Chapter 1

I stabbed my fork into the last piece of chicken on my plate, savoring the rare moment of peace. Lunch breaks were a luxury these days, a small escape from the financial storm threatening to sink my clinic. Bills piled up faster than I could count, and every patient that walked through the doors was another battle between my medical ethics and the grim reality of debt.

I barely had time to chew before the doors to the cafeteria burst open.

"Dr. Kornnaphat! Emergency! You're the only one available!"

I shot up from my chair, my body moving before my mind could catch up. The urgency in the nurse's voice sent my heart hammering against my ribs. I wiped my hands on my coat and rushed after her, the half-eaten lunch forgotten.

The emergency department was in chaos. A woman lay on the stretcher, her white blouse soaked through with blood. Deep red seeped through her fingers as she clutched her side, her breathing ragged. The metallic scent of blood filled the air, but that wasn't what caught my attention—it was the people surrounding her.

Men in black suits stood rigid around the stretcher, their expressions unreadable, their presence suffocating. Bodyguards. Wealthy patient, then. That wasn't unusual.

But my concern was the woman in front of me, not the people looming over her. I stepped forward, ignoring the piercing gazes that followed my every move.

"What happened?" I asked, pulling on my gloves.

No one answered.

The woman on the stretcher lifted her head, her dark eyes meeting mine. Even through the pain, she held an intensity that made me pause. There was something about her—elegant, powerful, completely unfazed by the chaos around her.

"Gunshot," she finally said, her voice smooth despite the agony she must have been feeling.

My stomach twisted, but I forced my expression to remain neutral. Gunshot wounds weren't exactly common in my clinic. This wasn't a normal emergency case, but I had no time to dwell on it.

I turned to the nearest nurse. "Get me two units of O-negative, and prep the OR. We need to remove the bullet."

One of the bodyguards shifted, as if uncomfortable with my words. "No hospitals," he muttered.

I frowned. "This is a clinic. And if she wants to live, I need to operate."

I didn't have time for whatever strange tension was building in the room. My focus was her survival. I pressed down on the wound, feeling the warmth of fresh blood against my gloves.

"Save your strength," I told her firmly. "You're in my hands now."

She exhaled, her eyes never leaving mine, as if she were memorizing my face.

I pressed harder against the wound, feeling the sticky warmth of her blood seeping between my gloved fingers. Too much. She was losing too much. Her breathing was shallower now, her eyelids fluttering. I needed to keep her conscious.

"What's your name?" I asked, my voice steady despite the tension clawing at my chest.

Her dark eyes, sharp even through the haze of pain, flickered toward me. A slow smirk curled her lips—one that didn't belong to someone on the edge of unconsciousness.

"Lingling," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Lingling Kwong."

"Alright, Lingling. I need you to stay awake for me, okay?" I tightened my grip on the gauze pressed to her side, trying to slow the bleeding. "Keep talking. Do you know where you are?"

She let out a weak chuckle, wincing immediately after. "Some clinic... with a very bossy doctor."

I exhaled sharply, half a laugh, half exasperation. "Bossy? I prefer competent." I flicked my gaze to the nurse, who was rushing back with the blood bags. "We're giving you a transfusion now. Just hang on a little longer."

Lingling's eyes never left mine. "You always this commanding?"

"Only when someone's life is in my hands," I shot back.

One of the bodyguards shifted uneasily beside me, his eyes darting between Lingling and me. There was an energy in the air—something unspoken, something heavy. But I shoved it aside. Right now, all that mattered was keeping her alive.

Her breath hitched, her fingers twitching weakly against the sheet.

"Lingling," I said, firmer now. "Hey. Stay with me."

She blinked slowly, her smirk faltering. "You're really worried about me, huh?"

I met her gaze, my hands steady even as my heart pounded. "You're my patient. Of course I am."

Something unreadable passed through her expression, but I didn't have time to figure it out.

"Let's get her to the OR," I told the nurses, my voice sharp with urgency.

As they wheeled her away, I followed close behind, her blood still warm on my gloves. I didn't know who Lingling Kwong really was. I didn't know why her bodyguards watched me like I was playing a dangerous game.

All I knew was that I wasn't going to let her die.

