"Does it hurt here?"

"Mm... yeah."

"And here?"

"A little... yeah."

"Try to relax, don't tense up."

His hands were cool and slightly calloused, pressing down firmly but precisely over different spots.

Emily Miller felt like a fish laid out on a cutting board, just lying there all stiff, waiting to be picked apart.

Just when she thought the awkward torture might be over, the man looked up, his eyes calm and unreadable behind the rimless golden glasses.

"Take off your bra."

"...Sorry, what?"

Still sitting on the exam bed, she actually thought she'd misheard.

He wasn't fazed. "To check properly for hyperplasia or nodules, I need to do a clinical palpation. Can't get an accurate read through fabric. This is a hospital, and I'm a doctor."

Right. He's a doctor. Even if she stripped bare, he wouldn't bat an eye.

Emily repeated that over and over in her head, trying her best to convince herself.

Still, when her fingers reached back to unhook her bra, they couldn't help trembling a little.

With her eyes shut tightly, every second felt like forever.

"Looks like mild breast hyperplasia, probably from stress and irregular routines. Try to stay calm, get enough rest, and wear loose, comfortable bras—too much compression doesn't help."

Alex Carter withdrew his hand, his tone flat as he lowered his head to fill out the report.

"Also, keep your sex life moderate. Too much intensity can worsen the condition."

"O-Okay..."

Emily's cheeks were on fire, like she'd just stepped into a furnace.

She scrambled to get dressed—fingers fumbling and fumbling more—eager to flee this suffocating scene ASAP.

It wasn't until the sharp cold hit her outside the hospital doors that she realized… she'd left the report behind.

Great. Just perfect.

She hovered there for a moment, debating if she could bear going back, still shaken from the whole… ordeal.

Then came a voice from behind, calm and cool.

"Miss Miller."

She turned around, startled. Alex was walking toward her, casually holding a few sheets of paper in his hand.

"Your report."

He handed them over, just as she reached out to take it—

"Make way! Emergency incoming!"

Voices rose in chaos as a gurney sped their way.

Emily froze. The thing was coming in fast—too fast to stop.

"Watch out!"

Alex's arm came around her shoulders, firm and steady, pulling her close without hesitation.

Her forehead bumped into his chest—hard and warm beneath his shirt—and she could feel his muscle tightening as he shielded her. That distinct masculine scent, mixed with a faint hint of antiseptic, wrapped around her all of a sudden.

It felt like time just hit pause for a second.

Emily could literally hear her heartbeat pounding in her chest like a bass drum.

She couldn't tell if it was from the shock just now or from being that close to him.

"You alright?" came his calm, steady voice from above.

"Y-yeah! I'm fine, Dr. Carter. Thanks!" Emily jerked away from his arms like a startled rabbit.

Her cheeks were burning as she nervously took the paper from him, too flustered to even meet his eyes.

"Make sure you come back for the follow-ups," Alex reminded her, gave a slight nod once he saw she was okay, then turned around and hurried off toward the ER.

Watching him vanish down the hallway, Emily let out a long breath—only for her phone to start ringing at the worst possible moment.

Seeing "Mom" flashing on the screen, she hesitated for a few seconds before finally answering.

As soon as the call connected, her mom's anxious voice came through, "Emily, did the checkup go okay? Listen, Director Turner found you another one—great job, works for a state agency! I already sent you the location! Hurry up and go, okay? You're 25 already. If you don't act fast, all the good ones will be taken!"

Emily pressed her fingers to her temples, tired just hearing it.

Her parents had divorced when she was young, and it was her mom who had raised her alone.

She got it—her mom only wanted her to settle down with someone reliable. But forcing her to date like she was being auctioned off in a sale? Completely exhausting.

As much as she hated it, when she thought of her mom's hopeful face, all the refusal in her throat just faded.

"Got it. I'm heading over there now," she said.

Determined to get this "mission" over with, Emily decided to meet all four guys her mom had lined up before.

Three of them had similar schedules, so she arranged to meet them at nearby restaurants. The last one worked late and lived a bit further away, so they agreed on a café.

The first guy looked honest enough, thick glasses and all. But the moment he sat down, he pulled out a laptop.

"Ms. Miller, I'm only dating for the purpose of marriage, so we should be thorough first," he announced.

"Can you tell me your after-tax monthly income? Any five-year career plan or expected salary growth? How many kids are you planning to have?"

Emily lost her appetite instantly. The date was over in less than fifteen minutes.

The second guy? A gym instructor.

Showed up in a tight tank top like he just walked out of a workout video, and spent the entire meal hyping up his personal training packages."Miss Miller, you've got a nice frame, but your body fat percentage might be a bit high. Especially your hips and thighs—they could use some work. Want to try my training program? Three months and you'll see a brand-new you!"

Emily glanced down at her body, which she felt was pretty balanced, and quietly set her fork aside.

Her third blind date, a public servant her mom had introduced, seemed lost in his own little world.

"Miss Miller, what do you think the meaning of life is? Personally, I think we're like foam in this cup—brief and so fragile…"

Emily felt a headache creeping in. She politely cut him off, "Sorry, Mr. Zion, but I don't think we're a match."

After three back-to-back duds, Emily was mentally and physically drained.

She even started wondering if something was wrong with her—it couldn't just be bad luck, could it?

Dragging her tired self, she stepped into the café where she was supposed to meet her fourth blind date.

The place was quiet and classy—definitely a step up from the last three.

She followed the info her mom sent her and walked toward a window-side booth.

From a distance, she saw a man in a light gray sweater and casual pants.

His shoulders were broad, and even sitting down, his posture was upright.

Seemed like he had some style, at least.

Just as a sliver of hope peeked out in her heart, she walked over and tried to sound alive, "Hi, are you Mr. Carter…"

But as the man turned around and revealed that familiar sharp face, the rest of her words got stuck in her throat.

No. Freaking. Way.

Is this some kind of cosmic joke?

He literally checked her chest this morning and now he's her blind date?

While Emily was frozen in horror, Alex stayed cool as ever.

"Miss Miller, looks like fate really wants us to meet."

"Did you keep your exam paper safe? Fibrocystic changes are common, but it's still good to follow up regularly."

"Y–yeah, I've kept it," Emily muttered, keeping her eyes fixed on the glass in front of her, avoiding any eye contact like her life depended on it.

How on earth could he just bring that up like it was no big deal?

"Good." Alex nodded slightly and took a sip of his coffee.

"There's actually one more important bit of medical advice I forgot to mention earlier…"

Emily's heart skipped a beat, "What is it?"

With how serious he sounded, for a second she panicked—what if it wasn't a minor issue but something way worse?

Then he calmly dropped the bomb that nearly made her choke on her own spit.

"Lace lingerie's great when you want to spice things up, but for daily wear, comfy and supportive options are much better."

Emily: ???

All she did was wear some frilly lace she likes—why did it feel like a crime now?