Page 16 of The Arrogant's Surrender

"Yes, your progress has been wonderful!"

Madison and I were raised during our early childhood solely by our father, a man who was never present to celebrate our victories—whether it was a good grade at school, a cake that didn’t go wrong, or even a birthday.

When Eleanor came to live with us, my sister was eight and I was ten. By then, the damage he could do to our self-confidence was already done. But contrary to what one might expect, my sister and I became stronger because of his neglect. We encouraged one another and grew up learning to celebrate every small accomplishment, like when I graduated from hairdressing school, for example.

So we’ve never been the type of people who need outside encouragement, not even from Eleanor, because we always had each other. Yet, I feel a little bit like a champion when I hear the pride in the nurse’s voice.

"Is he coming today?"

"Who? 'God?'" she asks, giving me a playful wink.

I’ve heard that Dr. Athanasios’s nickname in the medical community is "God" because he always manages to turn around cases of patients deemed hopeless by his peers, saving the lives of those thought beyond recovery.

He’s been visiting me every day. Since the first time we met, when I had just woken up from the coma, my eyesight has fully cleared, and what I then saw took my breath away.

I feel dizzy and confused about some memories but very muchalive, with blood pumping through my veins.

The doctor’s looks are the kind that leave a girl speechless. Tall, strong, his hair just starting to go gray—which I find gorgeous—and a sharply angled jawline that makes him look even more masculine.

But his eyes, devoid of any warmth, make it hard for me to hold his gaze for long—and I’ve never been one to shy away from facing anyone.

Dr. Athanasios watches me like he can see all my secrets, and I don’t like that. My thoughts aren’t laid out on a platter for anyone to inspect at will.

He also speaks very little, asking only essential questions. Since that day I woke up, when he held my hand, he hasn’t touched me again. Only the nurses do that.

"Yeah. That’s who I meant," I say, hiding a smile. "Doesn’t he mind being called that?"

"Mind?" She laughs. "Most of the time, I doubt he even understands human emotions, let alone cares about what people think of him."

"About that—him not understanding emotions—I’m not so sure I believe it. Everyone has someone special in their life. Someone they’d die for," I say, the faces of my children and my sister flashing through my mind.

"Yes, I think in his case, it’s his parents. Other than that, as far as I know, there’s no one else."

"He’s not married?" I ask, feeling my cheeks flush at my own boldness.

"Never even had a long-term relationship, as far as we know. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a line of women vying for his attention." She studies me for a moment before continuing. "Can I give you some unsolicited advice?"

"Of course."

She’s been so kind to me since I woke up that I already consider her a friend.

"Don’t make the mistake of falling for him, Brooklyn. Many patients have made that error before. Dr. Athanasios is deeply committed to his work—he’s the best in the world in his field, I’d say, hence the nickname ‘God.’ But believe me when I say there’s a ninety-nine percent chance that the attention he gives you is purely professional."

My face heats up. "I never thought otherwise. I was just curious because he’s so quiet."

She smiles again. "Most people prefer him that way. ‘God’ is arrogant and very critical, too. When he addresses someone, you can be sure it’s because they’ve done something wrong."

"I won’t stick around long enough to be on the receiving end of his criticism. Like I said, I was just curious."

"I didn’t mean to upset you, my dear. But in a way, I’ve grown attached to you and your family. After everything you’ve been through, I worry you might mistake professional attention for love, simply out of loneliness."

I offer a sad smile, my pride slightly bruised because, deep down, there’s a lot of truth in what she says. "The loneliness inside me didn’t start now, Miss Inara. Madison and I only had each other for most of our lives—or rather, during the most important part of our lives. We learned to be strong without needing a man’s support. And yet, I made the mistake of getting involved with my ex-partner. It won’t happen again."

"You’re beautiful, Brooklyn, inside and out. One day, if that’s what you want, you’ll find a good man who deserves you," she says, squeezing my hand.

Seconds later, my phone rings.

"Hey, sis. Did you wake up feeling okay?" Madison asks from the other end.

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