Hospital Debauchery

Devon stood abruptly, his chair scraping softly against the rug, his body moving on instinct. His dark eyes drank her in, tracing the familiar lines of her face, the slight flush on her cheeks and the way her lips parted in a mix of surprise and something deeper.

Serena Voss descended the final steps like a vision from his past, her auburn hair shimmering under the chandelier's glow, her ivory sundress clinging to every curve with effortless allure. Devon's gaze swept over her slowly, appreciatively from the elegant arch of her neck, down the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, to the sway of her hips and the toned length of her legs.

She was a masterpiece, unchanged yet somehow more intoxicating, the years adding a layer of sophistication to the fire he remembered.

He stepped forward, closing the distance with a grace that belied the storm brewing inside him. Gently, almost reverently, he took her hand in his, his fingers warm and firm against her soft skin. He lifted it to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering peck to the back of her knuckles, his breath a whisper against her. "You look radiant, Serena," he murmured, his voice low and velvety, laced with a romantic intimacy that sent a shiver through the air. "Time's been kind, hell, it's been generous."

Serena's emerald eyes locked onto his, searching, probing as if peeling back layers to uncover truths hidden beneath his polished exterior. Her mother had painted a vivid picture of everything that transpired in the hospital gala to her.

Was it all true? Did he really go through all of that. Devon had always been very secretive even when they were together, it was only what he wanted to be known that was known. She studied him, her gaze sharp yet tinged with a reluctant pull, memories of their shared history flickering like embers. Finally, she offered a rough smile, tight, edged with skepticism rather than warmth before pulling her hand away. "Always the charmer," she said, her tone light but laced with an undercurrent of caution.

Without another word, she turned toward the dining room, her hips swaying with a natural rhythm that drew Devon's eyes inexorably to the curve of her ass, perfectly outlined by the dress's fabric. He watched, unapologetic, a predatory glint in his gaze.

Ethan couldn't hide his deepening frown, his fists clenching subtly at his sides. The sight of Devon's lingering stare, the easy intimacy between his girlfriend and her ex, ignited a spark of spiteful jealousy. He rose, his voice dripping with venom masked as casual commentary.

"Enjoy the view while it lasts, Devon," he muttered, low enough for only Devon to hear, a smug edge curling his lips. "That's your loss and my gain. She's with me now, and trust me, she's never looked back."

Devon turned his head slowly, his smirk sharpening into something almost pitying. "Is that so?" he replied, his voice a smooth drawl, but he let the words hang without further retort, his eyes flicking back to Serena's retreating form. The barb glanced off him like water on stone, but Ethan's satisfaction was short-lived.

From the dining room, Marianne voice cut through the tension like a well-honed blade. "Gentlemen, dinner's ready." She appeared in the arched doorway, a vision of poised elegance in a sleek black sheath dress that accentuated her streaked hair and sharp features. Her eyes were identical to Serena's. swept over the scene with knowing amusement, missing nothing.

The group converged on the dining table, a long mahogany expanse set with fine crystal goblets, and silverware that gleamed under the soft pendant lights. Candles flickered in ornate holders, casting warm shadows, while platters of roasted lamb, herbed potatoes, and a vibrant salad filled the air with savory aromas. Marianne took her seat at the head, Serena to her right, Ethan beside Serena, and Devon opposite, his position affording him a direct view of his ex. As the wine was poured, a rich Bordeaux from Marianne's cellar the conversation began innocently enough, but Ethan's insecurity simmered just below the surface.

"So, Devon," Marianne said, her voice warm but probing as she sliced into her lamb, "tell me about your latest triumphs. The gala was buzzing about your donation and also everybody getting to know about your past. How's the hospital treating you these days?"

Devon leaned back, swirling his wine with casual grace. "It's been intense, but rewarding. We're pushing boundaries in neurosurgery minimally invasive techniques that could change outcomes for spinal trauma. The team's solid, and—"

Before he could finish, Ethan interjected, his fork pausing mid-air as he flashed a broad, self-assured grin. "Sounds fascinating, but you know, in my line of work, we're all about precision too. As a lead consultant at Hale & Associates, I'm the go-to guy for high stakes mergers. Last week alone, I closed a deal that saved a Fortune 15 millions. They can't function without me literally beg me to stay on projects." His chest puffed slightly, his eyes darting to Devon, desperate to shift the spotlight.

Marianne nodded politely, but her gaze returned to Devon. "Impressive, Ethan. Now, Devon, your well-being beyond the operating rooms. Are you taking time for yourself? Life can't be all scalpels and spotlights."

Devon chuckled softly, his eyes meeting Serena's across the table, a spark passing between them. "I manage. A good balance keeps the edge sharp. Lately, I've been—"

Again, Ethan cut in, his voice rising a notch, laced with forced enthusiasm. "Balance is key, absolutely. That's why at my firm, I'm indispensable, they rely on my expertise for everything from risk assessment to international negotiations. Just yesterday, the CEO personally thanked me for turning around a sinking acquisition. Without me, it'd be chaos." He laughed, a bit too loudly, his hand reaching for Serena's under the table, a possessive gesture that didn't go unnoticed.

The pattern continued through the meal, Ethan praising his own accolades, name-dropping clients, boasting about his irreplaceable status, all while inserting himself like a wedge whenever the conversation veered toward Devon.

Serena's fork clinked against her plate with increasing frequency, her emerald eyes narrowing, the tension building like a storm cloud. Marianne watched with a subtle arch of her brow, amused but silent, while Devon remained unflappable, his responses measured, his smirk growing faintly entertained by Ethan's desperate bids for dominance.

Finally, as Ethan launched into yet another self-aggrandizing tale "And that's why they call me the closer, no one seals deals like I do"— Serena's patience snapped. She slammed her palm gently but firmly against the table, the silverware rattling softly, her face flushed with irritation.

"Enough," she said, her voice sharp, cutting through the air like a whip. She pushed back her chair and stood, her sundress swishing with the abrupt motion, her eyes flashing between Ethan and the room.

Ethan blinked, startled, and rose quickly, his chair scraping. "Serena, wait let me—"

"No," she snapped, her tone strict and unyielding, holding up a hand to stop him cold. "Don't follow me. I need a moment." Her words brooked no argument, and Ethan froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water before he sank back into his seat, deflated, his face reddening under the weight of humiliation.

The room fell silent, the candles flickering as if holding their breath. Then, with a deliberate calm, Devon set down his napkin and stood, his movements smooth and unhurried. "Excuse me," he said, his voice low and composed, nodding to Marianne before heading toward the kitchen, the swing door whispering shut behind him.

Serena had already vanished to the kitchen, but the air hummed with the promise of confrontation, the dinner's facade cracking under the strain of old flames and new rivalries.

Marianne sipped her wine, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Well," she murmured to Ethan, who stared at his plate in sullen silence, "that escalated quickly."