so late. Where am I supposed to go?” “This is indeed my fault, Chloe. You know I haven’t raised your rent all this time. If I hadn’t been truly desperate, I wouldn’t have sold this apartment. But the buyer is in a hurry, and I desperately need the money.” Mrs. Hayes started crying again, lamenting her misfortune. Then she took my hand, her voice pleading: “Chloe, I remember your family lives nearby, right? Why don’t you go home for now? I’ll refund the rest of your rent.” There was no point arguing. I could only accept my fate. By the time I left the building, dragging two suitcases, it was completely dark. I felt like a stray cat, with nowhere to go. Of course, I could go back to my parents’ place, but every time we meet, they lecture me about being a freelancer—unstable job, no boyfriend, the whole list. Going home would just lead to another argument, so I decided to find a hotel for the night. To make matters worse, when I tried to check into a hotel, I realized I couldn’t find my ID. At the same time, a SnapChat message popped up on my phone. [Julian: I just checked the system. Your test results are in. Why haven’t you come back?] A patient’s always wary of a doctor’s sudden concern, and I was no exception. He was contacting me this late. Could it be that I had some serious illness?! I shakily called Julian on FaceTime. He answered immediately. “Dr. Julian, I had an emergency this afternoon and couldn’t wait for the report. Are you contacting me because the results aren’t good?” “Are you home right now?” My heart sank. How serious was this? He was asking if I was home—was he going to admit me immediately? “I’m at a hotel. Do I need to come back to the hospital now?” “Which hotel are you at? I’ll pick you up.” Julian’s tone sounded urgent. Fearing the worst, I immediately told him the address. Less than half an hour later, the hotel room door opened, and Julian walked in, bringing a gust of cool air with him. My anxious heart unexpectedly calmed the moment I saw him. He exhaled slowly, walking towards me. He took my suitcases and said softly: “Coming with me?” Wow, he was handsome! I was completely charmed, my mind blank. I nodded and followed him. When I came to my senses, I was already sitting in the passenger seat of his car. Julian asked why I was stranded. I explained what had happened. He listened quietly, his eyes fixed on me. “So, do you want to stay at my place?” “?” Perhaps seeing the guarded look in my eyes, Julian quickly added: “My house is big, with empty rooms. You can stay until you find a new place. And with your health situation, it’ll be easier if I’m nearby.” He was just being a good doctor, and here I was, overthinking it! Besides, what was there to worry about? If Julian and I lived together, he’d be the one at a disadvantage. “Thank you, Dr. Julian. That’s very kind of you.” I was worried about my health and asked Julian several times about the test results during the drive. He always seemed evasive, which made me uneasy. Just as I was about to burst into tears from overthinking, he finally said: “Don’t worry. The results show a bit of hyperplasia, nothing serious. I can just massage it daily, and it’ll clear up.” At the time, I had no idea that his “massages” would change our relationship forever…
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