PROLOGUE: FORBIDDEN DESIRES
I collapsed onto the bed the second I got home, exhaustion sinking deep into my bones. Another successful night shift. Another twelve hours spent pretending my life was under control.
I ignored the ache in my lower back and focused instead on next week’s paycheck. Rent. Groceries. Mom’s old hospital bills that still somehow followed me years after she died.
My fingers drifted to my neck automatically, heat flooding my face as I remembered the way he’d brushed a tiny flower petal from my collar earlier that evening. Such a stupid gesture. Barely even a touch.
So why had it stayed in my head all night?
I slowly unbuttoned my scrub top, breathing unevenly when the cool air hit my skin. My nipples tightened painfully against my bra, my body reacting before my mind could catch up.
God.
I squeezed my eyes shut and imagined him there instead.
Mordecai Thorne.
Tall. Controlled. Untouchable.
The kind of man people lowered their voices around.
I pushed my panties down my legs and let my hand slip between my thighs, a soft whimper escaping me the second I touched myself. I was already wet. Already aching.
This was wrong.
I knew it was wrong.
He was my employer. My patient. A billionaire with an empire balanced on his shoulders while I was just the woman hired to keep his heart from giving out before forty.
But none of that seemed to matter when he said my name in that low, rough voice that made my stomach tighten.
None of it mattered when his fingers brushed mine during vitals checks.
None of it mattered when he looked at me too long in those quiet moments after midnight.
Maybe I was losing my mind from being celibate too long.
Or maybe Mordecai Thorne had ruined me completely.
“Mordecai…” I breathed softly, pleasure crashing through me hard enough to make my thighs shake.
A curse slipped from my lips as I came undone, pulse hammering violently in my chest.
When it was over, I stared at the ceiling, breathing hard, shame and satisfaction tangling together inside me.
Then I dragged myself into the shower.
And somehow that only made it worse.
Because there I was again, imagining his hands on me instead of the water.
Imagining forbidden things.
Dangerous things.
Things that would destroy both of us if anyone ever found out.
—
I met Mordecai Thorne when I wasn’t even looking for another job.
I already had one.
Then one rainy afternoon in November 2025, I got a call from a private contracting agency I’d worked with before. They offered triple my current salary, immediate start, full confidentiality.
All I had to do was sign an NDA thick enough to qualify as a weapon.
Three hours later, I was standing inside Thorne Global headquarters with a medical bag in one hand and security clearance higher than most executives in the building.
Officially, I was hired as an executive wellness consultant.
Unofficially, I was the only person who knew Mordecai Thorne had collapsed alone in his office the winter before.
The first night I saw him, he looked nothing like the ruthless billionaire the media worshipped.
He looked exhausted.
Midnight stretched across the city skyline outside his office windows while I wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm.
“Your blood pressure’s high again,” I said calmly, checking the monitor. “You skipped your medication.”
Mordecai loosened his tie without meeting my eyes. “The board meeting ran over.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
His gaze flicked toward me then, sharp and unreadable.
I adjusted the IV drip hanging beside his desk. The company lawyers thought the stand was decorative. No one questioned anything in Mordecai’s office.
“You don’t get to act invincible because you’re rich,” I continued. “That’s not how heart conditions work.”
One corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
“You’re the only person who talks to me like that.”
“And I’m also the only person here trying to stop you from dying before 50.”
That earned me an actual laugh. Brief. Quiet. Real.
I tried not to stare at him after that.
Tried not to notice how attractive he was when he looked tired.
Tried not to notice the tension in his shoulders or the shadows beneath his eyes.
I focused on work instead.
Vitals. Medication schedules. Stress management.
Anything except the way his voice deepened whenever he said my name.
Five years in cardiac ICU had taught me how to stay detached. Patients came and went. Some survived. Some didn’t.
You learned not to get emotionally involved.
Private contracting paid better, though. And people like Mordecai demanded discretion above everything else.
The arrangement should’ve stayed clinical.
Discrete visits. No records. No unnecessary conversation.
But somewhere between the late-night checkups and the conversations that drifted toward sunrise, something shifted.
Mordecai spent his entire life controlling rooms, negotiations, people.
Yet with me, he let the mask slip.
Sometimes he’d sit silently while I worked, watching the rain hit the windows.
Sometimes he’d ask me questions no one else seemed brave enough to ask him.
And sometimes, during the worst nights, he looked unbearably lonely.
One evening, while I packed my equipment, he asked quietly, “Why private care?”
I zipped my bag shut slowly. “Because hospitals are full of people lying to each other.”
He leaned back in his chair, studying me carefully.
“And here?”
“Here,” I said softly, “you don’t really have that option.”
For a moment, the room fell silent.
Dangerously silent.
The secret lasted eight months.
Eight months of hidden appointments, coded elevator access, and pretending there was nothing unusual about the fact that I knew the billionaire CEO’s resting heart rate better than his own board members did.
Then the compliance department hired a new investigator.
And suddenly, someone started digging through after-hours access logs.
As much as Mordecai needed me to manage his arrhythmia, he needed this arrangement buried deeper than the company’s financial records.
“What do we do now, Elo?”
I shot him an irritated look while shrugging on my coat.
“Don’t call me that.”
His expression barely changed. “Elowen is too long.”
“You survived saying it before.”
A faint smirk tugged at his mouth.
I sighed and grabbed my bag from the couch. “I don’t know, boss. But if there’s anyone capable of making inconvenient problems disappear, it’s probably you.”
His eyes lingered on me longer than they should have.
That look again.
The one that made my pulse stumble.
I turned before I could think too much about it and headed toward the private elevator.
By the time I reached the underground parking garage, his driver was already waiting beside the black sedan.
Zeal opened the back door for me with a nod.
And somewhere thirty floors above us, Mordecai Thorne was probably still watching me leave.
