CHAPTER 2

Genevieve's POV

The grand ballroom of the St. Regis was filled with soft classical violin music, sparkling crystal chandeliers, and the muffled chatter of high-society medical professionals.

It was the annual Metropolitan Healthcare Gala, the official curtain-raiser event right before major hospital contracts kicked off. As the lead consultant for Apex Solutions, I had no choice but to attend.

I stood near the edge of the room, holding a glass of untouched sparkling water. I chose a simple, tailored navy floor-length dress—professional, understated, and completely unremarkable. I wanted to blend into the velvet curtains if possible.

I kept my eyes scanning the crowd, taking slow, deliberate breaths. The formal turnover meeting at Montclair Medical wasn't scheduled until Monday morning, but in elite circles like this, attendance was practically mandatory.

"Genevieve, right?"

I turned around to see Dr. Harrison, a senior member of the Montclair advisory board, walking toward me with a wide smile.

"Dr. Harrison. Good evening," I greeted him, extending my hand for a brief, professional handshake.

"I read your preliminary proposal for the restructuring," he said, looking genuinely impressed. "Brilliant analysis on the emergency department bottle-necks. The board is thoroughly impressed."

"Thank you, Dr. Harrison. We're looking forward to optimizing the hospital's operations smoothly."

"Well, you'll have full backing from the top," Dr. Harrison said, gesturing vaguely toward the center of the ballroom. "Ah, speaking of the top—here comes our new President and CEO."

My blood ran cold.

The crowd near the entrance parted slightly, and everything around me seemed to decelerate into agonizing slow motion.

Leander Montclair walked into the ballroom.

He wore a bespoke black tuxedo that fit his broad shoulders and tall frame flawlessly. His hair was cut short and neatly styled, revealing his sharp jawline and straight nose. He looked commanding, striking, and entirely out of reach.

He wasn't the tired, passionate resident surgeon I remembered holding late at night in our tiny apartment five years ago. This was Dr. Leander Montclair—the ruthless heir and world-renowned surgeon who carried the entire weight of a medical empire on his shoulders.

I swallowed hard, my knuckles turning white around my glass. My mind screamed at me to step back, to hide behind the pillar, to vanish into the shadows. But my legs felt frozen to the polished marble floor.

"Dr. Montclair!" Dr. Harrison called out, waving a hand to get his attention. "Over here. I’d like you to meet our lead consultant from Apex."

Leander stopped mid-stride. He turned his head slowly toward us.

His dark eyes swept across the room and landed directly on me.

For a second, the bustling ballroom vanished. The chatter, the music, the clinking champagne glasses—everything dropped out into absolute silence.

I saw his eyes narrow just a fraction, a micro-expression of shock flickering across his handsome face before it disappeared behind a wall of cold, unyielding composure.

He adjusted his cuffs and walked toward us, his steps steady and calculated.

Every stride he took toward me felt like a physical weight pressing down on my chest. I forced my posture straight, digging my nails into the palm of my hand to keep my hands from shaking. I had spent five years mentally rehearsing this exact moment, building a fortress around my heart.

Now, that fortress was crumbling with every inch he closed between us.

"Dr. Montclair," Dr. Harrison smiled, oblivious to the suffocating tension hanging in the air. "This is Genevieve Winslow, the Senior Consultant who will be spearheading your hospital's operational overhaul."

Leander stood barely two feet away from me. Up close, I could smell the familiar, faint scent of cedarwood and faint mint that used to belong entirely to me. His expression was a smooth, impenetrable mask.

He didn't look shocked anymore. He didn't look hurt. He looked completely detached—like I was nothing more than a stranger standing in a room full of strangers.

"Miss Winslow," Leander spoke, his deep, baritone voice sending a sudden shiver straight down my spine.

It was the same voice that used to whisper sweet promises into my ear in the dark. Now, it was icy, formal, and devoid of any warmth.

"Dr. Montclair," I managed to say, keeping my voice level and professional. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

He extended his right hand.

I hesitated for a fraction of a second before lifting my hand to meet his. The moment my bare skin brushed against his warm palm, a sharp, electric jolt shot straight through my veins. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

His grip was firm and disciplined. He held my hand for one beat, two beats—just a second longer than a standard corporate greeting—before letting go.

His dark eyes held mine, searching my face with a quiet, lethal intensity beneath his calm exterior.

"I reviewed your firm's bid," Leander said, his voice smooth and entirely emotionless. "Impressive credentials, Miss Winslow. I expect nothing short of perfection for Montclair Medical Group."

"We will deliver the results your board expects, Dr. Montclair," I replied, maintaining eye contact despite the overwhelming urge to look away. "Our team is fully prepared for Monday."

"Good," Leander said simply, his gaze cold as ice. "I don't tolerate delays or unexpected departures on my projects."

The subtle jab hung heavy in the air between us.

Before I could say another word, an elderly board member tapped Leander on the shoulder, pulling his attention away.

"Excuse me, Dr. Montclair, the hospital donors are waiting for a brief word."

Leander offered a polite nod to the donor, then turned back to look at me one last time. He gave a slight, formal nod. "Enjoy the evening, Miss Winslow. We have a long road ahead of us."

Without waiting for my response, he turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing smoothly into the crowd of suit-wearing executives and wealthy investors.

I stood there alone by the pillar, my breath coming out in shallow, uneven gasps as the physical tension finally released its grip on my body.

I set my glass down on a nearby waiter's tray with a sharp clink, grabbed my clutch, and turned directly toward the exit doors.