CHAPTER 46: REPORT

The ophthalmology suite at Blissville Hospital was a stark contrast to the frenetic energy of the neurosurgical theater, its walls lined with sleek, high-tech equipment and charts of Snellen letters glowing softly under diffused lighting.

Devon was in the center of the room, His dark eyes, sharp as the scalpels he wielded, were softened today, exuding a warmth tailored for the VIP patient seated before him, a tech mogul named Victor Grayson, whose wealth commanded priority but whose failing vision demanded Devon’s singular genius.

Grayson, a wiry man in his late fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and a tailored suit that screamed money, shifted in the exam chair, his fingers tapping nervously on the armrest. "Dr, I’m told you’re the best. My eyes, things are blurry, especially at night. Halos around lights. It’s interfering with my work. I can’t afford to lose my edge."

Devon flashed a reassuring smile, his charisma a polished weapon. "Mr. Grayson, you’re in the right hands. Let’s get a clear picture of what’s going on." He adjusted the slit lamp, its beam slicing through the dimness like a lighthouse. "Chin on the rest, forehead against the band. Look at the light and follow my instructions."

Grayson complied, his eyes darting to Devon’s steady hands as they maneuvered the equipment. Devon’s expertise extended beyond neurosurgery, his understanding of neuro-ophthalmology was unmatched, a rare blend of precision and intuition. He conducted the visual acuity test first, holding up a Snellen chart projected on the far wall. "Read the smallest line you can."

Grayson squinted. "E... F... P... T? It’s fuzzy after that."

Devon nodded, jotting a note on his tablet. "20/40 in the right, 20/50 in the left. Not terrible, but we’ll dig deeper." He swung the slit lamp into position, its beam narrowing to a thin, brilliant line. "Look at my ear, left, then right." The light illuminated Grayson’s corneas, revealing a subtle cloudiness. Devon’s brow furrowed slightly, his mind racing through differentials: cataracts, corneal dystrophy, or something neurological tying back to his expertise.

"Pupil response," he murmured, flicking a penlight across Grayson’s eyes. The pupils constricted evenly, a good sign, no optic nerve damage. He moved to the fundoscopic exam, peering through the ophthalmoscope at the retina’s delicate landscape, blood vessels, optic disc, macula. "No hemorrhages or swelling. Macula looks intact, but there’s some lens opacity. Early cataracts, likely, but we’ll confirm with a full workup."

Grayson’s voice tightened. "Cataracts? At my age? I’m not ready for surgery."

Devon leaned back, his smile calm but authoritative. "Relax, Mr. Grayson. It’s early-stage. We’ll start with a prescription for anti-glare glasses and corticosteroid drops to manage any inflammation. If it progresses, we’ll discuss surgery, minimally invasive, high success rate. You’ll be back to closing deals in no time."

He scribbled a prescription, his handwriting precise, and handed it to Grayson with a nod. "Wear these glasses at night, use the drops twice daily, and come back in six weeks. My team will schedule a corneal topography to rule out other issues. You’re in good hands."

Grayson exhaled, visibly relieved. "You’re as good as they say, Doctor. Thank you."

Devon’s grin widened, a flash of charm that could disarm a boardroom. "Just doing my job, Mr. Grayson." He escorted the patient out, the suite’s door clicking shut behind them, leaving Devon alone in the quiet hum of the room.

Back in his office, a sleek corner space with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city’s glittering skyline, Devon sank into his leather chair, the weight of the day settling into his bones.

The office was a study in controlled chaos, medical journals stacked on a mahogany desk, a 3D brain model perched beside a coffee mug, and a cutting-edge VR headset resting on a shelf. He reached for the headset, his fingers brushing its smooth surface.

He was about to slip it on when a sharp knock broke the silence. Frowning, he set the headset down and called, "Come in."

The door swung open, revealing the scrub nurse who’d stood at his side in countless surgeries. Her hair was tucked under a cap, her scrubs slightly rumpled from a long shift, but her eyes sparkled with a mix of awe and purpose. She closed the door behind her, her movements deliberate, and Devon leaned back, his frown deepening.

