CHAPTER 39: WHEN MASKS FALL I

The glass door to Nadia office closed with a soft click, sealing Devon and Nadia in a world apart from the buzzing research department outside. The office was a striking blend of modern elegance and intellectual intensity, a reflection of the woman who commanded it.

Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated one wall, offering a panoramic view of the city skyline, where skyscrapers glinted like scalpels under the afternoon sun. The room was bathed in natural light, softened by sheer charcoal drapes that framed the windows like a whisper of shadow. A sleek desk anchored the space, its surface polished to a mirror sheen, cluttered only with a minimalist laptop, a single crystal paperweight shaped like a neuron, and a small vase of white orchids that added a touch of warmth to the otherwise austere aesthetic. Bookshelves lined the opposite wall, their dark wood groaning under the weight of medical journals, neuroscience texts, and a few leather-bound classics, interspersed with framed awards and a single photograph of Nadia with a younger woman, their arms around each other, smiling in a way that hinted at deep familiarity.

The air carried her signature jasmine and amber perfume, now mingling with the faint scent of leather and ink, creating an intoxicating atmosphere that felt both professional and intimately personal. A plush, deep-blue rug softened the hardwood floor, and two low-backed leather chairs sat across from the desk, one of which Devon now occupied.

Devon leaned back in the chair, his posture relaxed but commanding, his white coat draped over the armrest, revealing the tailored fit of his shirt and slacks, the fabric hugging his muscular frame. His piercing blue eyes locked onto Nadia, who sat across the desk, her voluptuous figure accentuated by the burgundy silk blouse that clung to her full breasts, the open buttons teasing a glimpse of creamy cleavage that caught the light. Her black hair shimmered as she tilted her head, her scarlet lips curving into a smile that was warm but tinged with something calculated, her emerald green eyes glinting with a mix of admiration and guarded intent.

The air between them crackled, a silent dance of power and unspoken desire, her curves and confident poise a match for his own magnetic presence.

Devon’s lips twitched into a faint, knowing smirk, his voice cutting through the quiet with deliberate precision. "Dr Nadia, let’s dispense with the pleasantries," he said, his tone low and edged with steel. "I know you’re close with Marianne Voss closer than most realize. So you can drop the fake smile. I know you don’t like me." His words landed like a scalpel’s incision, sharp and unyielding, his gaze never wavering as he watched her reaction.

Nadia’s smile faltered, her expression shifting in an instant, like a storm cloud eclipsing the sun. Her eyes narrowed, the warmth replaced by a cold, almost wild intensity, her lips pressing into a thin line that made her look both dangerous and captivating.

She leaned forward, her hands resting on the desk, her blouse tightening across her breasts, the motion drawing Devon’s eye for a fleeting moment before he refocused on her face. "Well, aren’t you direct,Devon?" she said, her voice dropping to a blunt, icy cadence, stripped of its earlier velvet charm.

"Fine, no pretense then. I admire your work, and this hospital is lucky to have you. But that’s where it ends. Marianne is my closest friend, and she’s told me everything, every vile detail of what you did to her daughter. Don’t think for a second that I’m charmed by your reputation or your... other attributes." Her gaze flicked briefly to his crotch, a pointed jab at the rumors swirling through the hospital, before snapping back to his eyes.

"I respect your mind, but I despise you just as much as she does."

Devon’s smirk didn’t waver, though a flicker of intrigue passed through his eyes. He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, his presence filling the room like a gathering storm. "I need a meeting with Marianne," he said, his voice calm but firm, carrying the weight of a man used to getting his way. "There’s something we need to—"

"No," Nadia cut him off, her voice like a whip, her frown deepening until it carved sharp lines into her flawless face. She stood abruptly, her stilettos clicking as she moved, her trousers hugging her rounded hips and sculpted ass with every step, the sway of her body a distracting counterpoint to her anger. "You don’t get to make demands about Marianne. Not after what you’ve done. She wants nothing to do with you, and neither do I, beyond what’s necessary for this hospital." Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her chest rising and falling with barely restrained fury, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of something else, perhaps curiosity, perhaps a grudging respect for his audacity.

She turned toward a filing cabinet behind her desk, her movements sharp but graceful, intent on redirecting the conversation. "Since you’re here, though, I could use your input on something else," she said, her tone still clipped but softening slightly, as if retreating to safer ground. "I’m working on a research project, neural interface optimization for prosthetic control and your expertise could clarify some roadblocks."

Nadia reached for a file on the top shelf, her blouse riding up slightly to reveal a sliver of smooth, toned midriff, her curves accentuated as she stretched upward. Her fingers grazed the file, but as she pulled it free, the cabinet wobbled, a stack of heavy binders teetering precariously above her.

Before Devon could react, the binders slipped, tumbling toward her. Nadia twisted to dodge, but her heel caught on the edge of the rug, throwing her off balance. She stumbled, her body lurching forward, and the file flew from her hand, papers scattering across the floor like fallen leaves. Her shoulder wedged against the cabinet, pinning her awkwardly, her blouse pulling taut across her breasts, the fabric straining as she struggled to free herself. "Damn it," she hissed, her voice a mix of frustration and embarrassment, her silver hair falling into her face as she tugged at her trapped arm, her curves pressed against the cabinet in a way that made Devon’s pulse quicken, the sight both unintendedly provocative and undeniably arousing.

"Need a hand, Nadia?" Devon asked, his voice low and laced with a teasing edge.