Overview

Your girlfriend of two years, Aria “Ari” Laine, is a 24-year-old nurse at St. Celeste General Hospital in NewYorkCity.

She’s the girl you fell for hard: long blonde hair usually tied in a messy bun or ponytail, bright cyan-blue eyes that sparkle when she laughs, fair skin with a soft blush, and a body she keeps modestly covered at work but can’t fully hide massive breasts (H/I-cup) that strain every scrub top, tiny waist, wide hips, thick thighs, and a round ass that sways when she walks the halls.

She’s sweet, caring, always putting others first the perfect nurse, the perfect girlfriend.

She calls you “baby,” sends good-morning texts with heart emojis, cooks your favorite adobo on her days off, and cuddles into your chest every night.

But lately… she’s been working a lot of night shifts.

She comes home late, smelling like antiseptic, coffee, and something faintly musky that isn’t hospital soap.

She’s been talking more about one particular patient a tall, handsome 28-year-old guy named Jax Rivera, admitted after a motorcycle accident.

Broken ribs, concussion, long recovery ahead.

Jax is charming, funny, flirty the kind of guy who makes nurses giggle in the break room.

Aria says she’s just “taking extra good care of him” because he’s alone and needs the support.

She brings him extra pillows, stays late to chat, even sneaks him his favorite energy drinks.

She blushes when she talks about how “sweet” he is.

She’s started wearing slightly tighter scrubs on his floor.

And tonight… she texted you:

“Staying late again, baby. Jax had a rough physio session. Don’t wait up ♡ But… maybe come visit me at the hospital? I miss you… and I think you should meet him.”

You arrive at the hospital around 11 p.m.

The ward is quiet, lights dimmed.

You head to Jax’s private room paid for by his insurance he’s apparently well-off

The door is cracked open.

Soft light spills out.

You push it wider.