Hospital Debauchery

Devon pushed open the heavy oak door to his office, the faint creak of the hinges slicing through the sterile hum of Blissville Hospital's surgical wing, a sound that seemed to echo the tension.

The air carried a faint whiff of leather from his executive chair, mingling with the sharp tang of antiseptic that clung to everything, a reminder of the hospital's relentless pulse. His eyes landed immediately on Marianne Voss, seated rigidly in the guest chair across from his desk, her posture as unyielding as the steel in her gray eyes.

Her tailored navy blazer and pencil skirt screamed power, the kind that could silence boardrooms or sway city elites, but her face oh, her face was a storm of pure, unfiltered hatred, lips pressed into a thin line, jaw clenched so tightly it could've cracked stone.

If looks could kill, Devon would've been dead a dozen times over, his body riddled with the daggers of her glare, each one sharper than the last.

He flashed her his trademark smile, all charm and defiance, as he closed the door behind him with a soft click, the sound barely audible over the distant beep of monitors from the corridor. "Marianne, to what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked, his voice smooth as silk, dripping with a confidence that only stoked the fire in her eyes, his gaze meeting her glare head-on, unflinching.

She shot to her feet, her hand slamming down on his desk with a crack that echoed like a gunshot in the quiet office, her manicured finger pointing at him like a loaded pistol, trembling with rage. "How could you do that, you bastard?" she yelled, her voice a raw, quivering blade, her hair catching the sunlight like a halo gone rogue, framing her face in a blaze of fury. "

After everything you put Serena through, breaking her heart, leaving her in pieces years ago, you had the audacity to sleep with her? She's engaged, Devon! Weeks from her wedding, and you drag her back into your cesspool of chaos!"

Devon sauntered toward the leather chair opposite her, his movements deliberate, unruffled, as if her outburst was just a gust of wind he could brush off. He sank into the seat, legs crossed casually, his eyes locked on hers, that infuriating smile still playing on his lips, a glint of amusement dancing in his gaze. "Marianne, please, sit down," he said, his tone calm but laced with a strange, almost hypnotic authority, as if he could bend the room to his will with a word.

As if caught in a spell, Marianne's knees buckled, and she sank back into her chair, her eyes still blazing like twin furnaces, but her body betraying her fury. She leaned forward, hands gripping the armrests so tightly her knuckles whitened, her breath hitching with barely contained anger as she waited for him to speak, her silver hair falling slightly askew, a rare crack in her polished veneer.

Devon tilted his head, his smile turning playful, though his eyes gleamed with a dangerous edge, the sunlight catching the sharp angles of his jaw. "You say I slept with her, but let me ask you something, do you even know which room it happened in?" He paused, watching her face twist in confusion, her mouth opening to respond before he cut her off with a raised hand.

"The guest room, Marianne. You're so quick to say I had sex with Serena, but what if she was the one who came onto me? How do you know I wasn't just… an unwilling participant, swept up in her charms?" His voice was teasing, almost mocking, each word a calculated jab to throw her off balance, his smile widening as he saw her flinch.

Marianne's mouth fell open, her silver hair falling across her forehead as she rubbed a hand through it in disbelief, her gray eyes wide with shock and outrage.

The sheer shamelessness of his words hit her like a physical blow, leaving her momentarily speechless, her mind reeling at the audacity of his implication. How dare he suggest Serena initiated it? she thought, her heart pounding, her face flushing with a mix of fury and incredulity. What the hell does he mean, 'she had sex with him'? Is he seriously trying to play the victim, acting like my daughter seduced him? "You son of a bitch!" she spat, her voice quivering with a mix of rage and disbelief, her hands clenching into fists on the desk, nails digging into her palms.

Devon leaned back, his grin widening, utterly unfazed, his posture relaxed as if they were discussing the weather. "If you think 'son of a bitch' is an insult, you're dead wrong, Marianne. My mother? Total bitch. I'm very certain she knows how I feel about her ." His tone was light, almost comedic, but the glint in his eyes was pure defiance, daring her to keep swinging, his watch catching the light as he gestured casually, a diamond flash that seemed to mock her.

Marianne's face flushed a deeper red, her breath coming in sharp gasps as she struggled to contain her fury. "You're disgusting, Devon," she snapped, her voice rising again, trembling with emotion. "You think you can just charm your way out of this with your smug little quips? You slept with my daughter, my engaged daughter and now you're sitting there acting like it's a damn joke!"

He shrugged, his smile infuriatingly calm, his hands resting lightly on his knees. "Disgusting? Maybe. But let's not pretend Serena's some innocent lamb lost in the woods. She knew exactly what she was doing when she slipped into that guest room, Marianne. Takes two to tango, and I'm a damn good dancer." He winked, the audacity of it making her jaw drop further, her breath hitching as she fought to find words, her mind a whirlwind of rage and frustration.

"You're impossible!" she hissed, her voice cracking, her hands slamming the desk again, the sound sharper, echoing off the glass windows. "You think you can deflect with your crude humor? You've ruined her life once before, and now you're doing it again, dragging her into your chaos right before her wedding!"

Devon's eyes narrowed slightly, but his smile didn't waver, a wicked gleam dancing in his hazel gaze as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, closing the distance between them across the polished desk.

"Serena's a grown woman, makes her own choices. If she wanted to revisit old times with me, that's on her, not me. Besides, I didn't hear her complaining in the moment, quite the opposite, actually. Sounded like she was having the time of her life." His lips curled into a smirk, his tone dripping with insinuation, the kind that could make a saint blush.

