The scent of antiseptic lingered faintly in the air as I adjusted the blanket around Mr. Han's shoulders.
The elderly man smiled up at me, his thin fingers curling weakly around mine.
"You remind me of my granddaughter," he said gently. "She works too hard, just like you."
I smiled. "I'll take that as a compliment."
His laugh was light but tired. After reviewing his chart one last time and reassuring his daughter about his medication adjustments, I stepped out into the hallway.
The hospital buzzed with its usual rhythm — phones ringing, carts rolling, nurses exchanging updates. It was a familiar kind of chaos, one I had learned to move through with ease.
As I approached the nurses' station, I slowed. Beatrice stood with two other nurses, her voice soft but animated.
"I'm telling you," she was saying, "he barely smiles. But when he does? It's intense."
One of the nurses gasped lightly. "The CEO?"
Beatrice nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Very composed. Very controlled. You can tell he's used to being in charge."
My stomach tightened. I reached for a stack of files on the counter, pretending I had just arrived.
Beatrice noticed me and smiled. "Oh, Sophie. We were just talking about the gala planning."
"I figured," I replied evenly.
"He's very particular," she continued. "But I like that in a man. It means he knows what he wants."
I kept my expression neutral. "It means he knows how to run a company."
She laughed lightly. "That too."
Before she could say more, I turned to address another nurse about medication orders, steering the conversation away without making it obvious.
I told myself it did not matter. We were colleagues and this was professional. Still, the restlessness lingered beneath my ribs longer than I wanted to admit.
By the time my shift ended, the sky had begun to darken, streaks of orange fading into violet. I changed quickly and headed toward Lumen, knowing Amy would already be there.
The lounge felt warmer than usual, the low lights casting golden shadows against polished surfaces. Amy waved me over the moment she saw me.
"You look like you've been thinking too much," she said as I sat down.
"Have I?" I asked.
She leaned her chin into her palm. "It's the crease between your brows."
I ordered a drink before responding. "Beatrice has been… enthusiastic about the gala."
Amy's eyes sharpened immediately. "Enthusiastic how?"
"She keeps talking about Harley. To the nurses. To me." I ran my finger along the rim of the glass. "She described him as intense."
Amy tried to suppress a smile. "He is intense."
"That's not the point."
She tilted her head. "Then what is?"
I hesitated. Why does it bother me? It shouldn't.
I was the one who insisted on boundaries. I was the one who said we were rebuilding slowly.
And yet hearing another woman analyze him — admire him — unsettled me in a way I could not fully explain.
"Maybe I'm overthinking," I muttered.
Amy nudged my arm gently. "You are."
"That's comforting."
"You're jealous," she added lightly, not accusing, just amused.
"I am not."
"You absolutely are."
I exhaled, looking away toward the crowd. "I just don't like the way she talks about him."
Amy studied me for a moment before softening. "You don't like the idea of someone else wanting what you still haven't decided to claim."
My chest tightened slightly at that.
Before I could respond, the atmosphere in the room shifted. It was subtle.
A few heads turned toward the entrance. I followed their gaze.
Harley stood just inside the doorway, dark suit immaculate, expression calm as always. His eyes scanned the room once before settling on me.
And staying there.
Amy leaned closer to me. "Speak of the devil."
I swallowed quietly. He had not moved yet. But something in the air had.
Harley moved through the lounge without hurry, each step deliberate. Conversations quieted slightly in his wake, though he did not acknowledge the attention. His focus remained steady.
On me.
Amy straightened in her seat, a mischievous glint already forming in her eyes. "Behave," she whispered under her breath.
I resisted the urge to elbow her.
Harley stopped beside our table. Up close, he smelled faintly of cedar and something sharper, like cold night air.
"Sophie," he greeted evenly.
"Harley," I replied, matching his tone.
His gaze shifted briefly to Amy. "Amy."
She gave him an exaggerated smile. "Mr. CEO."
He ignored the teasing and looked back at me. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"I could say the same."
A subtle pause passed between us, not uncomfortable, but aware.
"I had a dinner meeting nearby," he explained calmly. "It ended earlier than expected."
Amy leaned back in her seat, clearly enjoying the exchange. "What a coincidence."
