It had been exactly one week since security had escorted Calliope out of Astor Medical like a criminal.
One week since her entire career had been dismantled in front of half the hospital.
Calliope paced her sleek apartment, heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. Her phone lay on the coffee table, screen dark. She had called Anthony six times today, but he hadn't answered once.
She stopped in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out at the city lights without really seeing them.
The hospital hadn't reported her to the medical board. No official complaint or formal investigation. Just a quiet termination for "serious protocol violation." On paper, her medical license remained untouched.
But she knew better.
Over the past week, she had applied to every hospital, clinic, and private practice within a two-hundred-mile radius. Positions she was qualified for. Positions she was overqualified for. She had even applied for a pathetic part-time role at a small urgent care center an hour away.
Every application had been rejected.
Some had been polite.
"We've decided to go in a different direction."
Others had been colder.
"Your application has been declined due to internal references."
She knew exactly whose references those were.
Alexander Astor.
He hadn't simply fired her.
He had ensured no one else would hire her.
Calliope's hands curled into fists. Tears stung her eyes, but she wiped them away before they could fall.
She had only wanted to hurt Dashiell. To prove to Alexander that the autistic neurologist was weak, unworthy, and incapable of standing beside him. That she—Calliope—was the one who truly understood him.
Instead, she had destroyed herself.
A bitter laugh escaped her.
She had gambled everything—her reputation, her career, even a child's life—and Alexander had answered with clinical precision. No shouting. No public humiliation. Just a quiet, methodical erasure.
He hadn't even needed to do it himself.
The Astor name had been enough.
Her phone buzzed.
She grabbed it, hope flaring for half a second.
Not Anthony.
Another rejection email.
She stared at the screen until the words blurred, then slowly lowered the phone onto the coffee table.
No.
She refused to let this be the end.
If Alexander thought he could erase her with a few quiet phone calls, he had underestimated her.
She resumed pacing, her mind racing.
Dashiell.
Everything had changed the moment he entered Alexander's life. Alexander's attention, his trust, the future she had envisioned for herself—it had all shifted to him.
Why?
Because he was different? Because he stimmed, spoke too bluntly, and somehow made Alexander want to protect him?
Calliope's lips curled into a cold smile.
She had made one mistake.
She had tried to make Alexander see reason, but that psychopath had already made up his mind.
She wouldn't waste her energy on that again.
From now on, she would be patient.
Calculated.
And if she wanted Dashiell gone, she would stop trying to change Alexander's mind.
She would make sure everyone else turned against him.
Meanwhile, the object of her hatred was currently driving Alexander Astor to the edge of his considerable control.
Dashiell straddled Alexander's lap, legs wrapped around his hips, when Alexander gripped the back of his head and pulled him into a deep, ravaging kiss.
His mouth crashed against Dashiell's, fierce enough to steal the breath from his lungs.
One hand tangled in his hair, tilting his head for better access. Every time Dashiell tried to draw breath, Alexander claimed him again, giving him no room to think. A helpless sound escaped him, swallowed instantly as his fingers curled into Alexander's shirt.
His body moved on instinct, grinding down against the hard bulge in Alexander's pants. The friction drew a whimper from him, hips rolling in needy circles as he chased the rising heat.
Alexander groaned against his lips, catching Dashiell's bottom lip between his teeth before soothing it with a slow sweep of his tongue. Then he kissed him harder, as though he couldn't get close enough.
Dashiell was breathless, dizzy, overwhelmed. His hands clutched Alexander's shirt as the kiss deepened, their lips sliding together, broken only by the occasional scrape of teeth.
Then suddenly he pulled away, breathing hard, lips swollen and glistening. He pressed both hands firmly against Alexander's chest, creating space between them.
"No," he said, voice hoarse. "I want to go to sleep."
Alexander's eyes darkened. His grip on Dashiell's hips tightened.
"Baby."
Dashiell shook his head, stubborn and flushed.
"You didn't let me kiss you this morning. So I'm not letting you have sex with me now. That's fair. I'm tired and my brain is still loud from today. I want to sleep."
Alexander stared at him for a long second, his expression giving nothing away. Then, for the briefest moment, frustration slipped through the cracks before the mask settled back into place. For a psychopath like Alexander, it was almost the equivalent of shouting.
He let out a low, irritated sound and loosened his grip.
Dashiell slid off his lap, adjusting his clothes with quick, careful movements.
"Good night," he said politely, as if he hadn't just left his husband hard and frustrated. "I'm going to brush my teeth and sleep."
Alexander watched him walk toward the bathroom, jaw tight.
For the first time in a long time, the cold, controlled man looked genuinely annoyed.
Dashiell closed the bathroom door behind him with a soft click, a tiny, satisfied smile on his swollen lips.
Punishment accepted.