The morning had begun like any other. Ian had rushed out of his small, yet cozy apartment, a half-eaten bagel in one hand, and his phone in the other, glancing at the time with a slight frown. He was running late—again. Being a doctor at one of the busiest hospitals in the city was no easy feat, but Ian thrived on the fast pace and the adrenaline rush that came with saving lives.

 His phone buzzed in his hand, the screen lighting up with a notification. A new message from the hospital. He unlocked it with a swipe of his thumb, expecting another patient update or perhaps a scheduling change. But instead, it was an emergency directive. The address attached was unfamiliar, and a sense of unease crept up his spine as he read it over twice. The message was curt, almost cryptic: *Emergency. Immediate response required. Patient in critical condition.* The address was in a part of town Ian knew only by reputation—a place where the wealthy and powerful resided, and where danger was as common as luxury.

 Without hesitating, Ian pocketed his phone, flagged down a cab, and gave the driver the address. As the car sped through the city's bustling streets, Ian’s mind raced. Who could this patient be? And why the secrecy? His unease grew with each passing minute, but his professional instincts overrode his nerves. This was his job—saving lives, no matter the circumstances.

 When the cab pulled up to the address, Ian’s breath caught in his throat. The mansion before him was grand, almost intimidatingly so, with tall iron gates that opened as his cab approached, as if expecting him. The sprawling estate was guarded by several men, all dressed in black, their postures rigid, hands resting on the firearms strapped to their sides. Ian had treated his share of high-profile patients, but this was different. There was an air of danger here, something almost palpable.

 He stepped out of the cab, smoothing his scrubs as he approached the entrance. One of the guards, a tall, muscular man with a stern expression, stepped forward.

 "Doctor Ian?" the guard asked, his voice gruff.

 Ian nodded, his professional demeanor masking the growing anxiety within him. "Yes. I was sent by the hospital."

 The guard merely grunted and motioned for him to follow. As they walked through the mansion’s luxurious hallways, Ian couldn’t help but notice the opulence around him—crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and expensive artwork that lined the walls. Yet, despite the beauty, there was an underlying tension in the air, something dark and foreboding.

 They reached a set of heavy oak doors, and the guard knocked once before pushing them open. Inside was a large room, dimly lit, with the faint smell of blood hanging in the air. Ian’s eyes were immediately drawn to the man standing by the window, his back turned to them. Even in the low light, Ian could see the man’s broad shoulders, the way his tailored suit clung to his frame, exuding an aura of power and control.

 "Doctor," the man said without turning around, his voice deep and commanding. "This way."

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 Ian felt a strange pull in his chest, an unbidden attraction that caught him off guard. The man—whoever he was—radiated an undeniable magnetism. Ian couldn’t help but notice the way his heart skipped a beat, the way his breath hitched slightly as he followed the man’s lead. But he quickly shook off the thoughts, focusing on the task at hand.

 The man led Ian to a bed where another man lay, groaning in pain, blood soaking through the makeshift bandages around his abdomen. Ian’s medical instincts kicked in immediately as he assessed the situation. The patient had been shot, and the wound was severe—if he didn’t act quickly, the man would bleed out.

 "He needs immediate surgery," Ian said, his voice calm despite the urgency. "If I don’t stop the bleeding now, he’ll die."

 The man by the window finally turned to face Ian, and for a moment, Ian forgot how to breathe. The man was stunning—tall, with chiseled features, dark hair that fell just above his sharp eyes, and a presence that seemed to fill the entire room. Ian felt a surge of desire, unexpected and intense, but he pushed it down, focusing on his patient.

 "Do what you must," the man said, his eyes locking onto Ian's. There was something dangerous in that gaze, something that sent a shiver down Ian’s spine. But he had no time to dwell on it.

 For the next hour, Ian worked with precision, stitching the wound, stopping the bleeding, and doing everything in his power to stabilize the patient. He could feel the man’s eyes on him the entire time, a silent, watchful presence that added to the tension in the room. Despite the situation, Ian’s hands were steady, his focus unwavering. This was his element, where nothing else mattered but saving the life before him.

 When he finally finished, Ian let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. The patient was stable, for now, but he would need further medical care—care that Ian knew couldn’t be provided in this mansion.

 "He needs to be transferred to a hospital," Ian said, looking up at the man who had been watching him so intently. "His condition is stable, but he’s not out of the woods yet."

 The man stepped closer, and Ian’s heart raced for reasons that had nothing to do with fear. "That won’t be necessary," the man replied coolly. "One of my men will escort you out."

 Ian frowned, a spark of irritation flaring within him. After all he had just done, the least he expected was some form of gratitude, but this man—this arrogant, mysterious man—dismissed him without so much as a thank you. It grated on Ian’s nerves.

 "Right," Ian muttered, trying to keep his annoyance in check. He gathered his things, casting one last glance at the patient before turning to leave. The man’s cold demeanor rubbed him the wrong way, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly off about this whole situation.

 As he stepped out into the hallway, the sound of gunfire suddenly erupted from somewhere in the mansion. Ian froze, his heart pounding in his chest. Panic surged through him, and without thinking, he started running, his only thought to get out of there, to escape whatever chaos had just erupted.

 But in his haste, Ian found himself disoriented, the twisting hallways of the mansion confusing him. He turned a corner, only to find himself back in the room where he had treated the patient. To his horror, the man he had just saved was now lying motionless, a pool of blood spreading across the floor. 

 Ian’s breath caught in his throat, his mind racing. What had happened? Who had killed the man he had just fought so hard to save? He backed away, fear gripping him as he realized he needed to get out—now.

 In his frantic search for an exit, Ian stumbled through the mansion, his footsteps echoing in the eerily silent hallways. The gunshots had ceased, but the sense of danger was stronger than ever. Just as he thought he might have found a way out, he collided with something—or someone—solid.

 Ian gasped, spinning around to find himself face-to-face with the man from before. The man’s dark eyes bored into his, and Ian’s blood ran cold as he felt the man’s chest press against his back. 

 "You weren’t supposed to see that," the man said, his voice low, almost a whisper, but laced with menace.

 Ian’s heart pounded in his chest, fear and confusion warring within him. He was trapped, and he knew it. But beneath the fear, that strange, inexplicable attraction still lingered, making his situation all the more terrifying.

 "I—I won’t say anything," Ian stammered, his voice trembling. "Please, I won’t tell anyone what I saw. Just let me go."

 The man’s lips curled into a small, cruel smile, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against Ian’s ear. "It’s a shame," he murmured, his tone almost regretful. "I really hate to kill such a pretty face."

 Ian’s breath hitched, his entire body trembling. "Please," he pleaded, desperation creeping into his voice. "I swear, I won’t say a word. Just let me go, and you’ll never see me again."

 There was a long, tense silence, the weight of the man’s gaze heavy on Ian. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, each beat a reminder of how close he was to death.

 Finally, the man stepped back, giving Ian a little space, though the threat in his eyes remained. "We’ll see about that," he said, his voice cold. "For now, you’re coming with me."

 Ian swallowed hard, his relief at being spared tempered by the fear of what would come next. As the man turned and motioned for him to follow, Ian had no choice but to obey, his mind racing with thoughts of escape, even as he struggled to keep his terror at bay.