Chapter 2: Not Interested
Ethan Carter didn't think about patients after they left.
That was one of his rules.
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It made things easier.
Cleaner.
Professional.
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And yet—
as he stood in front of the sink in his office, sleeves rolled up, water running over his hands—
his mind betrayed him.
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Dark eyes.
Stillness.
The way that man had looked at him—
like he wasn't just being seen…
but understood.
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Ethan turned off the tap abruptly.
Dried his hands.
And pushed the thought away.
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He had work.
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By morning, the hospital had returned to its usual rhythm.
Footsteps echoed through the halls, machines beeped steadily, voices murmured in controlled urgency.
Everything was normal.
Predictable.
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Exactly how Ethan liked it.
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"Sir?"
Noah's voice broke through as he walked in without knocking, tablet in hand and an expression that said he had already been talking for a while.
"You have a meeting in forty minutes, three emails marked urgent, and I'm pretty sure someone important is trying to get your attention downstairs."
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Ethan didn't look up from the file he was reviewing.
"Define important."
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Noah blinked.
"…Tall. Silent. Looks like he could kill someone just by thinking about it."
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A pause.
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Ethan turned a page.
"I'll pass."
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Noah stared at him.
"You're not even going to ask who?"
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"No."
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"Wow. Bold."
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Ethan finally closed the file and looked up.
"If it's actually important, they'll wait."
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Noah opened his mouth to argue—
then stopped.
Then slowly smiled.
"Oh, he's definitely waiting."
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Ethan frowned slightly.
"What does that mean?"
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Noah tilted his head toward the door.
"Why don't you go find out?"
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Ethan didn't respond immediately.
But something—
something quiet and unwelcome—
settled in his chest.
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Five minutes later, he found himself walking down the corridor.
Not rushed.
Not hesitant.
Just… steady.
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And then—
he saw him.
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Leaning against the far wall like he owned the space.
Like everything around him was just temporary.
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Vincenzo Moretti.
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He wasn't in a hospital gown anymore.
No—
today, he looked exactly like the kind of man people warned others about.
Black suit.
Dark shirt.
Composed.
Untouchable.
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And yet—
his presence didn't disrupt the space.
It consumed it.
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Ethan stopped a few feet away.
"You shouldn't be walking around."
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Vincenzo didn't move.
Didn't straighten.
Didn't even look surprised.
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"You said I'd live," he replied calmly.
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"I also said you needed rest."
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A faint shift in expression.
Almost amused.
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"And yet," Vincenzo said softly, finally turning his head, "here I am."
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Their eyes met again.
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And just like that—
the silence returned.
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Ethan broke it first.
"What do you want?"
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Vincenzo studied him for a moment.
Not casually.
Not curiously.
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Intently.
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"Nothing," he said.
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Ethan's expression didn't change.
"Then leave."
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A pause.
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Then—
Vincenzo pushed himself off the wall and took a step closer.
Slow.
Measured.
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Ethan didn't move.
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"You're different," Vincenzo said quietly.
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Ethan exhaled lightly, unimpressed.
"You came all this way to tell me that?"
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Another step closer.
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"No," Vincenzo murmured. "I came because I wanted to see if you were real."
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Ethan's gaze sharpened slightly.
"I'm not a concept. I'm a doctor."
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"And a CEO," Vincenzo added.
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That—
made Ethan pause.
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Not visibly.
But enough.
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"You do your research," Ethan said.
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"I don't like not knowing things."
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Ethan tilted his head slightly.
"And yet you walked into a hospital bleeding out."
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A faint smile touched Vincenzo's lips.
"Not everything needs planning."
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Ethan held his gaze for a second longer.
Then—
stepped past him.
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"You shouldn't be here."
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Vincenzo's voice followed him.
"Then why did you come down?"
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Ethan stopped.
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For a second—
just a second—
he didn't have an immediate answer.
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Then—
he turned slightly.
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"You were blocking my hallway."
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Vincenzo's smile deepened.
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Ethan didn't wait for a response.
He continued walking.
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But footsteps followed.
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Of course they did.
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"You're avoiding the question," Vincenzo said calmly.
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Ethan didn't slow down.
"I don't entertain unnecessary conversations."
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"Is that what this is?"
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"Yes."
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A beat.
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Then—
"Liar."
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Ethan stopped.
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Turned.
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And for the first time—
there was something sharper in his expression.
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"Be careful," he said quietly.
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Vincenzo stepped closer again.
Close enough now that the distance felt intentional.
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"Or what?"
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Ethan met his gaze.
Unshaken.
Unmoved.
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"Or you'll misunderstand things."
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A pause.
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Then—
Vincenzo's voice dropped slightly.
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"And what exactly am I misunderstanding?"
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Ethan didn't hesitate.
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"This."
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Silence.
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Heavy.
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Then—
calmly—
clearly—
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"I'm not interested."
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The words landed between them.
Clean.
Precise.
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Vincenzo didn't react immediately.
Didn't step back.
Didn't look away.
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"Did I say you were?" he asked softly.
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Ethan's eyes didn't waver.
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"No," he replied.
Then added—
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"But you're implying it."
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A pause.
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Then—
Ethan said it.
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"I'm straight."
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The hallway felt quieter somehow.
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Still.
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Vincenzo watched him for a long moment.
Not offended.
Not surprised.
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Just… observing.
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Then—
slowly—
he stepped even closer.
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Ethan didn't move.
Didn't react.
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"That sounds like a problem," Vincenzo said, voice low.
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Ethan held his gaze.
Unmoved.
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"Not for me."
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Silence.
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And for a second—
it felt like neither of them would move.
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Then—
Vincenzo stepped back.
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Not defeated.
Not dismissed.
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Just… thoughtful.
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"Interesting," he murmured.
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Ethan didn't respond.
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He turned again.
Walked away.
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This time—
Vincenzo didn't follow.
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But his gaze stayed.
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Watching.
Calculating.
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As Ethan disappeared down the corridor.
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Back in his office, Ethan closed the door behind him.
Exhaled slowly.
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And for the first time—
his calm slipped.
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Just slightly.
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He moved to his desk, picking up a file without really reading it.
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"I'm straight."
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The words echoed back in his mind.
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Not a lie.
Not entirely.
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Just…
not the whole truth.
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Ethan closed the file again.
Set it down.
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And leaned back in his chair.
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He didn't like complications.
Didn't like unpredictability.
Didn't like things he couldn't control.
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And Vincenzo Moretti—
was all of that.
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Dangerous.
Unpredictable.
Persistent.
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Ethan ran a hand through his hair, expression tightening for just a second.
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Then—
he straightened.
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Calm again.
Controlled again.
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This was nothing.
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Just a man.
Just a patient.
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Nothing more.
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But somewhere—
deep down—
something shifted.
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And in another part of the city—
Vincenzo stood beside his car, lighting a cigarette slowly.
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He exhaled smoke into the cold air, eyes distant.
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"I'm straight."
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The words replayed in his mind.
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A faint smile appeared.
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Not amused.
Not mocking.
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Something else.
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"We'll see," he murmured.
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And just like that—
what should have ended—
didn't.
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It began.