—

The operating room was silent except for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor and the sound of my own steady breathing. My hands, gloved and steady, hovered over Lingling Kwong's unconscious body as the overhead lights bathed the table in a harsh white glow. The bullet wound in her abdomen was still oozing, but she was lucky—if you could call getting shot lucky. The bullet hadn't hit any major organs. If it had been just a few centimeters in another direction, this would be a very different kind of operation.

"Scalpel," I said, my voice cutting through the tension.

A nurse placed the instrument in my palm without hesitation. I made a careful incision around the wound, exposing the deeper layers of tissue. The blood loss had slowed thanks to the transfusion, but every second counted. Lingling's body was already weakened—she couldn't afford further complications.

"Suction."

Another nurse leaned in, clearing the pooling blood so I could see better. The bullet was lodged in the muscle tissue, just shy of her intestines. I let out a slow breath. This could have been much worse.

I reached for the forceps, gently probing around the wound. The bullet was still intact—no dangerous fragments to chase down. That was a relief. I adjusted my grip and carefully clamped onto the small piece of metal, my hands steady despite the weight of what I was doing.

"Retrieving the bullet now," I murmured, more to myself than anyone else.

With a slow, precise motion, I pulled. The resistance was there, the muscle unwilling to release the foreign object at first, but I knew better than to rush. A wrong move could cause unnecessary trauma. I felt it give way, and then-

The bullet slid free.

A tiny, blood-covered piece of metal, barely the size of a fingertip, but capable of ending a life. I placed it onto the tray with a soft clink before immediately shifting my focus back to the wound.

"Damage assessment?" one of the assisting nurses asked.

I studied the area, checking for any hidden tears or complications. "No organ damage. She's incredibly lucky."

I worked quickly, flushing the wound to prevent infection, then meticulously suturing the muscle layers together. Every stitch had to be perfect—rushed work could mean internal bleeding later, and I had no intention of letting that happen. Once the deeper layers were secured, I carefully closed the outer incision.

"Done."

I exhaled, my muscles aching from the tension, but my hands remained steady as I stripped off my gloves. Lingling was stable now. Her body had been through a shock, but she would recover.

I glanced at her face, peaceful despite everything. Something about her presence unsettled me, but I pushed the thought aside. She was just a patient. A woman who had been shot and needed my help.

And yet, I had the strangest feeling that saving her life had just entangled mine with hers in ways I couldn't yet understand.

I peeled off my surgical mask and let out a slow breath. The tension of the operation still clung to my shoulders, but at least she was stable now. Lingling Kwong would live.

I turned to the nurses. "Monitor her vitals closely. If there's any sign of infection or internal bleeding, I want to know immediately."

They nodded, moving efficiently to clean up, but I felt the weight of another presence in the room—one of the bodyguards. He stood just outside the operating area, watching me with an unreadable expression.

"She's going to be fine," I said, wiping my hands on a towel.

He gave a single, stiff nod, then stepped out without another word.

Weird.

....

I followed the nurses as they wheeled Lingling into recovery. The room was quiet, the dim lighting making the atmosphere calmer than the chaos of before. She looked different now—more vulnerable, less like the sharp, teasing woman from before. If I hadn't just pulled a bullet from her stomach, I never would've guessed she was the type to have armed bodyguards following her around.

I sighed, rubbing my temple. It didn't matter who she was. My job was done.

I turned to leave.

"Leaving so soon?"

Her voice, hoarse but still holding that strange amusement, stopped me in my tracks. I turned back to see Lingling watching me through half-lidded eyes, a ghost of a smirk on her lips.

"You're awake already?" I asked, crossing my arms. "I just pulled a bullet out of you. Maybe try resting?"

She let out a slow breath, shifting slightly. "Can't rest. Too much to do."

"Not anymore," I said firmly. "You're on strict bed rest for the next few days. I don't care how important your schedule is."

She chuckled, though the movement made her wince. "You're very commanding, doctor."

I rolled my eyes. "And you don't listen, patient."

Her smirk widened, but then her expression softened as she studied me. "You didn't ask any questions," she said after a moment.

"About what?"

She raised a brow. "About who I am. Why I was shot. Why my men are outside looking like they're about to kill someone."

I shrugged. "It wasn't relevant to the surgery."

Her lips parted slightly, as if she hadn't expected that answer.

