Chapter 4
1562words
The leader had developed delayed bleeding in his abdominal cavity, and Eva and I were practically searching for a bleeding point smaller than a pinhead under a microscope.
By the time I finally found it and stopped the bleeding, daylight had broken.
I peeled off my blood-stained surgical gown and leaned against the wall, completely exhausted, only then noticing that Leo had been standing in the corridor outside the operating room all night.
"The surgery was successful," I said softly, looking at his tired yet relieved face.
Leo didn't say anything. He just walked over and held me tightly.
At that moment, we both understood—the success of this surgery had not only saved the leader's life but also Leo's military career.
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The Middle Eastern leader was discharged on a sunny afternoon, recovering at a speed that astonished everyone, as if those two life-and-death surgeries had been merely a thrilling dream.
He wore a crisp suit and appeared vigorous and energetic, with no sign he'd been at death's door just days before.
Surrounded by dozens of bodyguards, he personally came to the medical office and handed a jet-black card to each of us.
The card bore no unnecessary decorations, just an inconspicuous royal emblem embossed in the corner.
"This is a small token from our family," the leader said in heavily accented but sincere English, "to thank both of you for giving me a second life. This card has no spending limit and can be used anywhere in the world. Please accept it—it's an honor you deserve."
I was about to decline, but Leo had already graciously accepted it, even holding it up to the sunlight with an appreciative whistle.
"Thank you for your generosity, sir. I think we'll find many uses for it."
As he spoke, he winked at me with such a frivolous expression that I suspected he was already planning to buy a yacht or private jet.
Because of these two successful surgeries—especially that risky emergency rescue—the Pentagon's fury had miraculously subsided.
A letter of commendation replaced the summons to a military tribunal.
Leo was not only released from confinement early but restored to his original position, as if that dangerous armed standoff had never happened.
After the crisis, the atmosphere between us shifted subtly.
The intimacy that developed from fighting side by side grew like vines, lurking in every inadvertent glance and touch, giving the air a hint of sweetness.
Life at the base quickly returned to normal, but some things had indeed quietly changed. On the training ground, I spotted an unexpected figure.
That young troublemaker who'd once been apprehended by Leo on the streets of New York now wore a brand new training uniform, standing among a group of rookies. Though still somewhat thin, the ferocity in his eyes had been replaced by determination.
During a training break, he specifically ran up to Mark, raising his hand in a military salute that wasn't quite standard but extremely earnest.
"Sir! Thank you for getting me here!" his voice rang out, loud and sincere.
Mark just nodded coldly, expressionlessly dusted off his shoulder, and said, "Here, no one cares about your past, only your future. Do well, don't embarrass me."
After speaking, he turned and walked away. Watching his cold, rigid back, I suddenly remembered what Eva had told me about their history that began at West Point.
Back then, Mark wasn't "Hades" yet—just an outstanding student who'd earned his place at West Point from the slums through excellent grades and fierce determination. Taciturn, like granite.
Eva was the adored daughter of a general, the most dazzling presence at the academy. Reportedly, their first meeting was in the library, where Eva was working on a paper about special operations tactics, and Mark happened to be the expert on that subject.
She took the initiative to ask him for guidance but was coldly rejected. The unyielding Eva didn't give up. She tried every possible method, even publicly challenging him during a brutal obstacle course, betting that he would become her tactical advisor if she won.
In that competition, Eva gave her all, finally collapsing from exhaustion just before the finish line. Mark won, but as he watched her struggling to rise from the mud, he reached out his hand to her for the first time. From that day on, the cold stone began to slowly melt, enveloped by passionate flames. Their romance became common knowledge at the academy; Leo even joked with Mark about being captured by the Valkyrie. However, this relationship faced strong opposition from Eva's father from the very beginning. The class difference was an insurmountable chasm, and the general's contempt tormented Mark's pride, already hidden beneath his cold exterior. The more he loved, the more he suffered.
