"The pants, off. Then lie down."

The low, cool voice hit out of nowhere, and Rosalie Winters felt her heart jolt hard in her chest.

She honestly had no clue when she’d developed this… indescribably embarrassing condition.

Once it flared up, the craving hit her like a truck—totally uncontrollable.

Didn’t matter if she was at work or just living her life; it wrecked everything.

Completely exhausted by it, she finally gathered every bit of courage she had and booked a gynecology appointment at this private hospital.

Yeah, the fees were several times higher than a public hospital, but at least they kept things discreet.

She’d even specially chosen a female doctor in her forties.

So why on earth was she now staring at a tall, young male doctor instead?

"Do… do I really have to take off my pants?"

Her voice was trembling, every cell in her body on edge.

Even knowing he was a doctor, stripping in front of a stranger—especially a man—made her want to crawl into a hole.

Lionel Shaw’s tone was dead serious.

"If you don’t take them off, how am I supposed to examine you?"

"But I…"

Rosalie’s face went burning hot, her hands twisting together like they didn’t belong to her.

Even with the mask covering half his face, the man’s eyes were sharp—too sharp.

Deep, unreadable… and somehow ridiculously dangerous.

And out of nowhere, she had this absurd feeling—like he could pin her down on the bed in the next second, take control completely.

Rosalie jerked her head, shaking the thought away.

Oh my god.

Why would she even think something like that?

He was just a doctor. Someone who had to examine dozens of patients like her every single day.

This was literally his routine.

Rosalie Winters kept telling herself that, trying to smother the wave of embarrassment crawling up her neck. She forced her shaking hands to tug her pants down and slowly lay back on the exam bed.

“Where exactly do you feel uncomfortable?”

Lionel Shaw asked while calmly setting out the disinfecting tools.

Rosalie’s cheeks burned again. “I… down there…”

She clearly couldn’t get the words out. Lionel glanced at her and asked in an even tone, “Too much sex? Or did you get hurt?”

Girls her age showing up at gynecology—nine times out of ten, it was that.

But Rosalie shook her head, face scarlet. “No… I don’t have… a sex life…”

Lionel’s hand froze mid‑air. He turned, giving her a quick, incredulous once‑over.

Her features were delicate, her skin soft enough to leave marks with a gentle pinch. She looked both sweet and dangerously attractive, carrying that impossible mix of innocence and sensuality.

The kind of beauty no one forgot after one look.

A girl like her should have guys lining up around the block—yet she was saying she had zero sex life?

“I… I just… it feels… kind of… uncomfortable…”

She mumbled, her voice tiny under the weight of his steady, unreadable gaze.

Lionel’s fingers tightened slightly around the disinfectant swab.

On the surface, though, he was still expressionless as ever. His eyes fixed on her. “Uncomfortable?”

Rosalie: “…”

How was she supposed to describe this?

“I… it’s just…”

She bit down on her lower lip, the words stuck in her throat.

Lionel Shaw watched the way her whole face flushed, pink spreading all the way to her ears. His Adam’s apple moved slightly as he swallowed, a heat rising in him that he forced himself to push down.

He steadied his voice. “So… what triggered all this?”

Rosalie Winters fumbled, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s just… I… um…”

How was she supposed to say it? That her desire had been getting out of control? That she actually wanted—badly?

But after more than a year of marriage, Jasper Fletcher had never so much as touched her.

And the more her body craved, the more he avoided her, like she was some kind of walking danger zone. He would literally dodge her whenever she even hinted at anything intimate.

With no other options, Rosalie had been trying to deal with it herself.

But it wasn’t enough.

She wanted more.

She *needed* more.

Lionel watched her expression, piecing things together. “You’re married?”

Rosalie nodded before she even thought about it.

He didn’t know why, but something in him tightened at that answer, a faint drop of disappointment he couldn’t explain.

His gaze darkened a little. “Alright. Lie down. I’ll run an exam first.”

Rosalie obediently lowered herself onto the bed.

Her slender hands curled into tight fists, knuckles turning pale.

Her face felt like it was on fire, burning all the way up to her ears.

Lionel Shaw looked straight at her, his voice dropping for no reason, a touch deeper and rougher. “Don’t move.”

Rosalie Winters froze, speechless.

She was already drowning in embarrassment.

And with her condition acting up, how was she supposed to sit still and let him examine her like nothing was happening?

“Can… can I switch to a female doctor?” she asked, her voice tiny and awkward.