"You’re up late," he said, his voice smooth but wary, his dark eyes locking onto hers. "What’s on your mind?"

She crossed the room, her sneakers silent on the polished floor, and stopped in front of his desk, her gaze lingering on his face, those chiseled features, the jawline that could cut glass, the effortless charisma that made her pulse quicken even now. "Devon," she began, her voice low, "I overheard something tonight. Something big. People are plotting against you, serious stuff. They’re coming for your career."

Devon’s frown deepened, his fingers tapping the desk. "Plotting? That’s a strong word. Who’s ’they,’ and what exactly did you hear?" His tone was calm, but his eyes were steel, probing for truth.

She shifted, her hands fidgeting, but her gaze held steady. "I’ll tell you everything, names, details, all of it. But first, you need to do something for me."

His brow arched, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. "You’re bargaining with me? Now?" He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a dangerous murmur. "In case you don’t know me better, it’s either you spill it, or walk out."

She flinched but didn’t back down, her boldness fueled by years of familiarity. "Please, Let me help you, but I need something in return. It’s not much."

Devon’s jaw tightened, his patience thinning. "Get out," he said, pointing to the door. "Don’t waste my time."

She stepped closer, her voice softening, almost pleading. "I’m not playing, Devon. I swear. Just hear me out." Her eyes glistened, and she took a breath, plunging forward. "It was Helena and Sophie, in the breakroom. They’ve got files stolen from your office. Bank records, invoices, some ledger tying you to a fake company. They’re saying it’s money laundering, wire fraud, millions funneled offshore. They’ve sent it to the Federal Healthcare Compliance Agency, some agent named Vaughn. They’re building a case to put you in jail."

The words hit like a shockwave, but Devon’s face remained unreadable, his fingers stilling on the desk. Then, to her astonishment, he burst into laughter, a rich, rolling sound that filled the room, his head tipping back as if she’d told a grand joke. "Helena and Sophie? Those two?" He wiped a mock tear from his eye, his grin sharp. "What, they think they can take me down with some paperwork? Oh, that’s rich. They’re playing detective in their spare time?"

She blinked, thrown by his reaction. "Devon, this isn’t a joke. They’ve got evidence, encrypted files, transfers to an island. The FHCA’s involved. They’re serious."

He leaned back, still chuckling, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Serious? They’re out of their league. But I’m curious, what do you want out of this?"

Her face lit up, a flush of excitement breaking through her nerves. "A promotion, Devon. Clinical Nurse II, preferably in the surgical unit. I’ve earned it. years of busting my ass in the hospital. You’ve got pull with the board. You can Make it happen."

Devon’s grin turned teasing, his gaze raking over her with familiar heat. "A promotion, huh? Ambitious. You sure you’re not just here for another round of our... extracurriculars?" He leaned forward, his voice a low purr. "You were always good at those."

She laughed, a nervous edge to it, but her eyes sparkled. "Don’t tempt me, Devon. This is business. Do we have a deal?"

He studied her, his smile softening. "Alright, Clinical Nurse II. I’ll make a call tomorrow. But you’d better be ready to earn it in the OR, not just on your knees."

Her grin widened, a burst of joy breaking through as she clapped her hands, practically bouncing. "Deal! Oh, Devon, you won’t regret this!" Her excitement was infectious, her body vibrating with triumph as she stepped around the desk, her movements bold and familiar.

Before he could react, she dropped to her knees in front of him, her hands reaching for his belt with practiced ease. "A little thank you," she murmured, her voice husky, her eyes locking onto his as she unzipped his pants. Devon’s breath hitched, his amusement giving way to heat as she took his cock into her mouth, her lips warm and eager. The office faded, the city lights beyond the window a distant blur as she worked on his cock. He groaned, his hand tangling in her hair, guiding her rhythm as pleasure coiled tight.