Outside the office, Isaac and Rowan crossed paths.
Isaac did not so much as glance at him.
His face was dressed enough to blend into the hospital chaos, yet nothing about him truly blended in. There was something unnervingly refined about him, something cold and elegant that could not be hidden beneath cheap fabric. Even the way he walked felt wrong in a place overflowing with panic and noise.
Craig followed a step behind him, equally silent.
Rowan paused outside Sienna's office door, fingers hovering over the handle as his eyes lingered on Isaac's retreating figure.
For some reason, the stranger unsettled him.
Not because he had done anything suspicious. He hadn't even looked his way, but Rowan knew people. Years in medicine had trained him to read body languages.
And that man felt off.
Was he one of Sienna's patients?
Or perhaps…
Rowan cut the thought off immediately.
No.
Sienna barely had time to breathe, let alone entertain a relationship.
The idea of her with another man, especially someone like that, felt strange and uncomfortable.
His jaw tightened slightly before he finally pushed open the door.
Then stopped.
The office was so unbelievably clean.
Rowan blinked.
For one long second, he genuinely thought he had entered the wrong office.
"Good afternoon, Director."
Sienna looked up from behind her desk, her expression calm enough, but there was something slightly off about her composure.
Rowan stepped inside carefully.
"Good afternoon, Sienna." His eyes swept across the office once more. "Did someone die?"
She stared at him.
Then, unexpectedly, laughed.
A little too quickly.
"A document went missing," she explained. "I had to reorganize everything to find it."
That was a lie, and he knew, but he said nothing.
"You disappeared suddenly," he said instead. "I came looking for you, but it seemed you had a patient."
There was a hint of inquiry beneath the question.
Sienna tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before standing from her chair.
"Yes," she answered simply. "I had a patient."
She didn't elaborate or explain further.
A clean wall placed directly between him and further questions.
Rowan nodded slowly.
Then his gaze caught on her mouth.
And his stomach tightened.
Her lips looked swollen as though she had just been kissed.
The thought hit him so suddenly that it almost angered him.
No.
He was imagining things.
He had been working nonstop for nearly two days. His brain was exhausted and looking for problems where none existed.
But then she stepped around the desk, and he saw her shirt.
Untucked.
Crookedly tucked back in, as if she had hurriedly fixed it moments ago.
One side hung lower than the other.
A button near the collar sat in the wrong hole.
Sienna Rivers was meticulous about her appearance. Even after thirty-six hours awake, she somehow still looked put together.
So this was wrong.
Something hot and ugly twisted in Rowan's chest.
"Sienna."
She turned immediately.
"That man who just left…" Rowan tried to keep his voice neutral, but the strain still slipped through. "Was he your boyfriend?"
The question hung heavily between them.
His heartbeat thudded loudly against his ribs while he waited.
Sienna frowned in genuine confusion.
"What?" she asked. "Director, he's my patient."
There was no hesitation in her response, just confusion.
And somehow, that eased the tightness in his chest slightly.
But not completely.
"Your shirt," he said quietly. "It's untucked."
Sienna looked down.
The realization hit her instantly.
A violent blush exploded across her face, flooding from her neck to the tips of her ears.
"Oh God."
She hurriedly fixed it, fingers fumbling slightly as she corrected the buttons and tucked the fabric properly into her skirt.
"I must've forgotten after using the restroom," she laughed awkwardly. "I've been too busy to even notice."
Rowan watched her carefully.
Then forced himself to nod.
"Okay."
Because he wanted to believe her.
The atmosphere felt strangely tight after that.
Sienna grabbed a file from the desk quickly. "Come on, Director. We should head back before another emergency appears."
She brushed past him before he could respond.
And Rowan followed.
But something heavy sat inside his chest the entire walk back through the hospital corridors.
---
The moment Isaac entered the car, the last thread of his composure snapped.
The door slammed shut and he exhaled harshly.
His head dropped back against the seat while one of his hands tightened against his rod hard enough for the fabric to wrinkle beneath his fingers.
"Drive to the nearest hotel," he said.
Craig looked at him through the rearview mirror.
Then paused.
Isaac's breathing was uneven, and his usually composed gaze looked darker somehow and restless.
Understanding flashed across Craig's face instantly.
"Yes, Master."
The car surged into motion, and Isaac leaned deeper into the seat, jaw clenched tightly.
He could still taste her, still hear those soft and pleasure-filled sounds she made.
His control had nearly shattered inside that office.
If Craig had entered even a minute later, things would have gone farther.
Neither he nor Sienna had noticed the tiny chip attached beneath her desk.
---
At exactly 2:00 PM, Dilrik retaliated.
Missiles tore through the skies over Subrind like streaks of fire.
Military bases exploded one after another under the precision assault. Massive plumes of smoke rose into the air, swallowing entire compounds within seconds.
News stations erupted immediately.
Live footage flooded every channel.
People expected devastation.
Instead, the media reported that bases were empty.
Every single one, no soldiers, no artillery, and not a single casualty.
Just abandoned installations and hollow bunkers stripped clean before impact.
For several long hours, confusion spread across the international stage.
Then, at exactly 5:00 PM, King Draven Deema appeared on every major broadcasting platform in Subrind.
He was smiling mockingly.
"Best country, my foot," he declared smugly before a crowd of cheering officials. "Subrind remains unscathed and victorious till the end."
The statement spread like wildfire.
To Dilrik, it was humiliation.
A direct slap across the face.
And seventeen minutes later Dilrik played another one.
A missile struck one of Subrind's largest public markets.
The footage that followed was horrifying.
Smoke swallowed the sky.
Stalls vanished in explosions of fire and concrete.
People ran screaming through blood-soaked streets carrying injured children in their arms. Some victims remained trapped beneath collapsed structures, their cries audible through the rubble while rescue workers clawed desperately through debris.
A woman's scream echoed through one broadcast so hauntingly that several stations muted the audio entirely.
The death toll climbed rapidly.
Twelve, thirty-seven, seventy, and over a hundred within minutes.
The numbers kept rising.
The entire world exploded in outrage.
News anchors condemned Dilrik openly; international leaders demanded explanations. Human rights organizations immediately labeled the strike a war crime.
For two hours, Dilrik said nothing.
Then, at 7:00 PM, the government released an official statement.
"The Republic of Dilrik maintains that today's military operations were conducted within the laws of armed conflict.
Intelligence confirms the government of Subrind deliberately relocated high-value military assets into densely populated civilian areas following our initial strikes. The secondary explosions witnessed at the market site verify the presence of hidden munitions beneath civilian infrastructure.
Subrind knowingly transformed civilian zones into military shields.
Dilrik engaged a legitimate military target.
Responsibility for civilian casualties rests solely with the Subrindian administration."
The world split instantly.
Some called it propaganda.
Others pointed to the secondary explosions captured on video as undeniable proof.
Debates erupted across every platform imaginable.
Who was truly guilty?
The nation that fired the missile or the nation that hid weapons behind innocent civilians?
Originally, the war had begun because Dilrik sought to dominate Subrind.
Now, it no longer looked like a war between nations.
It looked like a war being fought on the backs of ordinary people.