"I treat whoever walks through my doors," I continued. "Doesn't matter if you're a businesswoman, a schoolteacher, or someone with armed bodyguards and bullet wounds. You needed help. I gave it."

For the first time, Lingling looked genuinely surprised. She studied me like I was a puzzle she didn't quite understand.

Then, something shifted in her gaze. "I owe you."

I scoffed. "You don't owe me anything. Just pay your medical bills and try not to get shot again."

Her smirk returned, but this time, there was something sharper behind it. "You don't know who I am, do you?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Should I?"

Before she could answer, the door to the room swung open. One of the bodyguards stepped in, his jaw tight.

"Miss Kwong," he said, ignoring me completely. "It's not safe here. We need to move you."

I shot him a glare. "She's not moving anywhere. She needs at least a few days to recover."

Lingling, however, just sighed. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm not dying, am I?" She looked at me, as if confirming.

"No," I admitted. "But that doesn't mean—"

"Good," she interrupted. Then, to the bodyguard, she said, "Tell them I'll stay here for now. It's safer than moving while I'm still weak."

I frowned. "Safer from what?"

The bodyguard hesitated, but Lingling answered for him.

"The people who tried to kill me."

My breath caught.

I glanced between her and the guard, realizing the weight of her words. This wasn't just some random mugging gone wrong. Someone had tried to assassinate her.

And now she was in my clinic.

Lingling must've seen the realization dawn on my face because she smirked again.

"Don't worry, Doctor," she said, her voice smooth despite her injuries. "As long as I'm here... no one will dare lay a finger on this place."

I wasn't sure if that was a promise or a threat.

I crossed my arms, leveling Lingling with a firm look. "You're not leaving this clinic for at least a week."

Lingling raised an eyebrow, looking amused despite her situation. "A whole week?"

"Yes," I said, unwavering. "You were shot. I don't care how strong you think you are—you're staying under medical supervision until I say otherwise."

She exhaled through her nose, almost like she was considering arguing. But then, to my surprise, she simply smiled. "Alright, Doctor Kornnaphat. I'll be good."

Somehow, I doubted that.

I turned away before she could throw another teasing remark my way. "Try to rest," I said over my shoulder as I exited the room.

Once outside, I let out a deep breath. The weight of everything that had just happened was starting to settle on me, but I couldn't afford to dwell on it now. I had other patients, other responsibilities.

I made my way to my office, but before I could reach it, I caught something through the large floor-to-ceiling windows at the end of the hallway.

Bodyguards.

Several of them stood outside the clinic's entrance, their dark suits making them stick out like shadows against the bright streetlights. Even from here, I could tell they weren't just for show. They were watching—waiting.

Lingling Kwong wasn't just some rich woman with bodyguards. She was important.

And dangerous.

I clenched my jaw, shaking the thought away as I grabbed my keys. I needed to go home, clear my head.

...

Outside, my black Mercedes gleamed under the clinic's fluorescent lights. I slid into the driver's seat, exhaling as I gripped the wheel. The moment I started the engine, my mind went where it always did these days—straight to the clinic's finances.

Debt.

It weighed on me like a second skin. The bills, the overdue payments, the constant struggle to keep the place running. Saving people was my passion, my life's work, but passion didn't pay rent.

My hands tightened on the wheel as I drove through the city streets. The neon lights and passing cars blurred around me, but my thoughts remained sharp.

How long could I keep this up?

I reached my apartment, stepping into the cozy warmth of my home. It was small but comfortable—plush couches, a cluttered bookshelf, soft lighting that made the place feel safe. I kicked off my shoes and collapsed onto the couch, sinking into the cushions.

But no matter how tired I was, my mind refused to quiet.

Lingling Kwong.

Who was she?

Her presence lingered in my thoughts. The way she looked at me, like I was someone worth remembering. The way she smirked through the pain, as if she had seen worse and survived.

And most of all—the fact that someone had tried to kill her.

Before I could stop myself, I grabbed my phone and dialed the one person I could always talk to.

Becky answered on the second ring. "Yes Ormita what's up?"

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "You are not going to believe the day I've had."

"Ohhh, this sounds good already. Spill."

I took a deep breath. "I just pulled a bullet out of a woman's stomach."

There was a pause.

Then—

"WHAT?!"

Becky's voice practically exploded through the phone.

"A bullet? Orm, what the hell? Who even gets shot around here? Was it a gang fight? A jealous spouse? A freaking assassin?!"

