Chapter 1: Wendy's Hearing

"Wendy, you really need to get that hearing aid replaced. It's going to mess with your hearing if you wait much longer."

Director Zane's voice cut through the quiet of his office.

Wendy Harris sat across from him, still in her scrubs after a long shift, posture polite but tired.

She nodded. "Thanks, Director Zane. I know."

He sighed, tapping a pen against his clipboard. "Honestly, based on your latest exam, a cochlear implant would be the smarter choice. They're not even that expensive anymore. With post-op care, you're looking at... what, six hundred grand total?"

Then, softening a bit, he added, "For your family, that's practically nothing. You don't need to wait."

Everyone at the hospital knew about the Harris family. When Wendy first joined the staff, the Harrises had donated two top-of-the-line imported diagnostic machines.

Money clearly wasn't an issue. At least, not for them.

Outside the office, Wendy pulled out her phone and checked her bank app.

$56,005.83.

That was every cent she'd managed to save over the past year.

Director Zane was right—six hundred grand was pocket change for the Harrises. But for her?

She'd have to break the bank for that.

Wendy had been adopted into the Harris family when she was young, and she'd been taught the rules early:

Take only what you're given. Be grateful. Never ask for more.

Asking made you greedy. Ungrateful. A stray pretending to be family.

Back in the ward, she changed out of her scrubs and into her regular clothes before heading home. The clock read just past 7 p.m.

Lately, Jadeton had been buried in gray skies and nonstop rain. The kind of weather that seeped into your bones and made everything feel a little heavier.

She didn't live with the Harris family—not anymore. Her apartment was small, rented, and conveniently close to the hospital.

When she opened the front door, she paused. The entry light was on.

Charlie Becker was home.

Her fingers tightened slightly on the doorknob. She glanced down, brushing off any rain or dirt clinging to her clothes.

Charlie was a legend at Jadeton Hospital—the youngest lead neurosurgeon in its history. A genius. A perfectionist. And a notorious clean freak.

He also happened to be her fiancé.

Their engagement had been... unexpected. More of a family arrangement than a love story. And to help them "bond," the Harrises and Beckers had suggested they live together.

In reality, it felt more like she'd moved into a museum where she wasn't allowed to touch anything.

Wendy carefully stepped inside, silently slipping off her shoes.

The living room was dark, but the faint shape of someone curled up on the couch told her Charlie was asleep.

She tiptoed closer. His eyes were shut, lashes dark and thick against pale skin. He looked almost peaceful like this.

Charlie had been overseas for a medical conference, and even after getting back, he'd jumped straight into back-to-back surgeries.

There were faint blue shadows under his eyes, and his brows were drawn in like he hadn't gotten a minute of decent sleep.

The living room window was cracked open, and the rain-wind combo drifting in was icy.

Charlie was only wearing a button-up.

Wendy's gaze flicked toward the folded throw blanket she usually used, resting on her small corner sofa.

She hesitated, then picked it up. But when it came time to actually cover him with it... she froze.

Instead, she sat in her little armchair and clutched the blanket in her lap, eyes drifting back to him.

He was exhausted. She didn't want to wake him.

But then his phone buzzed sharply on the coffee table.

Wendy instinctively reached over to silence it—only to hear a voice, low and cold:

"What are you doing?"

Her breath caught. She looked up, and there he was—awake now, eyes open and fixed right on her.

His voice wasn't loud, but it didn't need to be.

Wendy froze. "I—I wasn't trying to do anything. I saw you were sleeping, and I just—"

She trailed off, words tumbling and useless.

Charlie's gaze dropped to her hand, still reaching toward his phone. She followed his eyes, then quickly pulled her hand back, rubbing her fingers on her sleeve like she could erase the moment.

"I didn't touch anything," she added quietly, almost like a child caught doing something wrong.

Charlie slowly blinked. When he spoke again, his tone was flat.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to touch my stuff?"

Wendy just stood there, a little numb, unsure how to explain.

Not that it mattered. Charlie had laid down the rules from day one.

Don't go through his things. Don't touch his files, don't sit on his couch, don't use his mug.

The entire apartment had invisible fences. What had her name on it was hers. Everything else?

Off-limits.

Even now, in this living room, the only place she was "allowed" to sit was that little chair.

She watched as Charlie glanced at his phone and sighed, annoyed. He picked it up and muttered into the receiver:

"Get me a new phone. Deliver it tonight."

A pause.

"And replace the living room sofa. Deep clean, full disinfection."

He didn't raise his voice. Didn't even look at her.

Wendy followed his line of sight and saw it—the corner of the blanket in her lap had accidentally draped over the couch.

Her stomach twisted. She didn't say a word.

She didn't even lift her head.

Instead, she stared at her hands, slowly moving them behind her back. Her left thumb rubbed gently over the web of her right.

She wanted to tell him—

She wasn't dirty at all.

Chapter 2: Charlie

Charlie radiated cold.

Wendy stood frozen in the living room, barely breathing, like even the sound of her own breath might be too loud.

She bit her lip, shoulders tense, feet rooted to the floor.

