The Dominant Ceo's New Contract : The Ruthless Tycoon's Fifty Shades Contract

Nora's POV

"Your vitals are looking much better, Ms. Ashfield."Dr. Patel scribbled something on his clipboard without looking up. "You had us worried for a while."

"I had myself worried,"I said.

He smiled. "You're lucky to have such a devoted boyfriend. He was here every single day. Sometimes twice."He finally looked up. "Were you thinking about him? Studies show that emotional anchors significantly speed up recovery."

I laughed a little. "Maybe."

"Well, whatever you were doing, keep doing it. You're free to go."

I called Yuna the moment I stepped outside.

It rang four times and went to voicemail.

Of course.

I tried again. Voicemail.

I stared at my phone for a second, then typed: Discharged. Don't panic. Call me back.

She didn't call back.

I stood outside St. Mercy's with my overnight bag and two weeks of recycled hospital air still in my lungs, and I made a decision. Derek's office was across town but his apartment was twelve minutes away. I could go home, shower, change, do this properly.

Or I could surprise him right now, looking exactly like this — pale, slightly too thin, still wearing the hoodie he'd dropped off last Thursday.

I flagged a cab.

He'd been here every day. Twice some days. The least I could do was show up unannounced with a smile.

The cab driver talked the whole ride about his daughter's university fees. I nodded in the right places and watched the city move past the window.

Twelve minutes felt very short.

I paid, tipped generously, and took the elevator up to the fourteenth floor.

Derek's door was open.

Not wide open. Just slightly, like someone had pulled it shut and it hadn't caught. I frowned. Derek didn't leave doors open. Derek didn't leave anything open — every drawer closed, every cabinet shut, every surface clear. It was the thing we'd argued about most in two years. I used to joke that he'd iron his socks if he could.

I pushed the door in slowly.

The living room was wrong.

A throw pillow on the floor. His laptop open on the coffee table, which he never did. A wine glass on the kitchen counter, no coaster. Two wine glasses.

My eyes moved to the hallway.

A dress. Black, crumpled against the baseboard like it had been stepped out of in a hurry. And next to it — underwear. Red lace.

My stomach dropped before my brain caught up.

I knew that dress. I had told Sienna she looked beautiful in it three days ago, right here in this building, when she'd stopped by the hospital on her way to dinner.

On her way to dinner.

My chest started doing something strange. A tightening, like my ribs were slowly closing in. I stood in the middle of his living room and I could not move.

Then I heard her laugh. From the bedroom. Low and easy, like she was exactly where she wanted to be.

And then his voice.

"—she won't find