Hospital Debauchery-Chapter 214: Yvonne’s Stand
The elevator doors slid open with a soft whoosh, followed by a faint chime that seemed to hang in the cool air for a moment.
Yvonne stepped out right into Devon’s private floor, her heels making quiet clicks on the polished hardwood. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺
After a moment, Yvonne stopped right there in the entryway, her heart picking up speed a little, thumping steady in her chest. She smoothed the front of her black pencil skirt once more, feeling the soft silk of her blouse move against her skin.
The elevator ride up had given her time to think, to go over what she wanted to say, but now that she was actually here, the words felt jumbled up in her throat, stuck like they didn’t want to come out.
As she got to the door, she lifted her hand and knocked lightly at first, her knuckles barely tapping the wood. Then she knocked again, a little harder this time, the sound echoing soft in the quiet room.
"Devon? Are you inside? It’s me. Yvonne."
She waited there, counting quietly in her head—one, two, three, four, five—her brows pulling together into a small frown, a crease forming right between them.
Why wasn’t he saying anything? Was he ignoring her on purpose, or maybe he had music on and couldn’t hear?
A little spark of annoyance mixed in with the worry she’d been carrying all the way up here from the lobby.
Finally, she reached out, turned the handle slow—it wasn’t locked, turning easy under her fingers—and pushed the door open with a quiet creak that seemed louder than it should.
The bedroom air wrapped around her right away, warm and thick with the smell of soap and fresh steam, like a shower had just ended.
She took a few steps inside, her eyes getting used to the softer light from a lamp on the bedside table. The room was spacious, with a big king-sized bed pushed against one wall, the water outside rippling gentle under the night sky. But she hadn’t even taken it all in when a deep, lazy sigh floated across the room, coming straight from in front of her, pulling her attention down fast.
Her gaze dropped quick, and in that split second, a rush of heat flooded her cheeks, burning hot like she’d stepped too close to a fire.
Devon was standing right there in the center of the room, buck naked, with water droplets still sliding slow from his wet hair, tracing paths down his broad shoulders, over the firm lines of his chest and stomach, vanishing into the dark trail of hair below his navel.
His skin shone a bit under the lamp’s glow, muscles loose but strong from whatever workouts he did to stay in shape.
He had obviously just gotten out of the shower the bathroom door was cracked open behind him, steam still curling out lazy into the air and a white towel sat crumpled on the floor at his feet, like he’d dropped it and didn’t care to pick it up.
He didn’t move an inch to cover himself, didn’t jump or look surprised.
He just stood there, hands hanging easy at his sides, staring at her with that same old half-amused, half-bored look, like he already knew why she was here and found the whole thing kind of funny in a tired way.
Yvonne turned around so quick her head spun a little, her bun pulling tight at the back, a couple of strands coming loose and brushing her neck. Now her back was to him, facing the door she’d just walked through, but that image was stuck in her mind, clear as day.
"Can you put something on!" she yelled out, her voice pitching up higher than normal, cracking with a mix of shock and real frustration. "Ahhh, just why do I even have to say that?! You’re not a kid, Devon can you cover up"
From behind her, she heard the soft sound of fabric moving, the towel getting lifted off the floor.
There was a short pause, then the wrap of it around his waist, the ends tucked in loose. Water kept dripping from his hair, making tiny plops on the hardwood, forming small puddles that caught the light.
"You’re covered now," he said, his voice low and drawn out, lazy like he was talking half in his sleep or just too laid back to put much effort in.
There was a tiny hint of a smirk in it, the kind that always got under her skin, like he was enjoying her reaction just a bit.
Yvonne didn’t spin back around right away.
She kept staring at the wood patterns on the door, her cheeks still hot, her pulse pounding loud in her ears.
She took a slow, deep breath, pulling air in through her nose and letting it out through her mouth, counting to five in her head to settle herself.
Why did he always pull stuff like this?
Pushing buttons, testing how far he could go, acting like normal rules didn’t stick to him? It made her mad, but underneath that, it just made her sad too. Finally, she turned back slow, her eyes narrowed to thin slits at first, glancing down quick just to make sure—yes, the towel was there, hanging low on his hips, covering up what needed to be, though it didn’t hide how water still ran down his chest in slow trails.
Then her eyes snapped up to his face, locking onto those dark ones that always seemed to see too much.
"Can we talk?" she asked.
