The next morning, Melody was fully prepared for work. She tied her hair into her usual bun, slipped on her uniform, and grabbed her handbag. A confident smile lit up her face as she thought about the day ahead—a promotion announcement at the bank and a date planned with Ethan that evening to celebrate both their reunion and her achievement. She was practically on cloud nine.
As she exited her room, her eyes scanned the surroundings until they landed on Maverick. Concern furrowed her brows; he looked unwell. Sweat dripped from his face, and his shirt was off entirely.
As she approached him, her gaze was drawn to his toned chest and well-defined abs. She swallowed hard, trying to divert her attention, but it only returned to him.
Surprisingly, for someone like Maverick, he bore no tattoos—his skin remained clean and unmarked, leaving her both stunned and captivated.
As if sensing a presence, Maverick's eyebrows twitched and he opened his eyes. "What are you doing?" Maverick asked, lifting his gaze to meet hers.
Melody jolted, rubbing of her neck sheepishly. "I thought you were still asleep," she replied.
"I just woke up," he told her.
"Okay, but are you alright? You don't look so good," she pressed, their eyes locking. His were cold, while hers radiated concern.
"I'm fine," he dismissed with a wave.
Melody wasn't buying it. In an instant, she stepped closer, lifted her hand, and pressed it to his forehead to check his temperature. Her lips parted in surprise.
"You have a fever," she declared.
"That's nothing; I'll be fine," he muttered. "Aren't you supposed to be at work? You'll be late if you stick around."
"I still have time before work starts. We're going to the hospital," she stated firmly. Maverick didn't show his surprise, but inside he felt frustrated. How could he move on when she kept doing this? It only made things harder for him while she remained blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil.
"I don't need the hospital. I'll be fine," he insisted, trying to avoid any further entanglements. He had convinced himself he was done with his feelings for her, and any situation that might reignite those feelings was off-limits.
Melody pressed on. "How can you say that? I refuse to let you die in my house."
"Would I die from a fever?" he raised an eyebrow, challenging her.
"Maybe," she replied matter-of-factly.
Maverick's annoyance seeped through. "You're late, Melody. Every second you spend here is just wasting your time. Do you want to spend money sending a gangster to the hospital?" he blurted before he could rein in his irritation.
Stunned, she blinked at him. "Fine then. I thought I was offering to help because we were once close friends, but clearly, that doesn't matter to you."
"Go to the hospital or don't; it's none of my business," she remarked with a dismissive turn, striding away. The sound of the door slamming behind her echoed in the silence, leaving Maverick sighing in frustration, a frown etched on his face.
He moved to the shower to cool down, but it only provided temporary relief. He soon found himself collapsing onto the couch, covered with a duvet. Almost immediately, he began to shiver. Groaning, he cursed his ill-timed sickness.
He sat on the couch, feeling utterly exhausted, pondering whether Melody had been right about needing medical attention. Perhaps he had overreacted when she suggested going to the hospital. He should have just agreed instead of making a scene. But he understood the truth: the more time he spent with her, the deeper his feelings became, and he wanted to avoid that at all costs.
Eventually, he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. He locked it behind him and made his way down to the motorbike.
After parking the bike at the hospital, he took a moment to survey the building—the white structure with its red plus sign. "Damn it," he muttered, walking toward the entrance. He had spent so long avoiding this place, preferring to heal at home. Yet here he was, coming to a hospital for an ordinary fever, all because of Melody's insistence.
As usual, he was greeted by the unmistakable antiseptic smell, the stark white walls, nurses bustling about, and patients waiting to be called in by the doctors. A TV in the corner blared an endless loop about the importance of health, designed to keep the waiting patients occupied.
He strode purposefully toward the lobby, where a nurse saw him and flashed a smile, noting how attractive he looked. But he had no time for that. "Are you here to see the doctor?" she asked.
"Yes," Maverick replied, his tone steady.
"Your name, please," she requested.
"Maverick River," he answered confidently.
Her expression shifted as she scrutinized him as if contemplating something, but she quickly returned to her professional demeanor.
"What seems to be the problem?" she probed.
"I have a terrible fever," he stated plainly.
She flashed a smile. "How do you know it's a fever?"
"Cold. Sore throat. My eyes are burning. You know those shit," he shot back, irritation creeping into his voice.
"Okay. How old are you?" she continued.
"27," Maverick replied curtly.
"Understood. Here's your card. Please wait here; the doctor will see you shortly." She handed him the waiting card, which contained the information he had just provided. He nodded and turned to leave.
But she called him back. "Hey," she said, her tone shifting.
He raised an eyebrow, curious. "Do you have a girlfriend?" she inquired boldly.
Noticing his lack of response, she pressed on, "Here's my number. If you need anything, just call. Even if it's just for a hookup." She thrust a piece of paper with her phone number toward him.
Maverick took the paper, nodded curtly, and then pivoted on his heels. As he walked toward the waiting area, he discarded the paper into the bin. He was done with relationship nonsense, for now, not interested in any woman, not even her.