Chapter 1 — The First Door
The afternoon sunlight slanted across the gray-white stone walls of the office building in South Hepton.
Liam’s hand rested on the brass handle of the double doors. His skin was slightly damp, his knuckles pale. He didn’t push them open right away—first, he steadied his breathing.
He closed his eyes, and a scene from a few months earlier pressed in on him.
He had been sitting on the lawn of Stoneford University Medical School, watching distant clusters of students, unable to say exactly what he was waiting for. On the day he filled out his application, he hadn’t really known which speciality he wanted. The only thing echoing in his mind was a name:
Evelyn Blackwell.
He had taken one of her classes as an undergraduate—Obstetrics and Gynaecology. She had been one of the lecturers. He could still see her standing at the podium.
She wore a sharply tailored white skirt suit, her dark brown hair falling over her shoulders, her skin so pale it almost reflected the light. But what made her unforgettable wasn’t her appearance—it was the way she commanded the room. She rarely raised her voice, yet she could silence an entire lecture hall in a second.
He could barely recall the cases she had taught, but he remembered vividly the moment she paused mid-sentence while writing on the board: the chalk hovering briefly, as if she were patiently waiting for the rest of the world to catch up with her.
He didn’t really know why he had chosen medicine in the first place, so he certainly hadn’t told anyone why he applied for a postgraduate place in gynaecology. In truth, he simply wanted to be closer to her. More precisely—he wanted to stand beside someone he had always looked up to, and perhaps prove to himself that he wasn’t as mediocre as he feared.
And then—he had been accepted.
The supervisor listed on the form was Dr. Evelyn Blackwell, Associate Professor.
---
Liam slowly approached her office and stopped in front of the door.
The sound of pages turning inside suddenly ceased.
He hesitated.
He knocked.
“Come in.”
Evelyn’s voice was calm and precise, stripped of any unnecessary warmth.
He pushed the door open, almost holding his breath.
She sat behind her desk, no longer framed by the distance of a lecture hall. Her expression was softer, her brown hair catching warm light. Beneath the desk, her long legs were elegantly crossed.
She looked up at him for a second—her gaze sharp, assessing.
“Liam, correct? Liam Clarke.”
He nodded, throat tight.
She closed her file and tapped her fingertips lightly against the desk.
“Gynaecology isn’t easy. Are you sure you want to choose it?” She paused. “And specifically—to work with me?”
The air in the room felt taut, like a drawn string.
“Many people choose me for different reasons,” she added, her tone even, yet pointed.
Heat crept up Liam’s face. He nodded again, but no words came.
His gaze dropped to his shoes.
She set down her pen, leaned back in her chair, and the faintest hint of a smile touched her lips.
“Very well. Welcome to the team, Liam.”
At that moment, he felt something ignite inside his chest.
“Thank you, Dr. Blackwell,” he murmured, immediately lowering his gaze again.
Her smile vanished just as quickly.
She handed him a folder, her voice returning to its professional composure.
“Liam, being a gynaecologist is more complicated than you think. It’s not just anatomy and medication—it’s ethics and trust.”
He accepted the folder solemnly.
She leaned slightly forward, locking eyes with him.
“Never be alone with a female patient in a closed room.”
Her tone was calm, but unmistakably serious.
“No matter how much she trusts you.”
Liam replied quietly, “Understood.”
She paused, then added—like a warning refined through years of experience:
“And don’t try to ‘comfort’ them too much. Many young doctors have ruined their careers over that mistake.”
---
Liam stood for the first time behind the glass of the operating theatre’s observation gallery. Evelyn pointed at the screen, explaining in a low voice—her pace measured, rhythmic. Liam adjusted his breathing, consciously trying to match her tempo.
Soon, she noticed that this seemingly reserved student was far from ordinary—his notes were meticulous, his judgment cautious, his observations almost obsessively detailed.
He never approached her unprompted, yet he worked diligently in every place she could see—and in places she couldn’t.
Gradually, Evelyn realized she was beginning to rely on his presence.
He could anticipate her habits: he knew she liked colour-coded case files, knew she preferred a black coffee in the afternoon with no sugar. Sometimes, before she even spoke, he would already be handing her the exact pen she wanted—and in that fleeting instant, she became uncomfortably aware of how closely he observed her.
He was the first male postgraduate student she had ever supervised.
What that truly meant—she was not yet sure.
