Chapter 5

olivia

I looked at the man in front of me. He wasn’t wearing a white coat this time, just a simple black T-shirt and a pair of jeans. My body was pressed close to his, and I could clearly feel the definition of his muscles beneath the fabric.

Up close, he was even more handsome—especially those deep blue eyes and his firm, square jaw. His hot breath brushed against my skin like fire, and I felt a sharp, unmistakable ache between my legs.

I swallowed.

Then suddenly, my phone rang.

The sound jolted me back to my senses. I immediately pushed him away.

“Mr. Morgan… thank you,” I said softly.

“Ms. Evans? You’re here?” Noah said in a low voice. Then something seemed to click in his mind, and he added quickly, “Are you here for the high school reunion?”

His tone sounded almost as if he wanted me to say yes.

My heart sank. Cold sweat seeped out across my back. I bit my lower lip as anxiety surged through me.

Did he recognize me?

No wonder this place had felt so familiar—this was where our high school reunions were usually held.

“A reunion?” I asked, forcing myself to sound clueless, though my voice trembled slightly.

“Yes, our high school reunion. Aren’t you here for that?” he pressed again.

I shook my head quickly. “No. I’m here for a company celebration,” I replied coldly.

“Are you sure?” he asked again, doubt still lacing his voice.

I felt irritation flare instantly—like just because I was a single mother, because I was struggling financially, I somehow didn’t even have the right to come out for a drink.

I’d lived in that kind of environment for too long. I was used to being judged. It made me react faster, sharper.

“Mr. Morgan,” my voice tightened as I deliberately lifted my chin, “if you’re trying to confirm whether I came to the wrong place, or whether you think I shouldn’t be here at all, rest assured—I’m not here to network, and I don’t need your permission.”

“I understand. There’s no need to be tense, ma’am,” he said, confused. “I was just asking. Why are you so upset?”

I bit my lip again.

Was I overreacting? Had he noticed something?

“If I offended you, I apologize,” his tone softened. “You just look… a bit familiar.”

“Mr. Morgan, we met three days ago,” I snapped.

Noah’s jaw loosened slightly, and he nodded. “That’s not what I meant. Don’t take it the wrong way. How is Hannah doing?”

I replied to Jessica’s message, paused for a moment, then typed back, Yes, Dr. Morgan. Thank you for your concern. I will make sure Hannah’s medical expenses are covered.

“That’s good,” Noah said, visibly relieved. Then he added, “If you need help, maybe I could—”

Damn it.

I was sick of that condescending, charitable tone of his. Why was he suddenly so invested in his patient?

“Dr. Morgan,” I said coldly, “don’t you think you’re crossing the boundaries of a doctor–patient relationship? Are you this attentive with all your patients?”

“What?” Noah said angrily. “No. Ms. Evans, are you always this sharp? It’s like I’ve done something to wrong you. I was just making conversation—”

That was enough to set me off. He had hurt me before—like a complete asshole.

I cut him off. “Dr. Morgan, you don’t need to worry. And I don’t need it. I have colleagues waiting for me. Have a pleasant evening.”

I walked away quickly.

For both Noah and me, the best choice was to remain strangers—to pass by each other without memory or longing.

In my hand, I was still holding a button that had fallen off his clothes when he caught me earlier. I’d meant to throw it away—but instead, I slipped it into my bag.

Whatever. It didn’t take up much space.

I headed toward the private room where my team was waiting. Everyone gathered around quickly. We chatted and sang. I drank some juice, then told Matthew I was heading out.

He nodded in understanding.

Later that night, after showering, I lay in bed, staring at the cufflink I’d picked up earlier.

I traced it lightly with my fingers.

“His taste hasn’t changed,” I murmured to myself.

I remembered—he had always worn clothes from this brand. Memories of secretly watching him came rushing back.

My phone rang, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Hi, Grandma,” I answered softly.

“Olivia, why did you send me money again?” my grandmother complained, though I could hear the worry beneath her words. “I stay at home all day. I have nowhere to spend it.”

I smiled. I knew she wasn’t asking for money because of Hannah—she knew I needed it.

“Then save it for me, Grandma,” I said calmly.

I’d planned to take Hannah back home before the school term started, but work had been overwhelming, and I hadn’t found the time. Maybe after Hannah’s surgery, once my finances stabilized, I could bring Grandma over for a few days—to spend time with Hannah.

We talked for a while, until her voice grew hesitant.

“Olivia… your uncle…” she said softly. “Even though he… he’s still your uncle. He came by earlier and asked about you.”

Her voice trailed off, as if she wanted to say more but ultimately didn’t.

My uncle.

I shook my head. I didn’t want Grandma worrying about any of that. I wouldn’t tell her those things.

My parents divorced when I was two. My mother left and never came back—even after her father, my grandfather, passed away. My father was a gambler. When he won, he took me out to eat. When he lost, he disappeared and left me with my grandparents.

They raised me.

They were the only family I truly acknowledged.

“Yes, Grandma. I understand,” I said gently.

We ended the call.

Even though we lived in the same city, I had never once considered contacting my uncle or aunt.

I took Hannah to the hospital for her weekly checkup and deliberately avoided Noah’s clinic hours. I’d checked his schedule at the front desk—he only saw patients on Tuesdays and Thursdays. So I made sure to bring Hannah in on Mondays or Wednesdays.

I knew that even then, I might still run into him. He worked at the hospital, after all.

But I would do everything I could to avoid—or at least minimize—contact.

“Dr. Morgan,” a nurse called out.

At the sound of his name, I nearly jumped out of my seat. My heart raced. As Noah walked past us toward his office, I gripped Hannah’s hand tightly. We were waiting outside Exam Room 6—right next to his.

“Mom, your hand is sweaty,” Hannah said, pulling her hand free.

I looked down at her. She was wiping her palm with a handkerchief.

I smiled at her.

Every time I saw Noah, I couldn’t help feeling tense—even though I knew he wouldn’t recognize me.

After Hannah’s appointment, we went to the reception desk and returned Noah’s cufflink.

That night, I went to check on Hannah. She was already asleep, clutching her favorite stuffed rabbit.

She looked so much like Noah—from her eyebrows, to her eyes, to the shape of her nose.

After tucking her in, I returned to my room and sat at the vanity, studying my reflection in the mirror.

A slim, well-proportioned figure. Fair, luminous skin. Long wavy hair cascading over my shoulders. High cheekbones, a defined jawline, and light brown eyes framed by thick brows. Naturally full lips, softly pink.

No one would ever guess that I was the overweight girl from seven years ago.