Diagnosis You

Chapter 1 "The Night We Met"

Leon POV:

The silence wasn't quiet. It screamed.

It clawed at the walls and sank into my marrow, wrapping around my ribs until drawing a single breath felt like an act of betrayal. People think loneliness is empty, but it isn't. It's heavy. It's crammed full of everything I spend my life trying to outrun—the echoes that refuse to fade.

The worst part? No one ever sees it. They look at me and they see the suit, the car, the smirk. They don't see the fracture line running right through the center of my chest. The cruelest thing about being broken is how perfectly fine I can make it look.

London this morning was an affront to my mood.

The sky was a taunting, impossible blue, sunlight spilling over the city as if the world hadn't gone wrong a thousand times over. The streets shimmered with a golden warmth that felt entirely unearned. I didn't care for it. I preferred the gray.

A low, expensive purr vibrated through the pavement, and I felt the shift before I even killed the engine. People turned their heads—it's an instinct, I suppose. The red Ferrari was a beacon, polished to a mirror finish, catching the light like it owned the street, the moment, and every pair of eyes watching.

I stepped out, and I felt the weight of it—the persona. It was deliberate. Effortless. It had to be.

I adjusted my cuff, the watch catching the sun, and walked toward the hospital entrance. I could feel the atmosphere inside ripple the second I crossed the threshold. It's a game I've played for a long time.

"Dr. Mercer—"
"Leon! You're finally back—"
"We thought Paris stole you for good."

The voices washed over me, a chorus of familiar warmth. I moved through them, handing out the smiles they wanted, holding just enough eye contact to make them feel special without actually letting them in.

"I missed you too," I said, my voice dropping into that practiced, smooth register. "Well... some of you."

A few laughs bubbled up. Of course they did. I know exactly what to say to make people lean in, even when I'm nowhere near them.

"Still insufferable, I see."

I didn't need to look to know who it was. I turned, already wearing the grin they expected.

Alina, Sienna, and Ethan. They stood by the corridor, watching me with that specific cocktail of familiarity and judgment I'd grown accustomed to.

"Alina," I said, tilting my head. She was sharp—eyes like needles, a tongue to match. Nothing ever slipped past her, which was exactly why I kept my distance.

"Miss me?" she asked.

"Constantly. It was exhausting."

Next to her, Sienna leaned against the wall. She was elegant, observant—the kind of woman who noticed the cracks I worked so hard to lacquer over.

"You look... annoyingly well," she noted.

"Paris agrees with me."

"Or the women in Paris do," Ethan added, arms crossed, his skepticism as thick as ever.

I smirked at him. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Ethan."

"Neither does commitment, but here we are."

Alina laughed, a short, sharp sound. "So? Did Paris finally tame you?"

I adjusted my sleeve, feeling the cool fabric against my skin. "Paris doesn't tame, Alina. It indulges."

Sienna arched a brow, and Ethan just shook his head. "I'm guessing you didn't come back alone."