Hospital Debauchery

The deepening dusk draped Wexford Lane in a soft indigo glow its rays glinting off the polished windows of the grand duplex house that stood like a monument to Marianne Voss's wealth. The structure was a masterpiece of understated opulence cream walls rose two stories, punctuated by arched windows framed in dark, their panes reflecting the manicured gardens below.

A tiled roof, weathered to a soft terracotta glow, crowned the residence, while ivy clung delicately to the exterior, softening its grandeur. Devon stood at the doorstep, his posture relaxed yet commanding, the embodiment of effortless charisma. His tailored blue dress shirt hugged his broad shoulders and sculpted torso, the fabric a rich sapphire that deepened the intensity of his dark eyes. Black trousers, cut to perfection, accentuated his lean hips, and his polished black shoes gleamed like obsidian mirrors. His dark hair was artfully tousled, a single lock falling over his forehead, lending him an almost mythic allure godlike, untouchable, yet dangerously approachable.

He pressed the doorbell, the chime resonating through the house with a melodic insistence. Devon adjusted his cufflinks, a subtle gesture, Marianne had sent a message, inviting him for dinner.

The door swung open, a man in his late twenties with the polished look of someone trying to belong in this world of wealth. His blond hair was neatly tousled, his trimmed beard framing a face that might have been handsome if not for the scowl twisting it. Dressed in a gray polo and khakis, he carried himself with the stiff propriety of a gatekeeper, his hazel eyes narrowing as they landed on Devon. Despite Marianne been clear about tonight's guest, Ethan's expression betrayed his distaste, a flicker of loathing barely masked by a tight smile. "Who are you?" he said, his voice clipped, the forced civility as thin as a blade.

Devon's lips curled into a sneer, sharp and deliberate, his dark eyes glinting with a challenge he didn't bother to hide. "Is Marianne Voss around?" he asked, his tone smooth but edged with a cool arrogance that made it clear he wasn't here to play nice. The way he said her name so casual, sent a visible ripple of irritation across Ethan's face, his jaw clenching so tightly the muscles twitched.

Ethan's scowl deepened, his arms crossing over his chest as if to physically bar Devon's attitude from crossing the threshold. "You've got some nerve, tossing her name around like that" he snapped, his voice low but bristling with barely contained hostility. "Who do you think you are, showing up here like this?"

He paused, his eyes raking over Devon, taking in the flawless attire, the unshakable confidence. Recognition flickered, souring his expression further. "Wait, Devon Aldridge. Of course. You're exactly as insufferable as I was told." His lips twisted into a grimace, but he stepped aside, gesturing inward with a jerk of his head. "Come in. Marianne's expecting you."

Devon's sneer softened into a smirk, but he held his tongue, choosing silence over a barb that would've been too easy. He stepped inside, his shoes clicking against the polished marble foyer, the sound echoing in the space. He wasn't a stranger to this house, its grandeur was etched into his memory from past visits late-night arguments with Serena, stolen glances under Marianne's watchful eye, the air always thick with unspoken stakes.

The interior was a testament to Marianne's fortune, amassed through investments and inherited real estate empires from multiple spouses all over the years.

It was no wonder the daughter had daddy's issues.

The foyer opened into a sprawling living room where crystal chandeliers hung like frozen waterfalls, their prisms scattering light across walls adorned with the best of the best. Antique rugs softened the gleam of dark hardwood floors, their intricate patterns leading the eye to a massive stone fireplace, its mantel adorned with jade figurines and a single framed photo of Marianne and Serena, both smiling in a way that felt staged. Floor to ceiling windows framed a view of the garden beyond, where a marble fountain burbled amidst roses and manicured hedges, the water catching the fading sunlight. Vases of fresh orchids and lilies perfumed the air, their scent mingling with the faint polish of wealth that clung to everything.

Ethan closed the door with a deliberate thud, his eyes never leaving Devon, as if sizing up an adversary. "I'm Ethan Hale," he said, extending a hand with a stiffness that belied his attempt at courtesy. His grip was firm, almost aggressive, as he added, "Serena's boyfriend." The words were a quiet challenge, a line drawn in the sand, and his gaze lingered, searching for a crack in Devon's expression.

Devon met the handshake with equal force, his smirk unwavering as he took in Ethan's details the expensive patek philippe watch that screamed new money, the faint whiff of creed cologne that tried too hard. Serena's boyfriend. The phrase stirred a flicker of something in Devon's chest amusement, perhaps, or the ghost of possessiveness. Serena had been his once, after all, and the history between them wasn't easily erased.

"Good to meet you, Ethan," Devon said, his tone dripping with just enough mockery to sting without crossing into outright rudeness. He released the hand and moved toward the living room, his stride as confident as if he owned the place.

"Take a seat," Ethan said, his voice tight as he gestured to a plush velvet armchair in deep emerald. "Marianne and Serena will be down soon. Dinner's almost ready." He perched on the edge of a sapphire-hued sofa opposite, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, his posture radiating a barely concealed desire to assert dominance. He loathed Devon had from the moment Serena first mentioned her ex, the brilliant doctor whose shadow seemed to loom over every conversation. But Ethan was good at playing the part, his smile a practiced mask that didn't reach his eyes. "So, Devon," he began, his tone falsely genial, "you're the big shot surgeon. Serena's told me about your work. Saving lives, breaking records. What's the latest? Some groundbreaking procedure keeping you in the headlines?"

Devon leaned back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other with deliberate ease, his fingers drumming a slow rhythm on the armrest. He knew exactly what Ethan was doing, probing, fishing for leverage, trying to peel back the layers of the man who'd once held Serena's heart. Devon's smile was a masterclass in deflection, polite but impenetrable.

"Oh, just the usual grind," he said, his voice light, almost bored. His eyes flicked to a nearby sculpture a twisted bronze abstraction that screamed six figures feigning interest to dodge the bait.

Ethan's smile tightened, undeterred. "Come on, man, don't be modest. Serena says you're practically a legend. Must be something juicy some high-stakes case, maybe? Or is it all just routine for you now?" His tone was conversational, but his eyes were sharp, hunting for a slip, a glimpse into Devon's world that he could use to level the playing field.

Devon's chuckle was low, a velvet rumble that carried a hint of condescension. "Routine's a strong word. Let's just say I keep busy.." He met Ethan's gaze, his expression serene but edged with a warning.

Ethan leaned forward, ready to press further, his mouth opening for another question but a soft creak from the staircase cut him off.

Both men turned, the tension in the room shifting like a tide.

Serena appeared at the top of the stairs, descending with the grace of a queen, her auburn hair cascading over her shoulders in waves that caught the chandelier's light like molten copper. Her ivory sundress clung to her curves, the hem swaying just above her knees, elegant yet intimate, a reminder of the woman Devon had once known so well. Her emerald eyes mirrors of Marianne's locked onto him as she reached the midpoint, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them.