I went down to the changing room to clean up and change my stained scrubs before heading to the Neurosurgery Department.
If I was going to face him, the least I could do was look like I knew what I was doing.
The fluorescent lights buzzed softly above me as I buttoned up a fresh set of scrubs. I loosened my messy bun, let my hair fall for a second, then tied it back neatly. Then I grabbed the patient file and stepped out—only to run into Dr. Sink.
"You're still here?" he demanded, his voice rising.
"My scrubs were stained. I had—"
"This isn't a fashion show, Doctor."
The nurses and residents nearby glanced at me, whispering behind their hands.
"Sure," I murmured, biting back a sigh, and walked away toward the Neurosurgery Department.
The hallway seemed impossibly quiet, but my pulse thundered in my ears.
"Hi," I said to the nurse at the front desk, forcing calm into my voice.
"How may I help you, Doctor?" she asked, eyes still glued to the computer screen.
"I… I'm here to see Augu—sorry, Dr. Sinclair."
She finally looked up, her expression unreadable, then nodded toward a frosted glass door at the end of the hallway.
"Thanks," I said. I went to the office and knocked gently.
"Come in," his voice rumbled from inside.
I pushed the door open.
He was standing by the desk, sleeves rolled up, studying a brain scan glowing on the screen. For a second, he didn't look up—focused, calm, infuriatingly composed.
Then his eyes shifted and landed on me.
His expression didn't change, but the air grew heavier.
"Dr. Martins," he said evenly. "What brings you here?"
I held out the file, keeping my tone professional, cold. "Dr. Sink asked that you review this case."
"Okay," he said quietly, already turning back to the screen. "You can leave it on the table."
I hesitated, the words stuck somewhere between my throat and my pride. "Sure."
Just then, his phone lit up—the name flashing on the screen made my stomach twist: Louise Martins.
My father.
Our eyes met. He reached for the phone, clearly waiting for me to leave before answering.
I placed the file down, straightened my posture, and walked out.
By the time my shift was over, exhaustion had replaced every other feeling. My body ached; I hadn't worked that hard in years.
Grace had prepared dinner before I got home—it was late, and the house was wrapped in silence. After eating, she said goodnight and left.
I took a long shower, the water washing away the hospital scent and tension clinging to me. I dried my hair, then slipped into a sheer, lace-trimmed Victoria's Secret nightgown. Even alone, I wanted to feel like myself again.
I slumped onto the bed in the master bedroom, scrolling through my messages. I hadn't checked my phone properly all day.
Then the doorbell rang.
I frowned. "Did Grace forget something?" I murmured, still staring at my phone.
It rang again.
"But she knows the passcode…" I whispered, setting my phone aside.
"I'm coming," I said aloud, though whoever was outside couldn't possibly hear me.
When I opened the door, I froze.
August stood there—tall, a luggage handle clutched in his hand. His eyes darted everywhere, doing everything possible not to look directly at me. The gown left almost nothing to the imagination.
"Hi," he muttered, voice low, his head bent slightly.
That look—flustered, uncertain—dragged me years back to the first day he came to tutor me at university, when I had answered the door in a bikini, thinking it was the cleaner. I'd slammed the door and changed in seconds, but the way he looked at me then—awkward, respectful, a little shy—was the same look he had now.
The only difference now was that we were married.
Realizing I was blocking the doorway, I stepped aside.
He entered, awkward and silent.
Why is he acting like he'd never seen a naked woman before?
I turned to leave, still irritated by what he'd said at the party two nights ago.
"We need to talk, Maya," he said quietly.
I ignored him and started toward the stairs.
"Are you coming back down after changing?" he asked.
I turned halfway up the staircase, one hand gripping the railing.
"Change?" I repeated, fury rising. I descended the stairs slowly. "Change to what, August? You want me fully clothed in my own home? Or is my body bothering you?"
He exhaled heavily, like I was some tiresome wife. That only made me angrier.
"I just want us to talk like two reasonable adults," he said.
"Oh, really?" My laugh was sharp. "Then let me start with a reasonable question for you." I took a few steps closer. "Why are you here?"
He looked away.
"Wait—don't tell me my dad asked you to come. Because I saw him call you today. Is that why you showed up—with your luggage—looking like someone dragged you here against your will?"
He sighed again. "I see you're not in the mood to talk right now. When you're calmer, we will. But for now, I need a room." He looked down, almost ashamed to say it.
I met his eyes, my voice low. "I asked you a question. Why are you here, August? Or wait—maybe I should answer that for you."
I took a step closer, my voice soft but sharp.
"Because Tracy is here?"
He frowned. "Here?" he repeated.
I smiled faintly, ignoring the question. "Or you want to tell me you didn't know your ex moved into this building?"
"I don't know anything about that," he said firmly.
I let out a small, disbelieving laugh. I remembered what I told Clarke days ago—I'd had enough of their bullshit.
"You need a room?" I asked, hiding a small chuckle.
"Apparently," he said, glancing at his luggage.
"Follow me, then."
He picked up his suitcase, trailing behind me. I walked past the guest rooms and stopped at the master bedroom—*my* bedroom.
"You'll be staying in this room," I said softly.
"Here?" he asked, surprised. "Okay." He stepped inside, setting his luggage down.
"Let's talk before we leave for work tomorrow," he murmured, trying to close the door.
I held it open with my hand.
"This is the master bedroom," I said, my voice low, deliberate. "My bedroom. And we'll be staying together."
I rolled the loose end of my brunette hair around my finger, watching his face tighten as the meaning sank in.
If he thought this would be easy, he was in for a long night.