All Chapters of Your Lips to Mine #4: The Billionaire's Heartbeat: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

I hadn’t expected him to walk into my office looking like he owned the world—then again, I should’ve. After all, James Hawke was a billionaire tech mogul. If there was anyone who was used to having the world at his feet, it was him. “Dr. Matthews?” His voice was smooth, confident, with just a hint of arrogance that seemed to hang in the air, like a perfume I wasn’t sure I wanted to breathe in. I stood up from my desk, offering my hand in a professional greeting, but I could tell from the moment his sharp eyes landed on me that he wasn’t interested in pleasantries. He looked at me with a mix of curiosity and annoyance—as though he had already made up his mind about me, despite knowing nothing about who I was or what I did. “Mr. Hawke,” I said, keeping my tone steady and neutral. “I’m Dr. Olivia Matthews. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He shook my hand, his grip firm but not overpowering, and his eyes locked onto mine. There was an intensity to his gaze, but I’d learned long ago n

I’ve always believed that being a doctor is more than just a career—it’s a calling, a responsibility that consumes you in ways most people don’t understand. It’s not just the long hours or the late nights. It’s the emotional toll, the way you pour yourself into others without expecting anything in return. The patients are what matter, not you. And that’s how I’ve lived my life—always putting others first, always keeping my emotions at bay. But sometimes, the walls we build around ourselves are made of more than just logic and duty. They’re shaped by past experiences—hurt, loss, and the things we wish we could forget but can never quite escape. I’d never been one for personal relationships. I’d always told myself that love, affection, and connection were distractions, things I didn’t need, things that would only get in the way of what I truly cared about. My career. Saving lives. Fixing broken hearts, both literally and figuratively. There was no room for anything else. No room for

It was late in the evening when the nurse paged me about James Hawke. A slight complication, she had said—a dip in his blood pressure, mild discomfort in his chest. It wasn’t critical, but they thought I should check in on him. I didn’t argue. By the time I reached his room, the lights had been dimmed. The soft hum of the heart monitor filled the space, its steady beeping oddly comforting in the silence. James was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, dressed in a loose T-shirt and sweatpants, a stark contrast to the sharp suits he usually wore. His head was bowed, hands clasped together as if in prayer, though I doubted James Hawke was the praying type. He didn’t look up when I entered. “Mr. Hawke,” I said gently, stepping into the room. He flinched slightly, as though he hadn’t heard me come in. Slowly, he raised his head, and for the first time since I’d met him, I saw something in his eyes that wasn’t defiance or arrogance. It was fear. I pulled a chair closer to him, sett

The morning had been unusually quiet, which in my line of work was both a blessing and a foreboding sign. The calm before the storm, as the saying goes. I had just finished reviewing the charts for my post-op patients when a hesitant knock sounded at my office door. “Come in,” I called without looking up, fully expecting a nurse or another doctor with a quick question. Instead, Dr. Maya Torres stepped inside. She was a third-year resident, ambitious to the point of exhaustion and always eager to prove herself. Her wide brown eyes were full of energy, though they couldn’t quite mask the uncertainty she carried in her posture. “Dr. Matthews,” she began, her voice tinged with a mix of respect and nervousness. “Do you have a moment?” I glanced up from my tablet and gestured for her to sit. “What’s on your mind, Dr. Torres?” She perched on the edge of the chair, her hands gripping the folder she held like it was a lifeline. “I wanted to discuss one of my patients with you. Mr. Landry.

The morning started like any other—a blur of patient rounds, consultations, and the ever-present hum of urgency that comes with working in a hospital. I was in the middle of reviewing another patient’s chart when the call came through. “Dr. Matthews, we have an emergency. It’s James Hawke,” the nurse on the other end of the line said, her voice tight with worry. My stomach clenched involuntarily. “What happened?” “He collapsed during a meeting. He’s being brought into the ER now. His heart rate is erratic, and he’s in distress.” I didn’t wait to hear more. The chart in my hand was forgotten as I hurried to the emergency department. My mind raced through possibilities, diagnosing and strategizing before I even reached him. When I entered the ER, the sight of James hit me like a punch to the chest. He was pale, his usually sharp features dulled by pain. Wires snaked across his chest, connecting him to the monitors that beeped frantically, warning us of his unstable condition. “Wha