As soon as I entered the office on Saturday, I left my case on the table and shrugged out of the blazer, before neatly wrapping it around the neck of my seat. Today was going to be a memorable day. Something within me was screaming that phrase. And maybe I could guess why.

Maeve Adams. That's why.

I couldn't put a finger on the reason of my excitement. Was it because I broke up on better terms with Olivia and now was single again, or because I just couldn't wait to see Maeve, again? Either way, I ran both of my hands through my hair, still a little damp from the shower.

Hell, I was clumsy throughout the morning.

Chill Cole, she's just your client.

Of course. I knew that. I was just excited for...for...a new case. The new face was just a bonus.

I huffed out impatiently, and as my chest heaved, a knock drew my attention to the door. Miss. Kennedy stepped inside with her usual bright smile.

"Dr Cole, Miss. Adams is here."

I nodded, almost hurriedly. "Please. Let her in." Miss. Kennedy seemed to notice my unpredicted nervousness, but nevertheless, left with a polite nod.

I sat myself at the table and tried to comb back my hair into place with my fingers and undid another button of my shirt other than that of the collar. It was suddenly too hot in the room.

I heard a gentle, almost inaudible knock again, and I braced myself for the reveal.

The door creaked open, and a black glossy stiletto winked at me first, before their mistress stepped in.

As if swooned by some enchantment, I slowly rose to my feet, and Maeve paused at the door. Her eyes instantly locked with mine, like she knew just where to find them.

She was in all black. A square neck dress that hugged her body, embracing every curve, every dip, down to the mid of her thighs. And the full sleeves ran down to a little further than her wrist, revealing just her delicate, slender fingers. A little black silken scarf adorned her neck, the fabric viciously dark against her pale skin.

An enchantress. The words surfaced my mind easily, like they were just hiding under there somewhere waiting to pop.

Maeve shot a brow up at me, expectantly, and my body reacted almost instantly, stiffening further.

God, being this beautiful must be Illegal.

I quickly dissolved the thought.

Get a grip, Cole.

"Good morning, Miss. Adams. Please, come in." I tried my best to flash her a pleased smile and somehow succeeded.

Her lips twitched, not exactly smiling. "Morning, Doc. And please, it's Maeve." She lazily sauntered toward my desk, and I noticed her purse, clutched safely before her hips in both of her hands. Of course, black.

Black had never seemed so dangerous yet appealing before.

I cleared my throat, motioning her toward the seat across me. "Right, Maeve. Have a seat."

She nodded, pulling out a chair and her mischievous honey waves caressed her cheeks as she bent to sit herself comfortably down. I quietly followed after her onto my seat, adjusting myself under the table.

The atmosphere shifted, temperature rose and soon, a soft scent caressed my nostrils. My fingers curled against my palm as the vanilla fragrance filled my lungs, and for the first time since I started practicing as a psychiatrist, I wished I had stayed in bed.

Does she always smell so good?

I took a deep breath again, intentionally, and straightened my spine, pulling myself together. Or at least trying to.

Say something, Cole. Say something

"So, what brings you in today?" I threw in the first question surfacing my brain. The most common one.

“The appointment.” She shot back, eyes running around the office.

Ouch. I cleared my throat. “Of course. But I thought there might be something perticular I could help you with." What am I saying?

Maeve seemed hardly affected by my blabbering, lost in her own thoughts. Her eyes returned to the table, and then stilled. As much as she was with me, she wasn’t here.

Her impassive gaze and unfazed expressions reminded me of…Michael.

The thought instantly stirred me upright.

"Is something bothering you?" I leaned forward, resting my elbows against the glass top and stapling my fingers together.

Maeve blinked, eyes darting up to meet mine. Her dark brown eyes looked dull. A melancholy look floating around in them. They didn't sparkle like they did in the photo I saw in the email.

In fact, I realized I had never seen her eyes sparkle since the first time I met her.

"Maeve," I tried to draw her attention and her eyes widened slightly, as if drowning in realization of where she was and who she was with. "What is it? You can tell me anything."

I tried to look calm, but something about her usual stoic collected self, looking all rundown now made uneasiness rise within me.

She looked away and shrugged, followed by a sigh. "My father passed away."

Woah…what?

I blinked, totally taken aback by the news. Then slightly shifted back in my seat.

Passed away, when? Today?

That explained her all black 'funeral' look.

"Oh, I'm... I'm sorry to hear that. Do you want me to drop you back home? We can arrange this session whenever you're–"

"No," She leaned forward shaking her head. "I'm fine. I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to." Her voice was clipped and straight to the point, eyes relaxed and honest.

There came that straight, unwavering gaze again when she looked at me. The usual curtain drawn down to shield her true emotions away. Why did she do that?

I nodded to myself and glanced down at my wrist watch. It was ten minutes already. The cruelty of time. It always rushrd when you didn’t want it to.