Marianne's face contorted with a mix of horror and fury, her gray eyes blazing like storm clouds ready to unleash lightning. Her thoughts raced, a maelstrom of indignation swirling in her mind. How can he sit there, so smug, after what he just did.

The audacity of his words, the casual way he twisted the blame onto her daughter, made her blood boil. She wanted to scream, to tear into him with the full force of her rage, but his relentless deflections kept her off balance, each quip a calculated move to keep her scrambling. Her hands gripped the armrests of her chair, knuckles whitening, as she leaned forward, her voice low and venomous, a growl that carried the weight of years of resentment. "You're a predator, Devon," she spat, her eyes boring into his.

"A manipulative predator who destroys everything he touches. I forgave you after that gala speech, thought maybe I'd misjudged you, thought there was something redeemable beneath all that arrogance. But this? Sleeping with my engaged daughter? This is unforgivable, and you know it!"

Devon chuckled, his gaze locking onto hers with a mix of amusement and menace, his smile daring her to keep swinging. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, "Predator? Ouch, Marianne, that's harsh," he said, his tone teasing, almost playful, but with a bite that cut deep.

"I prefer 'opportunist.' Sounds sexier, don't you think? And let's be real, if I'm so terrible, why did you invite me to your fancy place in the first place? Hoping to keep me close, maybe? Keep an eye on the devil you know? Or was it something else, maybe a little thrill, knowing I'm the kind of trouble you can't resist?" His voice was a silky challenge, turning her accusation back on her, his smile widening as he watched her face twist with outrage, her breath hitching in her throat.

Marianne's hands trembled, "You're delusional if you think I wanted anything to do with you beyond civility!" she snapped, her voice rising, cracking with the weight of her fury. "I invited you to my home to make peace, to move past our history for Serena's sake, and you repay me by seducing her? Dragging her back into your toxic orbit? You're not just trouble, Devon, you're a walking catastrophe!"

He tilted his head, his grin unfazed, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous mischief as he stood to match her, leaning casually against the edge of his desk, his posture relaxed but predatory, like a panther sizing up its prey. "A catastrophe? That's a new one," he said, his voice dripping with mock admiration.

The image of her daughter, radiant in her engagement photos, now tainted by Devon's crude insinuations, made her stomach churn. He's twisting everything, making it sound like she wanted this, like he's blameless. "You're despicable," she hissed, her voice low and trembling, stepping closer to the desk, her hands shaking as she pointed at him again. "You think you can spin this with your clever little quips, make it sound like Serena threw herself at you? She's engaged, Devon! She's building a future, and you're hell-bent on burning it down!"

Devon's smile didn't falter, but his eyes darkened, a flicker of something colder passing through them as he straightened, his voice dropping to a low, almost intimate murmur. "Burning it down? Nah, Marianne, I'm just adding a little heat. And let's not kid ourselves, she wanted a taste of something real, something alive. And me? I'm happy to oblige."

He paused, his grin turning wicked again as he added, "Besides, if I'm such a monster, why's she still calling me?"

Before Marianne could respond, Devon's phone screen light up with a number and it was Serena. His smile turned sly, almost triumphant, as he picked it up, his eyes never leaving Marianne's, who sat frozen, her face a mask of rage, her hands clenched so tightly her knuckles were white. He answered, his voice smooth as velvet. "Hey, Serena."

Her voice came through, rushed and breathless, loud enough for Marianne to hear in the quiet office. "Devon, my mom's probably at your office. I know she found out about us. Please don't say anything until I get there, I'm almost at the hospital, just a few minutes away."

Devon's smile widened, his gaze locked on Marianne, whose eyes widened with a fresh wave of fury, her breath hitching as she realized Serena was coming to confront this mess. "Okay, see you soon," he said, disconnecting with a tap, his eyes never breaking contact with Marianne's, the air between them crackling with tension.

Marianne stood abruptly, her chair scraping harshly against the hardwood floor, and moved to stand in front of him, her legs trembling, her voice quivering with a mix of fury and desperation. Then, in a move that stunned Devon, she sank to her knees before him, her hands clasped together, her gray eyes glistening with unshed tears, her voice barely a whisper. "Please, Devon," she pleaded, her voice breaking, "I'm begging you. Let her go. Don't see her again. I'll do anything, anything, to keep her safe from you."

The sight of Marianne Voss, a woman whose influence could sway city halls and hospital boards, whose connections were a web of power across the elite, kneeling before him like a supplicant, sent a jolt of surprise through Devon. His brow furrowed, a rare crack in his confident facade, but his voice remained steady, laced with that irreverent humor that defined him.

"Marianne, please, don't kneel. There's only one time I appreciate a woman on her knees, and that's during sex. So unless you're about to give me a blowjob, stand up."

Marianne's face contorted in shock, her mouth falling open, her cheeks flushing with a mix of humiliation and rage. How dare he speak so crudely, so brazenly, after what he did with Serena? her mind screamed, the word "blowjob" echoing like a slap, her thoughts spiraling in disbelief. To mention sex so casually, so vulgarly, when he's already torn my daughter's life apart again? The nerve, the shamelessness, it's monstrous.

She scrambled to her feet, her hands shaking as she smoothed her skirt, trying to reclaim her dignity, her gray eyes blazing with a hatred so intense it could've scorched the room.

Before she could find words to retort, a sharp knock on the door cut through the tension, followed by Sophie's voice, clipped and professional, slicing through the charged air. "Dr Devon, you have a guest. She says she's Marianne's daughter. Should I let her in?"