Underneath Your....

In the hospital entrance, the staff had gathered, buzzing with anticipation and excitement. They were all there to welcome Eamon Rodge, the enigmatic philanthropist whose donations had significantly improved the hospital's facilities. 

Unbeknownst to them, Eamon and his secretary had already entered the hospital through a side entrance, avoiding the fanfare.

As they walked through the quiet corridors, Eamon's secretary, a tall, efficient man named Harris, spoke in low tones. 

"The 12-year-old girl of the Blackwood's family with a hole in her heart is in critical condition," Harris said, glancing at the notes on his clipboard. "The heart in our possession totally matches. If the transplant is successful, it could save her life."

Eamon nodded, his expression serious. "It would definitely be successful. The Blackwoods must be indebted to us and this procedure must go flawlessly."

Harris continued, "Our team is ready, and the necessary plans have been put in place. We're just waiting on their first move before proceeding."

Suddenly, Eamon stopped in his tracks, right in front of ward 203. He inhaled sharply, his head turning slightly as if he were catching a scent in the air.

"What's wrong, Boss?" Harris asked, noticing his employer's sudden stillness.

Eamon's face, usually so composed, showed a flicker of something—recognition, perhaps even emotion. "I can smell her scent," he murmured, almost to himself. "Heather."

Harris looked around, confused. "Ms Heather? The same Ms Heather from last night? The one who came to your house?"

Eamon shot a glare at him, his brow furrowing. "Are there any others you know?"

Without another word, Eamon turned and began walking towards the nearby corridor with a sense of urgency. Harris followed, perplexed but accustomed to Eamon's unusual intuition.

Eamon's steps were purposeful as he moved through the hospital, guided by some invisible thread. The familiar scent, a delicate mix of fear and determination, grew stronger. He was close.

As they approached the area near the changing rooms and back exit, Eamon stopped again, his expression unreadable behind his dark lenses. 

"She was here recently," he said, his voice firm. "Find out where she went."

Harris nodded, immediately stepping away to make inquiries with the hospital staff. Eamon stood still, a mixture of concern and curiosity tugging at his thoughts. 

Heather had run from him early that morning, and now she was here, in the very place he had not expected to find her.

He knew he had to find her before she could slip away again. This was not a coincidence; their paths crossing again meant something, and he needed to understand what.

As Heather moved quickly towards the back hidden exit of the hospital, her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Just as she turned a corner, she nearly collided with Eamon. 

Startled, she took a step back, her heart pounding in her chest.

"What do you want from me, Mr. Eamon?" Heather demanded, her voice steady despite the fear coursing through her veins.

Eamon regarded her with an almost amused expression. "What are you doing here?" he countered.

"That doesn't answer my question," Heather shot back, her eyes narrowing.

Eamon's demeanor darkened, his voice taking on a demonic edge. "What do you take me for, Heather Daniels?"

Heather swallowed hard, her courage faltering. "I... I..."

Eamon's gaze flicked to the name tag on her uniform, which read "Mia." He smirked, clearly aware of the deception. "Heather, do you think you can save your life from me in a hospital?" he teased.

"Well, if... if you're a disease," Heather retorted, trying to regain some semblance of control.

Eamon chuckled softly, a chilling sound. "Sure I am. A terminal one."

Heather took a deep breath, her resolve hardening. "Anyway, Mr. Eamon, sorry for taking things the wrong way this morning. Perhaps you thought I was mocking your blindness by saying you changed me," she said sincerely.

"Oh?" Eamon's eyebrows arched in mild surprise.

"Sorry, again," Heather added, her voice softer now.

"It's alright," Eamon replied, a hint of amusement in his tone. "I saw everything though."

Heather blinked in confusion. "Huh? But... you're blind. How can you see everything like you claimed?"

Eamon's smile widened, and he leaned in slightly. "Let me tell you a secret then, Ms Heather," he said, removing his dark lenses to reveal a set of green eyes. 

Heather's breath hitched as she saw what appeared to be living yellow cells moving within them. It was both mesmerizing and terrifying.

"You have a fading tattoo 'A & H' on your left waist and a tiny black dotty mole underneath your right breast," Eamon said, his voice low and intimate.

Heather's mind reeled, a mix of shock and disbelief rendering her speechless. "...."

Eamon's eyes bore into hers, a predatory glint in them. "You can't hide from me, Heather. Not in a hospital, not anywhere."

Heather felt a shiver run down her spine. She was caught in a dangerous game with a man who seemed to know everything about her. 

The realization that Eamon had not only changed her dress, saw her bare - naked but had taken his time to study, getting detailed knowledge of her body made her feel exposed and vulnerable.

She took a step back, her mind racing. "What do you want from me?" she repeated, her voice barely a whisper.

Eamon's smile softened, but his eyes remained cold and calculating. 

"For now, just your cooperation," he said, his tone deceptively gentle. "There are things you need to understand, Heather. I own your life now, that was the deal. And don't you dare think of running away."

Heather nodded slowly, realizing that escaping Eamon's grasp would be far more difficult than she had ever imagined. 

She needed to be smart, to find a way to navigate this perilous situation without losing herself in the process.

"See you whenever we meet again, Ms Heather," Eamon said hallowedly, stepping aside, allowing her a clear path to the exit.

Heather swallowed hard, her throat dry and her mind racing. She was shaken to the core. He even knew she was planning to run away. 

She struggled to maintain her composure, forcing herself to remain silent as she turned and began to walk away.

Each step felt heavy, her movements robotic as she counted her steps in an attempt to calm herself. One, two, three... 

The corridor seemed endless, and with every step, she felt Eamon's piercing gaze on her back. Her footsteps echoed in the quiet hallway, each sound amplifying her anxiety.

Her steps had paled, her legs trembling slightly with the effort to keep moving. She could feel her hair standing on end, a primal reaction to the danger she sensed from Eamon. 

The cold, clinical environment of the hospital seemed suddenly oppressive, the air thick with tension at that moment.

As she reached the end of the hallway, Heather dared a glance over her shoulder. Eamon stood there, still watching her with that unnerving intensity. He didn't move, but the smirk on his face sent another shiver down her spine.

Turning back, she quickened her pace, almost breaking into a run as she pushed through.