I rubbed my temples, exhaustion creeping in. "I don't know, Becky. But she had bodyguards. A whole damn security team. And they're still at my clinic, standing around like I just admitted a queen or something."

Becky gasped. "Oh my God. What if you did? What if she's some kind of crime boss?"

I exhaled sharply. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Is it, though?" she shot back. "She got shot—and instead of going to a big hospital, she showed up at your struggling clinic in the middle of the day? That's shady, Orm."

I frowned, gripping the phone tighter. "I don't know, Becky. She... she didn't feel like a criminal."

"Pfft. And what exactly does a criminal feel like?"

I hesitated. That was the problem. Lingling didn't seem like some ruthless, violent gang leader. She was calm. Amused, even. She smirked at me like we were having drinks at a bar, not like she was bleeding out on my operating table.

"She wasn't afraid," I admitted, staring up at my ceiling. "Even when she was losing hella amount of blood. She just... looked at me like she knew she'd survive."

Becky hummed thoughtfully. "That is kind of badass. Okay, give me the details. What does she look like? You know, for investigative purposes."

I rolled my eyes. "Becky—"

"Oh, come on. If we're about to get murdered by some mafia queen, I at least wanna know if she's hot."

I sighed. "She's... elegant. Sharp features. Dark eyes that feel like they can see right through you." My fingers drummed against the couch absentmindedly. "And she smirks like she's always one step ahead."

There was a beat of silence. Then—

"Oh my God," Becky practically squealed. "You have a mystery woman in your clinic. This is the start of a noir romance. I love this for you."

I groaned. "This is not a romance, Becky. She's my patient."

Becky snickered. "Mmhmm. And yet you're at home thinking about her instead of getting some much-needed sleep."

I opened my mouth to argue but... nothing came out.

Because she was right.

Lingling was still in my head. The way she smirked, the way she said my name, the way she looked at me like I was someone worth paying attention to.

I swallowed. "I'm just... trying to figure out who she is. And why she got shot."

Becky hummed again. "Well, you could just Google her."

I blinked.

I hadn't even thought about that.

I shot up from the couch, grabbing my laptop from the coffee table. With a few quick keystrokes, I typed in her name: Lingling Kwong.

The screen loaded for a moment before article after article flooded my screen.

And when I saw the headlines—my stomach dropped.

LINGLING KWONG—THE SHADOW QUEEN OF THE UNDERWORLD

FEARED MAFIA LEADER REPORTEDLY IN CONFLICT WITH RIVAL FACTIONS

THE MOST POWERFUL WOMAN IN THE CITY—AND THE MOST DANGEROUS

I stared at the screen, my pulse pounding in my ears.

Becky's voice was faint through the phone. "Orm? What did you find?"

I swallowed hard.

"I think... I think I just saved the life of a mafia leader."

Becky was silent for all of two seconds before she screamed into the phone.

"YOU WHAT?!"

I flinched, holding the phone away from my ear. "Becky—"

"A MAFIA LEADER?! You just pulled a bullet out of a fucking mafia leader? Orm, this isn't some random patient—this is a crime boss—a queenpin! Do you know what this means?"

I ran a hand through my hair, staring at the screen in disbelief. "I don't know, Becky. I just—I didn't even know who she was when I treated her. She was bleeding out. I didn't have time to Google her résumé."

Becky groaned. "Okay, okay. Let's think logically. Maybe she's not that dangerous. Maybe the media exaggerates things."

I quickly skimmed one of the articles.

'Feared by rival factions. Ruthless in negotiations. Responsible for the fall of two crime families. Untouchable.'

I swallowed. "Becky... I don't think they're exaggerating."

"Shit."

I shut my laptop with a sharp click and leaned back into the couch, my heart still hammering. This was bad.

No, worse than bad. This was insane.

I had a mafia leader in my clinic. I had just operated on her. Her people were stationed outside my hospital, guarding her like she was royalty.

And she had looked at me—really looked at me—like I was someone worth remembering.

I suddenly felt cold.

Becky's voice softened. "Orm... what if you're in danger?"

I closed my eyes, exhaling slowly. "I don't know. But I do know one thing."

"What?"

I opened my eyes, gripping the phone tighter.

"I just got involved in something way bigger than me."