The words slipped out quieter than she meant, almost shaky, like seeing him like that had thrown her off her game more than she’d admit.
She crossed her arms tight over her chest, trying to look put together and strong.
A small frown pulled at the corners of Devon’s mouth, making him seem a touch more real, less like the untouchable guy he played.
He looked at her for a long beat, taking in every bit of her face—the way her lips were pressed thin, how her eyes held his steady without looking away.
He could read it all, the stubborn set of her jaw, the deep worry in her gaze, the clear sign that she wasn’t walking out until they had this out. Like it or not, this talk was happening.
He gave a small shrug with one shoulder, the move sending another drop of water down his arm, and pointed over to the leather armchair by the window. It was wide and comfy-looking, facing the bed, with a little side table next to it that had a half-read book open and a glass of water sweating a bit.
Then he sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking soft under him. The towel rode up a little on his thigh, but he didn’t fix it, just let it be.
"Sit. Talk," he said, keeping it short but not mean, like he was okay with it even if he wasn’t thrilled.
Yvonne moved over slow, her heels sinking into the thick rug under the chair, muffling her steps.
She sat down careful, not sinking back into the cushions, keeping her back straight like she was at a meeting table.
Her hands stayed folded tight in her lap, fingers twisting together, her knuckles turning white from the grip. She looked him right in the eye, not letting go.
"Why?" she asked.
Just one word.
Simple as that.
But it sat there between them, heavy like a stone, carrying all the things she didn’t say out loud yet.
Devon tilted his head a bit, his wet hair falling over his forehead in a messy way. "Why what?"
"Don’t." Her voice came out soft but strong, cutting off any game before it could start. "You know what I mean. Why do you go around sleeping with every woman you run into? Different ones every time. Married women. Mothers. Brides right on their big day. Why?"
"Why are you living this sort of life?"
Devon’s eyes shifted away for just a half-second, landing on the window where the lake stretched out endless and dark, tiny waves catching the moonlight.
Then they came back to her, steady.
He leaned forward some, elbows on his knees, fingers laced loose, water dripping slow from his hair onto his hands, making them shine.
Yvonne didn’t give him time to brush it off. The words started pouring out, quiet and quick at first, like she’d been holding them in too long and now they had to get free.
They picked up pace as she went, flowing smoother, her voice getting a touch stronger.
"Is it really just for the pleasure? That quick rush you get? Is that all you want your life to add up to—hotels full of secrets, families torn up a bit more each time?"
"You’ve got this amazing gift, this sharp mind that can fix things nobody else can touch. You’re one of the top doctors in all of Europe, maybe even farther. Why pick this road? Why toss away everything you could be for something that feels so hollow in the end?"
Her voice broke a little on those last words, cracking soft, and she swallowed hard, her throat feeling tight and dry.
She blinked quick, fighting the tears that were building up, making her eyes shine wet under the lamp light, blurring the room just a bit.
Devon kept watching her through it all. Not with his usual quick glance, but deep and steady, like he was seeing her fresh after years of looking past. And for the first time in what felt like forever, that easy-going mask he wore—the one that said nothing could really get to him—started to crack.
Something real showed up on his face, something old and worn out, like an ache from a long-ago hurt that never fully went away.
It wasn’t the questions themselves that shook him. it was how she looked at him right then—like she felt sad for him, not mad or pointing fingers. Like her heart hurt because she could tell his did too, even if he pushed it down deep. Her eyes, all glassy with tears she wouldn’t let fall, her lips pressed tight to stop any tremble—it tugged at a spot inside him he kept locked up.
And right in that moment, with the soft lamp light catching the wet shine in her eyes and her hands still knotted tight in her lap, she reminded him so much of someone else.
Someone from way back, before life got complicated. Same kind of dark eyes full of real worry. Same quiet strength with a hidden plea underneath. Same look that said she thought he could be better, even when he doubted it himself.
The room went quiet, the kind of quiet that feels thick and full, broken only by the soft drip, drip of water from his hair hitting the floor, spreading into small puddles. L
Devon let out a slow, heavy breath, the kind that pulls from way down in the chest, letting go of something held too long. He leaned back a touch on the bed, the towel shifting but forgotten, and ran a hand over his jaw, feeling the rough stubble scratch against his palm.
At last, he spoke, his voice low and almost soft, without the sharp edge he usually kept.
"I will respond to your question."