Lionel’s eyes darkened even more. “You’re not satisfied with me?”

“No—no, that’s not it…” Rosalie panicked, trying to explain.

But before she could finish, he cut her off coldly. “You booked my appointment today. If you’re not planning to get treated, you can leave.”

So fierce.

She was definitely filing a complaint later.

But her condition couldn’t wait. She knew that.

She had no choice but to gamble on his skills this once.

“I didn’t mean anything else. Doctor, please… just help me get better,” Rosalie said, almost pleading.

It was Lionel’s first time covering another doctor’s shift.

He never imagined he’d run into such a… unique case.

Her symptoms were already complicated, and on top of that, she was stunning—

This was basically testing the limits of his self-control as a man.

“Stop talking nonsense,” he snapped.

He barked the order, his voice low and rough, his Adam’s apple sliding hard as he swallowed.

After pulling on the gloves, he picked up the disinfectant swab and slowly leaned toward her.

Rosalie Winters, mortified, squeezed her eyes shut.

Not even her husband, Jasper Fletcher, had ever seen her like this.

And now she had to let another man look.

Yeah, she knew he was a doctor, but that didn’t make it any less unbearable.

“Ah!”

The sound slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it—soft, breathy, way too tempting.

Lionel Shaw felt a jolt shoot up his spine, his whole body going tight as he paused for half a second.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, his voice a bit strained.

Rosalie’s eyes shimmered with a thin layer of mist, looking fragile enough to break.

Her lips parted, pink and trembling, but she couldn’t form the right words.

Her mind kept repeating that she should calm down, stay rational…

Yet her condition made her lose control again and again.

Looking at her—so delicate, so helpless—it took everything in him not to lose his composure.

“I’ll be gentler,” Lionel muttered, clearing his throat and turning his gaze away as he forced himself to focus on the exam.

When it was finally over, Rosalie felt even more hollow, even more uncomfortable, as if something inside her had been yanked away.

“Doctor… is it really bad?”

Her voice shook, thin and frightened.

Lionel Shaw forced himself to stay calm as he slowly pulled off his gloves.

“You’re dealing with a hysteria episode caused by an endocrine imbalance. Honestly, it’s tied to your long-term lack of sexual activity.”

Lack of… sexual activity?

Rosalie Winters lowered her gaze, her pretty face flushing with a sting of embarrassment.

It wasn’t that she lacked sex. It was that she never had any at all.

Her husband, Jasper Fletcher, had a serious obsession with cleanliness. From dating to marriage, they’d barely ever been intimate.

But the less they touched, the more she ached for it—

Like every cell in her body was begging for warmth, for closeness… for someone to just hold her.

“I’ll prescribe you some anti-inflammatory meds to help stabilize your hormones,” Lionel said, settling down in front of the computer to write her prescription.

“But honestly, you should go home and… do it with your husband a few more times. It’ll ease most of your symptoms.”

Rosalie’s cheeks were already so red they looked like they might drip color.

She hurriedly pulled her pants back on, stepped off the examination bed, and took the prescription slip Lionel handed her.

“Thank you, doctor.”

She stepped out of the consultation room—just as a woman in a white coat walked in through the back door.

“Lionel Shaw, did you seriously treat my patient while I was gone?”

Yvonne Shaw had rushed back, and she snapped at her brother the moment she saw him.

Lionel replied without even lifting his eyebrows, calm to the point of arrogance.

“Don’t forget I was always ranked first at med school, and you were stuck at second. Letting me treat your patient is basically a blessing for them. Besides, this whole hospital is mine now.”

“You—!” Yvonne glared at him.

This brat could twist logic like it was nothing.

But her younger brother had always been a clean freak, so finicky he found it troublesome to even touch a woman’s hand. Yet today he actually took the initiative to examine a female patient. Truly unbelievable.

“If you really don’t want to see me that much, then I’m leaving.” Lionel Shaw put one hand in his pocket, though his gaze was still fixed on the corridor where Rosalie Winters had disappeared.

“Why are you leaving?” Yvonne Shaw immediately chased after him, her tone full of dissatisfaction. “I asked you to come today because I wanted to introduce you to Dr. Wang, our new cardiothoracic surgeon. She’s beautiful, highly capable, the face of our hospital, and—here’s the important part—she’s single, not even an ambiguous love interest in sight…”

“Another time.”

The moment Lionel Shaw heard that, he lost all interest. He brushed her off casually, turned around, and left without bothering to stay another second.