I quickly fetched my notepad and pen. Although I doubted I would need it because mentally, I knew I would remember each and every word she'd say.

A memorable day it was.

"So, how are you feeling today?" I leaned forward again. Maeve followed, propping forward on her elbows, looking keenly interested.

"Do I have to answer everything you ask?"

That almost made me smile. "I would advise so."

She looked down at my knotted fingers then trailed her gaze of every little object on my table. "I am feeling…better."

I tilted my head, searching for her eyes, but they remained down as she grabbed a crystal paper weight from a file set beside.

"Tell me more." My voice involuntarily fell an octave, as I tried to gauge her expressions.

She shifted slightly, but didn’t look up, swirling the little paper weight on the table with her fingers.

"I feel, as a daughter, I was obligated to visit my father’s funeral. But I didn't. And oddly enough, I don't regret it at all." She tilted her head, watching the paper weight swirl and come to halt, then swirled it again. An evil strand of her hair, fell flat against her cheek. "Does that make me a bad daughter?"

The answer came instantly.

"No,” I watched the strand of her hair, focused. “It makes you a human being, Maeve. Not everyone wants to live up to the expectations of the society, or family, or friend. Trust me, you don't have to do anything you don't want to." I could only hint she might have had a bad relationship with her father.

Maeve slowly nodded in understanding and determination rose anew within me. She was not as complicated as I assumed. I just had to get passed that curtain, maybe a sneak-peek, and I would know what's bothering her.

"Would you mind if I ask you some personal questions?" I fiddled with the pen, eyes begging to meet her gaze.

She readily looked up and I was almost undone by the little wicked smile that drew her lips up. "Depends on how personal you can get."

I let out a chuckle despite myself and set the pen down, before standing up. “Are you always so straightforward?”

“Mostly. Is it bad?” Maeve watched me closely as I sauntered across the room to the huge window and drew back the blinds, instantly filling the room with sun bathed glow.

“Not at all. I would say it’s rather helpful in such sessions.”

When I turned around, Maeve's eyes switched from my shoes over my legs to my chest and settled on my face. The slow, almost sensual trail heating my skin up and sending blood gushing to somewhere very inappropriate. She looked fucking unrealistic, with her skin now glowing under the influence of the sun, bringing some color to her cheeks. And it wasn't helping the situation.

"Do you work out often?" She asked, and once again I was taken aback by her straightforwardness.

"Yes, only on weekends though." I cleared my throat when her eyes kept running up and down me. "I'm too occupied or exhausted during work days for it."

She cocked her head to a side, looking suspicious. "Lies."

"Absolutely not. I'm a doctor, Maeve. I don't lie." I shook my head, loving the feel of her name on my lips, unable to hide my amused grin. I motioned her toward the couch. "Shall we?"

She followed my gaze and sighed, as if of relief.

"Oh, Good. I thought I'd have a sore ass sitting on that stiff chair." She quietly grumbled, grabbing her purse and walking toward the white leather couch, leaving behind a trail of click clack of her stilettos.

I quickly stole a glance at the black leather seat she was sitting on. It just dawned on me that I had to replace them as soon as possible.

I followed behind her, straightening the collar of my white shirt. We both looked like two opposite forces. One all black and the other all white.

Opposites attract, though.

I dismissed the thought as soon as it surfaced, taking a seat on the single couch as she took a place at the three-seater.

"Alright, go on. What personal questions do you have?" She folded her hands on her lap and looked up at me expectantly. And suddenly I was nervous. My head empty.

Shit, what was I going to ask?

I risked a glance at her and she was watching me, closely, with an unmoving stare.

Don't. Look. At. Me. Like. That.

"Uh, what made you decide to see a psychiatrist?" I crossed my arms across my chest, trying to halt the tournament my heart was running for.

"I didn't. My physician did. Why don't you ask him why he thinks I'm crazy?" She raised her brows.

"No one thinks you're crazy." I frowned at her even before I could help it.

"Well, apparently some people do." She said, then seemed to contemplate her own words. Because right after, she broke her eyes away. I let it slide.

It was the first session, I reminded myself. Don't ask too many questions and scare her away.

"Okay. What was your physician's concern?"

She looked surprised at my question, as her eyes found mine again. "You don't know?"

I flushed. "Of course, I do. But I need to hear it from you."

Lies. I totally forgot to read through your reports because I was too caught up by your beautiful photo.

She fiddled with her fingers, eyes still strained on me. “It’s not something I fancy talking about.” As soon as she said it, for a very brief moment, I felt those curtains drawing up, as if she was trying to open up, but something was stopping her.

I uncrossed my arms and leaned forward. “Tell me.” I didn’t recognize my voice as I said it. It sounded like a demand, rather than request.

