On-screen, Lalin plays the perfect villainess—ruthless, gorgeous, and always in control. But in the sterile, freezing halls of the hospital, it’s Dr. Charin who holds all the power.
Dr. Charin doesn't care about fame, glamour, or Lalin’s multimillion-dollar brand. She cares about rules, logic, and medical precision.
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"Jacket off," Charin instructed, her tone leaving absolutely no room for argument.
"Let me see the arm."
"I told you, I'm fine. The wound is closed. I came here to tell you to cancel this ridiculous follow-up—"
Charin reached out. She didn't grab Lalin's arm. Instead, her knuckles lightly grazed the edge of the crimson blazer resting on Lalin’s shoulders. The touch was feather-light, barely registering as physical contact, but it sent an electric jolt straight across Lalin’s collarbone.
"The jacket, Khun Lalin." Charin's voice dropped half an octave. Her eyes locked onto Lalin’s, dark and unyielding.
"Or do you need me to help you take it off?"
The provocation hit its mark with flawless precision. Lalin’s lips parted in sheer disbelief. No one spoke to her like this. No one dared to look at her with such casual dominance.
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