Rebirth Into My Second Chance

He had this faint scent of sandalwood about him, probably because of the scented candles he kept lit in his office all year round. It seemed his shirts were all that aroma. It was like when I went home in my jacket, which was so overwhelmed with the smell of alcohol that I didn't catch the sandalwood scent.

His voice was cold and alert, "What are you doing?"

I pursed my lips, surprised by his vigilance even while injured and possibly concussed. I couldn't help but wonder, 'Is he just a doctor, or is there more to him? Those muscles weren't just for show. It seemed Max had maintained them through regular, intense workouts. "I just wanted to check if your wound was bleeding." I lied to him with a stern face, and Max finally let go of my hand. I stood up, my face flushing to my ears.

"Dr. Hilton, how are you feeling now? Are you in pain?" As a doctor, I quickly regained my composure and asked Max as I would any patient.

"I'm fine." As he spoke, he abruptly pulled out his IV and tossed it aside. "I'm okay. You can go now."

I scratched my head, knowing as a fellow doctor and my mentor, if he didn't want the IV, there wasn't much I could say.

But given his condition, if I left, and he fainted from low blood pressure or his wound reopened, I would be fully responsible. Given the amount of blood he lost, he needed a transfusion.

I said, "How about I stay here with you? If you get hungry, I can order some takeout."

He barely lifted his eyelids to look at me, his lips parting slightly to say, "No need."

I tilted my head. "Then I'll wait in my office."

With that, I turned to leave his office. I wasn't one to force my company on anyone, and I didn't know Max well yet. But, aside from his dealings with Ronald, he seemed to avoid interactions with others.

It felt odd to stay overnight in his office as a woman. It could lead to misunderstandings.

But no sooner had I returned to my office to rest than a nurse knocked, saying, "Dr. Floyd, are you there? Dr. Hilton called, asking you to go to his office and review yesterday's surgery procedure with him again." When I opened the door, the nurse looked at me sympathetically, "Dr. Hilton is a workaholic. You have our sympathies, Dr. Floyd."

Without responding, I hastened to Max's office. Just a moment ago, he had sent me away, but he had found an excuse to have me attend to him.

As I cracked open the door, I heard him on the phone, "Yeah, delete all surveillance."

He seemed to notice my entrance. After hanging up, he turned to me. "Moving around just now might have reopened the wound. Take a look."

From his silhouette against the

window, speaking on the phone, no

one could tell he was injured. He should have been more careful. Most people with abdominal injuries at least bend slightly to avoid straining the wound. But there he

stood straight.

"Dr. Hilton, I'm starting to doubt your professionalism. You're standing as rigid as a tower. Of course, your wound would reopen. Don't blame me if you say my suturing was at fault, affecting my internship report!" That was probably the most intense rant I've ever gone on.

After finishing, I was stunned. My goal was revenge, not romance. Max was my mentor. It did not harm to speak my mind since he had been kind to me in my past life.

Helping him to half-sit on the bed, I squatted down to open the heavily bleeding dressing to see the wound. I pressed down with a large cotton ball soaked in disinfectant to stop the bleeding, disinfected it again, and carefully placed a new dressing on it.

né

This time, I decided to wrap the bandage around his waist to ensure the dressing stayed in place better Instinctively, as I would with any other patient, I wrapped my arms around his waist to thread the bandage through and wrapped it around him three times.

When I finished, I noticed a faint blush on his pale face.

I asked, "Dr. Hilton, do you always recover this quickly?"

Max cleared his throat lightly and looked away.