Five years ago, Grace left Blade at the altar. Today, she's spreading her legs for him on his exam table. He stays professional until he whispers, "Hello, my ex." She runs, but that's a bad move because he buys the house she's selling and moves her in. Now he rubs cream into her thigh every night and says it's medical, but they both know it's not. "Are you always this hands-on with your patients?" Grace asks, trying to sound chill. Blade slows his hands, eyes locked on hers. "Only when the patient is you."
