My mom suspected I was underdeveloped because of my chest size, so she kidnapped me and dragged me to a doctor. The doctor turned out to be my ex-boyfriend, whom I had just broken up with. He looked cold and distant: "Pull your shirt down to your collarbone, unhook your bra." Then he deliberately teased me: "It is pretty small." I gritted my teeth and shifted the blame: "Small chest? Blame the ex-boyfriend for not working hard enough." The next second, I was pinned against the exam table, his voice dangerous: "Seems the examination wasn't thorough enough. "Looks like I need to keep working hard." 1 "Patient number 52, Chloe Miller, please proceed to Exam Room 2." The moment the automated voice announced my name. I stared at the sign reading [Thoracic Surgery: Dr. Ethan Black], grinding my teeth so hard they might crack. I glanced sideways at the lean figure behind the glass door. The hint of his waistline under the white coat reminded me of certain unspeakable scenes. A month ago, that waist was pressing down on me, whispering "last time." Now he looked like a refined scumbag. "Why are you zoning out?" My mom slapped my back. "Dr. Black is a top expert who returned from overseas. Getting an appointment with him is like winning the lottery! I only got one because his mom and I are best friends." Before I could ask how my mom knew his mom, I heard a cold voice: "Next." When the exam room door opened. The man I hadn't seen for a month wore a blue mask, the cuffs of his white coat slightly rolled up. His eyes were indifferent, eyebrows slightly raised: "Want to get back together?" "Here for a checkup." I stiffened my neck, catching a glimpse of his Adam's apple bobbing. "Where does it hurt?" Before I could answer, my mom rushed in: "Ethan, I'm your Auntie Lin. Take a look at my daughter. Her chest is so small, is it developmental issues?" My mom's loud voice echoed in the exam room. My toes were actively constructing a magical castle in my shoes. "Auntie." Ethan pushed up his glasses. "Chest size is related to genetics, nutrition..." "Exactly!" My mom nodded repeatedly. "Do you think it's because she drank the wrong formula milk as a kid?" When Ethan wrote [Patient's family suspects formula caused underdeveloped chest] in the medical record. My toes had finished Phase 2 of the castle. If I have sinned, let the law punish me. Not by having my own mother suspect I'm underdeveloped because of a small chest and force me to see a doctor. And the doctor is my ex-boyfriend from a month ago. "Palpation required." Ethan stood up, flashing a professional smile at my mom. "Family members, please wait outside." I clutched the registration slip, smiling without humor. "Can I change doctors?" He didn't even look up, his tone distant and indifferent: "Turn right out the door, re-register, and queue up again." "Oh, no need, the queue is so long." My mom immediately pressed me onto the exam table. "What's wrong with a male doctor? You young people are so conservative. In a doctor's eyes, there is no gender." I felt lifeless. No gender in a doctor's eyes, but what about in an ex-boyfriend's? Besides, since when does a thoracic expert handle developmental issues??? 2 Ethan raised his hand to close the privacy curtain, adjusted his glasses, and signaled me: "Pull your shirt up, unhook your bra." I clutched the hem of my shirt tightly, glaring at him. "You... you're abusing your power for personal revenge!" He put his hands in his coat pockets, looking composed, and coldly reminded me: "Miss Miller, first, you registered for my clinic. "Second, I am a doctor. Treating patients is my job. "Finally, is there any part of you I haven't seen?" Me: ... Fine, you win... I gritted my teeth, took a deep breath, and unhooked my bra. Heart pounding, eyes closed, I pulled my shirt up. His hands were a bit cold, making me shiver when they touched my skin. "Don't be nervous." "Who... who's nervous..." "High heart rate." The corner of his mouth hooked into an imperceptible smile. Head down, checking very seriously. "Any sensation?" I turned my head to the side, huffing: "No!" "No?" He frowned, puzzled. "No sensation means no sensation. Dr. Black's technique is too poor. We broke up, do you expect me to fake it?" Since I couldn't win physically, I chose to win verbally. "Heh, my technique is poor?" He lowered his eyes slightly, locking gazes with me through his lenses, voice cold and deep. "Chloe, speak with your conscience." I cursed silently, Isn't my conscience being touched by you right now? He applied a bit more pressure. "How about now?" Me: "Feels like you're pinching me..." He looked up, staring straight at me, and sighed. "Any pain?" "No!" "Distention pain?" "No!" "Is it itchy usually?" "Oh right, it's not here that itches." Me: !!! "Ethan Black, have you touched enough!" Blushing, I abruptly propped myself up, almost hitting his chin: "Don't you know if I'm sick or not?" "So far, there doesn't seem to be any problem, but..." His hands finally let go of me. His low laugh suddenly rang in the air: "It is pretty small." I gritted my teeth, retorting defiantly: "Small chest? Blame the ex-boyfriend for not working hard enough!" Suddenly, he grabbed my waist, and I fell into his arms by inertia. The scent of faint woody cologne wafted from his white coat. His breathing was heavy, his voice dangerous: "What, want me to work harder? Trying the same trick again?" His face wore undisguised mockery. 