And I saw the effect reflecting on her face. She drew in short breaths, and her eyes lowered. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I told you, it’s not something I like to talk–”

“Then show me.”

Her eyes snapped to mine, and I caught a fleeting look of…of something. Something between anxiousness and surprise.

I couldn’t point out.

I didn’t know why I said what I said. But I knew I couldn’t take it back, so I waited for her to get comfortable enough to tell me. Because feelings were not something we could show.

She ducked her head down, her hair coming forward to shield her expression from me. My fingers twitched against each other. It took everything in me to resist reaching forward and tucking her hair back so I could see her face. I wanted to know what was bothering her.

"It's..." Her fingers slowly reached the hem of her dress, clutching it tightly, and I watched those fingers, more intently than necessary.

Then, she started dragging it upward, revealing her black stockings, garter and just a hint of pale flesh in between.

My eyes widened slightly but didn’t look away from where it settled on her inner thighs. I opened my mouth, not sure what to say, but my words ceased as Miss. Kennedy knocked in to the rescue.

Maeve quickly pulled her dress down to its place, and we both turned to the door in unison.

"Dr Cole, your next appointment is due in five minutes." Mrs. Kennedy poked her head in, smiling at me and nodded politely at Maeve.

Wait, what just happened?

I bolted up from my seat, as Miss Kennedy left, and turned to a frowning, confused looking Maeve, gripping the edges of her purse so tight that her nails disappeared into the leather. I didn't understand what she was going to do earlier and there was no way I was going to ask her about it.

I tried to connect dots like usual, but couldn’t. Was she actually trying to show me the problem?

What kind of problem did she had that was etched on her skin? Fuck, I should have gone through her reports.

When she didn’t budge after a whole minute, I collected the little courage(resistance?) I could gather at the moment and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, my fingers unexpectedly brushing the warm skin at the edge of the dress.

She shivered, and looked up, blinking. That was the Maeve who had walked into my office, vulnerable and blank. I was more than desperate now, to help her. And the switch between her personalities was warning me of something. Something way deeper than I'd initially assumed.

"Are you alright?" I piled up a few strands of my remaining composure and sat down beside her. Too close for any good.

She looked at her fingers in her lap than my hand resting on my thigh, and briefly after, something shifted in her look. I followed her gaze.

Reaching forward, she touched the back of my palm with her fingertips, a very delicious spark running through me where our skins touched. Every nerve ending in my body set to tingle the surface of my skin. Her eyes, still very much impassive, stared at my hand, her fingers curling around my palm into a warm hold, and I found myself responding with a little squeeze.

You're just helping her. Just a help. The words recited in my head.

I watched confused, fascinated and alarmed all together, as she looked up at me, then leaned forward. There was absolutely no time to process what had happened until it was done, and I found myself reeling from the touch of her lips against my jaw.

A sigh eased out of me when the softness of her lips grazed my stubble. But before I could reciprocate, or at least understand the reason for that sweet gesture, she was pulling away from me, a sweet smile adorning her perfect lips as she whispered,

"You're a good doctor, Ian."

And I knew I was done.

I searched through all the files in my study, flipping over all the papers and sheets in the drawer, hunting for the blue file labelled as Maeve Adams.

It was past seven in the evening. Chloe and Niall's chatters from the living room were vaguely brushing past my ears, but I was too distracted.

I had been distracted and absolutely disoriented since the meeting with Miss Enchantress in the morning. I wrapped up most of the sessions quickly after that.

"You all good, Doctor?" Mrs. Kennedy had asked me.

Good and Doctor. Those two words built an ache inside me and I had not meant it when I had told her "Yes, all fine."

I was anything but fine.

A pile of papers slid down the shelf as I foraged through them and I groaned, reaching down to fetch them, when my eyes settled on the blue edge of a file, peeking out from underneath. I picked up the file and her name taunted me through it.

Leaving the mess on the floor, I strolled to my study table and plopped down on the chair.

I needed to know what was wrong with her. Because there was no way I could continue to be around her without preparation. Usually, I could handle a new case for a month or two easily, without delving deep into them from the start.

But Maeve seemed to be the exception.

I needed to understand her to know how to help her.

If I could help her.

I flipped open the file and hastily ran through the details of her physical analysis. I scanned pages after pages. Searching for something that'd benefit my investigation. Something, that'd give me an insight to her personal life. Something that'd hint the reason for her being the way she was. Closed off and distant.

When I flipped to the doctors note, I recognized a very messy handwriting.

Dean's handwriting?

My fingers slid over every word as I read through them like reciting a verse from the Bible. There had to be something here that could help–

Abruptly, my finger came to a halt, over a phrase I least expected to find, but silently answered all my questions. Something I despised the most. Something I'd do anything to erase from that note beneath my finger, which read, NSSI (Non-suicidal, Self-Injury).