"Dr. Chloe, what are you thinking about?"
Leo's voice pulled my thoughts back from distant West Point to reality. Looking up, I found he had already sat down across from me with his food tray.
Dinner at the base cafeteria was as unremarkable as always—mashed potatoes, roasted chicken breast, and a vegetable salad of questionable color.
"Just thinking about the past." I speared a piece of chicken breast with my fork and answered casually.
"Thinking about me?" He leaned in closer, his blue eyes glinting mischievously under the cafeteria lights. "Maybe planning how to use that black card? We could go to Paris, or the Maldives—wherever you want."
"Captain Kane, we're currently in a war zone." I deliberately used his formal title, trying to bring the conversation back to a safe distance. "Besides, I don't think our relationship has reached the vacation-together stage."
My evasion didn't deter him. Instead, he put down his utensils, leaned forward, and fixed me with intense eyes. "Chloe, we've been through life and death together. I've defied military orders for you, and you've spent an entire night waiting outside my detention cell.
"If you think that's not enough, then tell me—what kind of relationship do we need before we can go on vacation together?" His voice wasn't loud, yet it carried undeniable pressure, each word like a pebble precisely thrown into the lake of my heart. I was left speechless, only able to awkwardly avert my gaze. I couldn't deny my attraction to him, that fatal aura mixing danger and raw magnetism, but I equally couldn't ignore the insecurity brought by his military identity. I was afraid of investing in a relationship destined for separation, and even more afraid of someday receiving that dreaded call from the military.
"I'll go see if they need help in the kitchen." I hastily stood up, practically fleeing.
The kitchen was filled with the aroma of food and clanging pots and pans, cooks busy at work. I found a corner to stand in, trying to calm my racing heart. Not long after, Leo followed me in, holding a cup.
He didn't speak, just leaned against the counter beside me, silently watching. An awkward silence spread between us. My mouth went dry, my gaze involuntarily falling on the cup in his hand. It contained a deep red liquid, shimmering like a gemstone under the light.
"What's that? Juice?" I licked my dry lips and asked.
He looked down at the cup, then raised his eyes, his lips curling into a meaningful smile. "Sort of. Grape juice. Want to try?"
At that moment, I was indeed extremely thirsty, and with my mind unsettled, I didn't think before taking it and gulping down a big mouthful. Rich wine aroma instantly exploded in my mouth, carrying sweetness and slightly astringent tannins,
sliding down my throat as heat rushed to my stomach. This wasn't juice at all, but red wine with considerable alcohol content!
"Cough! Leo!" I sputtered, my cheeks instantly warming as I glared at him with embarrassment and annoyance. He had set me up!
He took the glass from my hand, looking at my alcohol-flushed cheeks and misty eyes, his blue eyes turning deep and mysterious as the ocean.
"Sorry, I thought you knew," his voice lowered, carrying a bewitching magnetism. "But you look... more adorable than I imagined when you're tipsy."
As he spoke, he moved a step closer. The distance between us instantly shortened, close enough that I could clearly smell his masculine scent of gunpowder, sweat, and faint aftershave—that scent like an invisible net, trapping me firmly in place.
My heart was beating so fast it might jump out of my throat.
"The rest..." he swirled the glass with its remaining wine, his gaze locked on my lips, and asked in a hoarse voice, "May I finish it?"
This question was a clever trap, an ambiguous invitation. I knew he wasn't just asking about the wine. The surrounding noise faded away, the entire world reduced to just the two of us and those blue eyes that seemed capable of drawing me in.
I looked at him, my throat tight, unable to speak, but I knew my eyes had already betrayed my deepest, most genuine thoughts.
He smiled—a hunter's smile when prey falls into his trap, full of smug confidence. He didn't drink the remaining wine but casually placed the glass on the counter and leaned down.
His warm lips covered mine, carrying the rich aroma of wine and an irrefutable force, swallowing all my unspoken refusals and struggles completely.