Harley did not look at her when he responded. "I don't believe in coincidence."
My pulse stumbled slightly at that.
He glanced at the empty stool beside me. "May I?"
The question was polite. The tone suggested he would sit regardless.
I nodded.
He took the seat beside me, not too close, but close enough that the warmth of his arm registered through the thin fabric of my sleeve.
The bartender approached immediately, clearly recognizing him.
"Usual, sir?"
"Yes."
Silence settled again, but this time it felt different. Intentional. Measured.
Amy cleared her throat. "So, how is gala planning?"
"On schedule," Harley replied smoothly. "Dr. Huo has been efficient."
My brows lifted slightly. "Is that your professional way of saying I'm tolerable?"
A faint shift touched his expression. "It is my professional way of saying I have no complaints."
Amy watched the two of us carefully, as if observing a match she was certain neither of us realized we were playing.
"You know," she said casually, "Sophie was just talking about the meeting."
My eyes widened slightly. "Amy."
Harley's gaze sharpened just enough to notice. "Was she?"
Amy lifted her drink. "Very enlightening conversation."
I forced a polite smile. "We discussed logistics."
"Did you?" Harley asked softly. His tone suggested he knew better.
Heat crept up my neck again.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, posture relaxed, but his attention remained fully on me.
"I hope Nurse Beatrice has been helpful," he added evenly.
The way he said her name was deliberate. Measured and controlled.
My fingers tightened around my glass. "She has been… enthusiastic."
His eyes held mine for a fraction longer than necessary.
"Yes," he said quietly. "I noticed."
Amy nearly choked on her drink trying not to laugh.
The air between us felt charged again — not explosive, not dramatic — just aware.
Harley shifted slightly closer, lowering his voice so only I could hear.
"You don't need to compete."
My breath caught.
"I'm not competing," I replied softly.
"Good."
He straightened again, composure flawless.
Amy stood abruptly. "I suddenly remembered I left something in my car."
She looked at me with exaggerated innocence. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
She walked away before I could protest.
Harley watched her go before returning his attention to me. "She enjoys stirring chaos."
"She enjoys being right," I corrected.
"And is she?"
I held his gaze.
"That depends," I said carefully, "on what she thinks she knows."
A faint smile ghosted across his lips before disappearing.
"Then perhaps," he said calmly, "we should clarify it."
He held my gaze steadily before continuing. "I am not interested in Nurse Beatrice."
The words were direct. Unembellished. Not defensive. Just factual.
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe properly.
"I didn't say you were," I replied, though my voice sounded quieter than I intended.
"You didn't have to."
His tone remained calm, but there was something underneath it now — something less professional, more personal.
"She is competent," he added evenly. "But she is not… relevant."
Not relevant.
The phrase settled somewhere low in my chest.
"And who is?" I asked before I could stop myself.
His eyes softened in a way he rarely allowed anyone to see. "You know the answer to that."
Silence stretched between us, not fragile, but heavy with things unsaid.
The music in the lounge faded into the background. The murmur of conversation became distant.
For once, neither of us was hiding behind professionalism.
"You don't have to prove anything in front of her," he continued quietly. "Or anyone else."
I swallowed.
"I wasn't trying to."
"I know."
That gentle certainty unsettled me more than accusation would have.
He studied my face for a second longer before leaning back slightly, composure returning like a curtain being drawn.
"I should go," he said. "I have an early morning."
My chest tightened unexpectedly.
"Of course," I replied.
He stood, smoothing his jacket with effortless precision. Before stepping away, he paused.
"Sophie."
I looked up at him.
"You don't need to compete," he repeated softly. "There isn't anyone else."
Then he turned and walked away, unhurried, leaving the faint scent of cedar and something warm lingering in his wake.
I remained seated, staring at the condensation forming along the side of my glass.
Amy returned moments later and slid back into her seat.
"Well?" she demanded.
I exhaled slowly. "He's not interested in her."
Amy's grin widened. "And how does that make you feel?"
I looked toward the entrance where he had disappeared.
"I don't know," I admitted quietly.
But for the first time since the gala planning began, the unease in my chest felt less like jealousy.
And more like possibility.