Page 19 of Dr. Lillian Harrington
They pulled apart, both breathing heavily, and Rebecca took a step back, her hands falling away from Lillian’s body as if she had snapped back into reality.
Lillian’s eyes lingered on her, searching for something—maybe an acknowledgment of what they were doing, or maybe a deeper connection. But Rebecca didn’t give it to her. She never did.
“This is just what it is,” Rebecca said quietly, her voice firm, though not unkind. “You know that.”
Lillian nodded, though there was a flicker of something in her expression. Disappointment, maybe? Hurt? It didn’t matter. Rebecca wouldn’t let it matter.
“I know,” Lillian whispered, but the tension in the air didn’t dissipate.
Rebecca turned away, gathering her things. This was how it always ended—the passion, the heat, and then the sharp return to reality. It had to stay this way. It couldn’t become more than this.
Rebecca could taste sex in the air. She could feel the juice from Lillian’s orgasm drying on her hand.
“I have a big day tomorrow,” Rebecca added, her tone shifting back into the cool professionalism that was second nature to her. “We both do.”
Lillian didn’t say anything, but Rebecca could feel her watching, could feel the weight of the words left unsaid between them. She wanted to reach out and soften the moment, but she couldn’t afford to let herself slip. Not here. Not with Lillian Harrington.
The next morning, Rebecca was back in full work mode. She was scrubbing in for another surgery, her mind clear and focused on the task at hand. Lillian was there, too, assisting as usual, but outside the walls of those on-call rooms, their relationship remained strictly professional. Rebecca made sure of it.
Lillian moved with precision, her focus sharp as they worked side by side, but Rebecca could still feel the pull between them, that undercurrent of tension that never seemed to fully disappear. She caught Lillian’s eye once, briefly, but quickly looked away. There was no room for personal feelings here. Not in the OR, not in the hospital.
As the surgery continued, Rebecca found herself retreating back into her carefully crafted world of control and distance. This was where she excelled—cold, calculated, and detached. She couldn’t let Lillian break through that.
After the surgery, Rebecca barely acknowledged Lillian as they scrubbed out. There were always fleeting glances, lingering touches, but Rebecca kept herself firmly in check. Their relationship was purely physical, nothing more. And she had to keep it that way.
As the end of the week drew closer, Rebecca’s anxiety about the gala began to mount. Her mother had sent another reminder earlier in the day, a curt message about appearances and expectations. Rebecca hated these events. The pressure to be perfect, to maintain the pristine image her mother had so carefully cultivated was suffocating. She didn’t belong in those rooms full of old money and academic elites who cared more about appearances than the actual work being done. But she would go, as she always did.
Lillian had brought it up in passing earlier that day—just a casual mention about the gala, probably because she’d heard about it through hospital gossip. Rebecca had brushed it off, keeping her tone distant. She didn’t want Lillian to ask too many questions or to see the cracks in her perfect exterior. The gala represented everything Rebecca despised about the life she had been born into: the expectations, the superficiality, the constant pressure to succeed.
But as much as she hated it, she couldn’t let it show.
The late-night meetings with Lillian continued, their secret affair becoming more routine with each passing day. Stolen moments in on-call rooms, heated kisses in quiet hallways, hands slipping under scrubs when no one was watching—it had become their normal.
But outside of those stolen moments, Rebecca remained distant. Cold. She mentored Lillian with the same sharp professionalism she gave to all her interns, never letting the lines blur. She couldn’t afford to. Not when the stakes were this high.
In the on-call rooms, it was easy to give in to the heat, to lose herself in the physical connection. But as soon as they left,Rebecca shut it down. She knew Lillian wanted more, could feel it in the way she lingered after their encounters, the way her eyes searched for something deeper. But Rebecca wouldn’t give it to her. She couldn’t.
Because in the end, this was all it could ever be.
The Harrington Surgical Research Gala was always a grand affair, an event where the elite of the medical world gathered under glittering chandeliers to flaunt their latest accomplishments and rub shoulders with their peers. It was, in every sense, a spectacle of power, prestige, and pride, and Rebecca hated it. But tonight, she was prepared. She had no choice but to be.
Rebecca stood in front of her mirror, surveying her reflection critically. Tonight was about perfection, and nothing less would do. Her dress was a deep emerald green, a rich silk fabric that hugged her athletic frame, the sharp neckline drawing attention to her collarbones and the strength in her shoulders. The dress flared slightly at the waist before trailing elegantly to the floor, allowing just the right amount of movement while maintaining the illusion of regality. The color of it, the deep emerald just reminded her of Lillian’s eyes. Her own dark hair, usually pulled back in a severe bun at the hospital, was now styled in soft waves that framed her face, with a few loose tendrils accentuating her sharp jawline.
The dark plum lipstick added an edge of sensuality, while her makeup was minimal, highlighting her sharp brown eyes. She looked polished. Untouchable.
Vivian Lang’s voice echoed in her mind, a reminder from the night before. "You will not embarrass me, Rebecca. Make sureyou look the part." And tonight, Rebecca intended to do exactly that.
The ballroom of the Harrington Medical Institute was nothing short of opulent. Gold and navy hues draped the massive space, with towering floral arrangements placed between marble pillars. The crystal chandeliers cast a soft glow over the room, making everything shimmer under the light. The crowd was already thick with some of the most prestigious names in surgery—cardiothoracic, neurosurgery, trauma, and general surgery—men and women whose names were spoken with reverence in academic halls and research papers.
Rebecca’s entrance did not go unnoticed. Heads turned as she glided through the crowd, her dress brushing the floor with quiet elegance. The whispers started almost immediately, but Rebecca paid no mind to them. She wasn’t here for attention. She was here because she had to be.
Vivian Lang, Rebecca’s mother, was the first to approach her. Vivian was a vision in midnight blue, her silver hair swept into an immaculate bun, her sharp eyes scanning Rebecca from head to toe.
"Finally, something to be proud of," Vivian said, her voice low but pointed, her eyes briefly softening in approval as they landed on the emerald dress. "It’s a shame your father couldn’t be here to see you dressed like this."
"He’s not here?" Rebecca asked, though she wasn’t surprised. Her father was never far from business and almost always absent from the events that demanded more than just money and status.
"No, of course not," Vivian said dismissively. "He has another fundraiser across the country. But that doesn’t mean we don’t have work to do tonight. There are people here we need to impress. Keep up appearances."
