The Don's Dangerous Addiction

Before her appointment, Avery received an anonymous card.

No signature. Just one line:

"Experiment 047 is waiting for you. Don't disappoint him."

She turned the card over and back again. No clues.

047?A number for what?

She didn't know what it meant, but the feeling of being calculated in advance made her palms sweat.

She tucked the card into her pocket, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door to the estate.

"Take it off yourself, or I'll do it."

Dominic's voice came from the darkness. Low. Rough. The kind that made your blood run cold.

Avery stood still.

In the dark, every breath Dominic took carried an unnatural tremor, like something inside his chest was forcing its way out.

She could see the veins in his neck, pulsing at an irregular rhythm.

She curled her fingers tight. Her nails dug into her palms.

Lightning split the sky. It lit up his face.

Avery froze for a second.

His lips were grayish purple. Not normal poor circulation. This was Cardiopulmonary distress after physical depletion. His eyes were bloodshot. Likely from frequent sleep disorders. But his pupils were so dilated she could barely see his irises. Mania and exhaustion written on the same face, like two opposing forces tearing at one person.

She had seen faces like this in clinical practice. They were always difficult to handle.

She pushed down that second of shock and refocused on his breathing rate.

"Mr. Kessler, this isn't the time to discuss what I'm wearing. Your heart rate is over 180. If this continues, you'll die by your own hand."

"My last doctor. Your mentor."

He lunged forward.

"Right here in this room, he tried to send me to the afterlife with a micro bomb hidden on his body."

"You think I'll let you just... get close to me?"

His eyes traveled over her body. A sharp stare, as if trying to burn through the fabric.

"If you want your payment, prove yourself first." His voice dropped.

One hand hooked into her collar. The other waved a check.

Avery opened her mouth to argue. In an instant, her coat was ripped from her shoulders. Her sweater torn open. Her skirt fell.

When she stood before him in nothing but thin undergarments, exposed, reason quickly took over from humiliation.

Twenty thousand dollars.

The cost of a single session. Also the ticket to one cycle of her brother's specialized medication at the private sanatorium.

Ten sessions. A contract of life and death.

She couldn't leave this house until the final injection was administered. She couldn't refuse any of his orders.

Dominic's condition had become deeply strange. He was gasping for air, his head hanging low, almost resting on Avery's shoulder.

"Enough."

Avery stepped forward. Her cool palm pressed against his jaw and lifted his face.

"You're dying, Mr. Kessler. Step back. Sit down."

She didn't give him a chance to argue. She pushed him back into the sofa. Then she quickly pulled a syringe from her