Petra Hamilton's authority fills the narrow supply closet, where she commands Quinton Moreau to remain perfectly still. The broad-shouldered man obeys without a word. The crop waits on the wall and her silver pen stays tucked behind her ear, and neither of them mistakes this for medicine.

Every examination shifts into the strict discipline she demands with that crop. His quiet obedience offers the validation she needs most, yet the risk of losing her grip on both her clinic and her heart grows with every command she gives. How long can she keep issuing orders before his surrender makes her admit what she actually needs?