She felt like a child caught doing something wrong—waiting to be scolded, punished, dismissed. Every muscle in her body was locked.

Charlie ended his call, hung up the phone, and stood.

Without a word. Without a glance.

He walked right past her and out the front door. The breeze that followed stirred the hem of her shirt, cool and impersonal.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Only the soft glow of the entry light remained, casting long shadows across the quiet room.

Wendy stood there alone, unmoving.

She didn't have to guess—he was heading to the hospital.

It wasn't the first time this had happened. Living under the same roof, no matter how careful she was, there was always some invisible line she crossed without meaning to.

Once, while she was cleaning, she accidentally knocked over the mug Charlie used the most.

By the next day, everything in the apartment had been replaced—cups, utensils, even towels.

Even her personal things had been soaked in disinfectant.

And Charlie?

He didn't come home for a whole month.

Back then, she hadn't understood. Not really.

Until one day at work, she overheard a group of doctors joking about how dedicated Dr. Becker was—working late every night, sleeping in the hospital, barely even going home.

Charlie had only shrugged and said,

"Someone touched my things. They're contaminated."

That was when it clicked.

Charlie didn't just dislike her.

He couldn't stand her.

Since then, Wendy had trained herself to be careful with everything. To tread lightly. To disappear into corners.

The rain outside fell in a soft, steady drizzle.

She hadn't eaten. She'd spent the day assisting with surgery, and now she was too tired to care.

After washing up, she went straight to bed.

When she woke the next morning, the apartment was still and silent—exactly the way it had been when she fell asleep.

Charlie hadn't come back.

She got ready quietly, her motions efficient, routine.

In the bathroom mirror, she caught sight of her own reflection—clean, pale, eyes still a little tired.

Her thoughts drifted to what Director Zane had said the day before.

Her hearing loss hadn't been congenital.

The Harris family had treated her well. At least on the surface. Mr. Harris had even gifted her the hearing aid she used now.

It had been a celebratory gift when she got accepted into Jadeton Medical.

She was grateful. Truly.

But gratitude was all she allowed herself.

Anything more would be… selfish. Ungrateful.

Presumptuous.

After her morning shift, Wendy was doing rounds in the wards. When she got back to the nurse's station, the doctors were already gathering for the Monday rounds, which always started a bit later than usual.

She spotted Charlie right away.

White coat. Neutral expression. Eyes lowered as someone beside him spoke.

Even among the crowd of doctors, he stood out.

Youngest attending in the department. Most brilliant surgeon they had.

He carried the kind of presence that turned heads and quieted rooms.

Wendy's heart tensed. Last night still clung to her like a second skin.

She stayed quiet, trying to ease around the cluster of doctors blocking her path back to the station.

But then the head nurse called out, "Wendy, you done with vitals?"

"Yes," Wendy replied. "No major changes. But Bed 29 has a fever. The family wants a doctor to take a look."

"How about the old man in Bed 4?"

Wendy glanced down at the notes in her hand. "He's stable. He's stopped resisting treatment but keeps asking when he can be discharged."

"Bed 4?" A low voice cut in.

She looked up.

Charlie.

His dark eyes were unreadable, fixed on her.

"The elderly man who had the stroke," she clarified.

"I know." His voice was flat, clipped. "Why'd you say he was resisting treatment?"

Wendy opened her mouth, but before she could answer, another doctor chimed in with a chuckle.

"You weren't here when he was admitted, Dr. Becker. The guy was impossible. We all tried talking to him, but in the end, Nurse Harris is the only one who got through."

"Nurse Harris is everyone's favorite," another joked. "She's got that kind, gentle vibe. Patients love her."

Wendy kept her head down, hands steady. "I'm just doing my job."

Her voice was soft. She didn't smile.

Her uniform was spotless. Perfectly pressed. Her shoes were clean, her hair neatly pinned back.

She could feel Charlie's eyes on her.

And still, she stood straight, calm, collected—on the outside.

Because no matter how small the moment, how fleeting his attention, Wendy wanted to try.

To do just a little better.

To show him—she wasn't useless.

But then came his voice again. Cold. Sharp.

"Saving patients is our job. There's nothing admirable about doing what you're paid to do."

The compliment disappeared like a puff of smoke.

Wendy's fingers curled tightly at her sides. "I understand," she murmured.

By the time she dared to glance up, Charlie was already walking away.

She caught only the side of his face—his usual expression: indifferent. Distant. Untouched.

Everyone in the hospital knew about them.

That they were engaged.

That she was a Harris.

That the Harrises had donated generously to Jadeton Medical after she joined.

Some of the nurses whispered behind her back.

One leaned over and whispered now, "Jeez. That was cold. Did you hear what he just said?"

Wendy, still writing in her chart, said softly, "He's right. It's part of our job."

"You're too loyal to him, girl."

Everyone knew Wendy was devoted to Charlie.

Blindly, some said. Stupidly, others added.

There was even a running joke:

Other people believed in fate or money or ambition.

Wendy?

She believed in Charlie Becker.

But no one ever said that to Charlie's face.

