The Don Chased His Donna Back

I am a top-notch surgeon. But when my ex-boyfriend —— now the Don of the Blackwood family —— was brought to the hospital injured, even the head nurse advised me against taking the case.

Everyone said the Dante Blackwood despised me. Because three years ago—the last time we met—I took off my engagement ring and handed it back to him, then got into the car of Dominic, the Don of Mercer family.

But I still put on my white coat and walked in.

Not only walked in—I pressed my hand right against his stomach without a shred of hesitation.

Before the punch came, it was the killing intent in his eyes.

"I told you. Touch me one more time, and I'll break every bone in your body."

The interns outside the door were all holding their breath for my safety.

I adjusted my gold-rimmed glasses and let out a helpless smile.

But the moment I undid the buttons of his shirt, even though his mouth told me to get out, his body couldn't help but tense up.

The head nurse Margaret blocked the office doorway, absolutely refusing to let me go treat Dante Blackwood.

"Ivy, have you lost your mind? Don't you know how much Don Dante hates you? You're walking straight into humiliation!"

"I know."

"And you're still going?"

I wiped my gold-rimmed glasses clean and slid them back onto my nose.

"One million dollars."

Margaret froze.

I didn't explain.

My brother's kidney transplant was still one million short.

I drew in a deep breath.

Three years.

Dante and I hadn't seen each other in three years.

The last time we met, I'd taken off the engagement ring with my own hands and given it back to him.

He'd stood in the rain that day, soaked through, his eyes so red they looked ready to bleed.

I didn't look back. I got into Dominic's car. Dominic was the Don of Mercer Family.

From that day on, the entire hospital knew—Dante Blackwood despised Ivy Ashford.

Fate has a cruel sense of humor.

Because Dante's stomach surgery could only be performed by me, the hospital's top internal medicine specialist.

A bodyguard in a dark suit stood in the VIP wing corridor.

The moment I pushed open the door, the first person I saw was Vivienne Whitmore.

Dante's fiancée. The heiress to Whitmore Corporation.

She sat at the bedside, legs crossed, her fresh French manicure glinting under the lights.

When she saw me, her expression was priceless.

"Well, well. If it isn't Ivy Ashford. What's this—sniffed your way over here like a dog to crawl into his bed?"

I ignored her.

My gaze passed over her shoulder and landed on the man in the hospital bed.

Dante was propped against the pillows.

Three years apart, and he'd lost weight.

His cheekbones were sharper, his eye sockets deeper, but the menace in those eyes was thicker than it had been three years ago.

The way he looked at me—like I was his enemy.