3 Yes, we got together purely because I stalked him relentlessly until he had no choice but to give in. Back then, I accompanied my best friend to the doctor and fell for Ethan's devastating looks at first sight. White coat, gold-rimmed glasses, broad shoulders, long legs—the ascetic vibe was maxed out. I have a thing for hands. Watching his slender, distinct knuckles typing on the keyboard beat a drum in my heart. I clung to the doorframe, swallowing hard, heart rate soaring. Finally understood the suspension bridge effect. Give me a heart bypass right now! My best friend was hospitalized for a month due to arrhythmia from looking at male models. I became an unofficial staff member of the thoracic surgery department. Morning bubble tea delivery? Criticized for excessive sugar. Lunch bento delivery? Criticized for nutritional imbalance. Evening stakeouts? Lectured on irregular sleep schedules. After I faked low blood sugar and fell into his arms for thirty consecutive days, Ethan finally cornered me in the stairwell: "Chloe, what exactly do you want?" "You." I gritted my teeth, tiptoeing to pull his tie: "Okay? "Dr. Black, my heart races whenever I see you. What should I do?" Later, when he pinned me against the wall and kissed me. I realized even high-altitude flowers bite when provoked. But soon I discovered this man was a monk. Three months to hold hands, six months to kiss. Every time I wanted to deepen the exchange, he rejected me firmly with those enchanting eyes: "This is too fast." I played tug-of-war for six months before using a honey trap to push him down. However, the high-altitude flower wasn't cold in bed at all. He wore me out every time. Love should be sweet, but his job was special. He practically lived on the operating table. Leaving at 7 AM and returning at 8 or 9 PM was normal. I wanted some action when he got home, but he had to review cases, write papers, take exams. Even a workhorse would call him brother. At a vigorous age, I craved him. Couldn't stand this feast-or-famine life. On my birthday, I hadn't had any for half a month. I swore I would push him down. But the movie just started when a phone call sent him running back to the hospital. I finished the movie alone, ate hot pot alone, feeling incredibly lonely and wronged. Sent him WeChat messages, no reply. When I brought food to the hospital to see him, he was sitting with a female doctor, discussing a case intently. Their faces showed undisguised admiration. Indescribably compatible. In an instant, my enthusiasm deflated. Someone like Ethan is fine for sleeping with. Not suitable for marriage. He's an excellent doctor at a top hospital; I'm a broke writer who loves pretty faces. Truly mismatched. And at that moment, I suddenly didn't want to sleep with him anymore. So, I proposed a breakup. He asked why. I gave a reason that would kill any man's heart: "Your technique sucks." Then I blocked all his contact info. After the breakup, he never looked for me. Anyway, I dumped him. Now that I accidentally registered for his clinic, it looks like I regretted it and came back to chase him. 4 I hurriedly reached back to fasten my bra hook. "Dr. Black, you're overthinking it. My mom registered me. "Also, I don't play with the same man twice." I retorted defiantly. But I couldn't fasten the hook. He pressed close to me, suddenly wrapping his arms around my waist. Deftly helping me hook my bra. Caught off guard by his sudden move, I was flustered. He spoke first, voice cool: "No need to thank me. "Practice makes perfect." I used to tease him about his dexterous hands, good for scalpels and unhooking bras with one hand. I gritted my teeth, deliberately sarcastic: "Dr. Black is so considerate, even hooking bras for female patients." He smiled faintly, composed: "You're welcome. "It's also my first time encountering a female patient seeking treatment for a small chest." Me: ... After a moment of silence, I was still thinking of a comeback. My mom knocked and entered. Seeing my bad expression, she hurriedly asked Ethan: "Dr. Black, does my daughter have some problem?" Ethan stepped back to a safe distance: "Auntie, don't worry, no problems." My mom exhaled a long breath: "That's good, that's good..." Then she asked heartbrokenly: "But her sister and I are both Ds. Why is she an A?" I silently buried my face in my hands. "Maybe—" Holding back laughter, he pushed up his glasses: "She takes after her uncle." Dead silence. My mom still wouldn't give up: "So my daughter's chest really has no hope?" "Suggest eating more papaya." Ethan's gaze swept over me, seemingly unintentional, a distinct smile on his lips: "Of course, auxiliary massage is also effective. "Some women may experience secondary development during lactation." My mom slapped her thigh, enlightened: "Got it, she just needs to find a man." Her eyes lit up, looking at him: "Ethan, heard from your mom you just broke up. What do you think of my daughter?" My head buzzed. Hurriedly stopping my mom, whispering: "Mom, don't matchmake randomly..." My mom stomped her foot anxiously: "I saw Dr. Black's profile outside. PhD, Deputy Chief Physician, young and promising. And handsome! Perfect for our genes. If your mom were 20 years younger, I'd have made a move already. "He just broke up, the rebound period needs comfort most. Hurry up and take advantage! "Um, Dr. Black, how about adding WeChat? If Chloe feels uncomfortable later, she can consult you online?" Ethan looked up at me. I blinked frantically. Because he was still on my blacklist. "Sure." But he took out his phone, QR code directly in my face: "Please scan it yourself, Miss Miller." I bit the bullet and scanned the code. Beep. Ethan's avatar appeared on the screen. Below the message box was a small line of text: Added to blacklist. You will no longer receive messages from this person. "Haven't received the friend request yet." He reminded me. I gritted my teeth, secretly removing him from the blacklist: "Done." He nodded with a smile: "Good, I'll send the medical advice to Miss Miller." I silently rolled my eyes. Bullshit, what medical advice for a small chest? A few minutes later, Ethan sent a WeChat message: [Chest Massage Techniques Complete Guide.pdf] [Proper massage can promote development and prevent breast hyperplasia.] I smiled through gritted teeth: "Dr. Black truly has a healer's heart." Dr. Black: "Free medical guidance available."
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