Because everyone also knew—

Charlie Becker didn't believe in her.

To him, Wendy might as well not even exist.

Chapter 3: Fiona

At noon, Wendy had just finished her rounds when her phone rang. It was Mr. Harris.

She picked up quickly, her tone polite. "Hi, Dad."

Logan Harris's voice came through, calm but firm. "Come to Harris Hills tonight. There's something we need to talk about."

"Okay," Wendy replied softly. She was always obedient when it came to the Harris family.

"And bring Charlie with you."

Before she could say anything else, the call ended with a click.

The dial tone rang in her ears—sharp and abrupt, like a silent push.

Wendy stood still for a second, hesitating as she looked toward the doctor's office.

After a beat, she made her way over. Just as she raised her hand to knock, the door opened, and Fred Smith stepped out.

It was the same doctor who'd complimented her earlier. He was holding a file and looked like he was in a rush. "Looking for Dr. Becker?"

Wendy nodded. "I have something to talk to him about."

Fred handed her the patient file. "Everyone's off to lunch. He's probably inside resting. You can give him this—it's for Bed 4. I've got a meeting with the director."

He spoke quickly and kindly, even holding the door open for her before hurrying away.

Left with no other option, Wendy walked in.

The moment she stepped inside, she was met with the sound of soft sobs and a woman's panicked voice.

Startled, Wendy froze.

Then she heard Charlie's voice—low, calm, and unmistakably cold. "Who let you in?"

She looked up and saw a female patient sitting at his desk, tears streaking down her cheeks.

Wendy's heart tightened. Neurology patients often struggled emotionally. She knew breakdowns like this weren't uncommon.

Still, nobody liked being seen in their most vulnerable state.

Quickly lowering her head, she murmured, "Sorry... I didn't mean to interrupt."

Charlie didn't look at her. Instead, his tone softened as he turned to the patient. "You can go back to your ward. Or take a walk outside and clear your mind. If you need anything, I'm here."

The patient nodded, reassured, and quietly left.

Wendy stayed rooted to the spot.

She had always known—Charlie could be warm. Kind, even. Just never with her.

"I came to deliver a file," she said quietly, holding it out. "Dr. Smith asked me to give it to you."

She didn't mention that she hadn't opened the door herself.

"The door was closed. You didn't think to knock?" Charlie's gaze was sharp. "Did no one ever teach you about patient confidentiality?"

"I didn't mean to... I didn't see—" Her voice faltered, then trailed off.

Charlie was holding a pen in his hand, his expression unreadable, the shadows under his eyes giving him a colder edge than usual.

He didn't raise his voice, but Wendy could feel the anger radiating off him.

She bit her lip, set the file on his desk, and spoke in a low voice. "It won't happen again."

The pen hit the desk with a dull thud as he dropped it. "Think before you act."

Wendy stood there awkwardly, cheeks burning. Embarrassed, but unsure what else she could say.

She wasn't good at talking to people—never had been.

When she was little, her hearing loss had made speech difficult. Even now, her words came slower than most.

People used to laugh at her for stuttering. Over time, she just stopped speaking unless she had to.

Charlie didn't know any of that.

And even if he did—he probably wouldn't care.

"Leave," he said flatly.

Wendy swallowed, then gently placed the file on the desk. Her voice was quieter now. "Dad called. He said to come to Harris Hills tonight."

Charlie didn't say a word.

Wendy thought maybe he hadn't heard. She tried again, softer, "He wants both of us there for dinner—"

"You're so clingy."

Charlie's voice was colder than before.

Wendy froze. The words stung more than she wanted to admit.

She forced a smile, though it barely reached her eyes. "Then... I'll wait for you after your shift."

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and left the office.

She didn't slam the door. She made sure it closed gently—quiet, careful, just like she always was around him.

The rest of the afternoon was hectic. By the time Wendy clocked out, it was nearly six.

She quickly changed and went to look for Charlie, only to find the door to his office cracked open.

He was still in a meeting.

So she waited.

A few nurses passing by shot her teasing looks. One of them giggled, "Still waiting on Dr. Becker? You're too dedicated, Wendy. Let us know when the wedding is—we'll all be there to cheer you on."

Wendy lowered her head, face warm with embarrassment. She didn't respond.

She waited for almost half an hour before the door opened.

Doctors walked out one by one—but Charlie wasn't among them.

Confused, Wendy stayed put until Fred spotted her again.

"You're still here?" he asked, eyebrows raised. "Aren't you off today?"

"Yeah. I'm just looking for Dr. Becker. I thought he was in the meeting."

Fred blinked, then said, "Oh—he left early. Had a meeting around two and went straight out after that. Didn't he tell you?"

Wendy blinked, trying to hide the flicker of disappointment. "I guess... I didn't ask, so he didn't mention it."

Fred looked at her with something close to sympathy. "He's probably just swamped. Happens to all of us."

Wendy gave him a small smile and thanked him before leaving.

She didn't call or text Charlie.

She didn't need to.

When it came to the Harris family, Charlie never forgot anything.

Sure enough, when she arrived at Harris Hills, he was already there.