The silence in the study was suffocating. Asher stood there, the "Devil" of the Reed family, looking like he had just crawled out of the pits of hell. He was waiting for my fear—waiting for me to scream, to cry, or to run.
But I didn't. I am a doctor. I have seen the human body at its most broken, and right now, the man in front of me was just another patient—one who happened to hold my heart in his blood-stained hands.
"Sit down, Asher," I said, my voice steady, carrying the authority of the hospital wards I had trained in.
"Chloe, the folder—"
"I said sit," I interrupted, walking toward him. I didn't look at his terrifying eyes; I looked at his knuckles. "You're bleeding, and if those cuts aren't cleaned, you'll lose the use of your right hand to infection. Leo needs a father who can hold him, not a martyr with a fever."
