The Andrologist's Secret Therapy - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
You are reading The Andrologist's Secret Therapy, Chapter 3: Chapter 3. Read more chapters of The Andrologist's Secret Therapy.
The key was this—his circle was filled with wealthy, high-status individuals who knew better than to air their dirty laundry in public.
After some persistent coaxing, I finally caved in.
Over the next year, thanks to Mr. Anderson's referrals, I took on a handful of patients.
No matter what they came in with, every single one walked out completely healed under my care.
Word spread fast in those elite circles—though, predictably, a few "recovered" clients tried to push things beyond professional boundaries.
But old-fashioned morals ran deep in me. No matter how tempting the offer, I couldn't bring myself to blur the lines between therapy and… extracurricular activities.
I shut them down firmly and stuck to my role as a male therapist.
The last person I ever expected to see on my client list tonight? A doctor from my own hospital.
Alexander Roscente. The neurosurgery prodigy.
The second I recognized him, I wanted to bolt.
But Alexander? Unfazed.
There he stood in the hallway, shirtless, wearing nothing but slate-gray briefs.
The thin fabric left little to the imagination, hugging every sculpted line.
First impression? Damn.
I froze, wishing the floor would swallow me whole.
Then his voice—cool, detached—drifted down from where he loomed over me. "So. You're the miracle worker everyone's whispering about."
"Dr. Roscente, what a… surprise."
Mortification burned through me, but before I could stammer further, he turned and strode toward the bedroom.
At the threshold, he paused, glancing back with a raised brow. "You planning to work your magic out here?"
Alexander's temper was legendary—not a man you crossed lightly.
Money talked, though. So I swallowed my pride and followed.
The door clicked shut behind me.
His gaze raked over me for a beat before he hooked his thumbs into his waistband—and let the briefs drop.
After some persistent coaxing, I finally caved in.
Over the next year, thanks to Mr. Anderson's referrals, I took on a handful of patients.
No matter what they came in with, every single one walked out completely healed under my care.
Word spread fast in those elite circles—though, predictably, a few "recovered" clients tried to push things beyond professional boundaries.
But old-fashioned morals ran deep in me. No matter how tempting the offer, I couldn't bring myself to blur the lines between therapy and… extracurricular activities.
I shut them down firmly and stuck to my role as a male therapist.
The last person I ever expected to see on my client list tonight? A doctor from my own hospital.
Alexander Roscente. The neurosurgery prodigy.
The second I recognized him, I wanted to bolt.
But Alexander? Unfazed.
There he stood in the hallway, shirtless, wearing nothing but slate-gray briefs.
The thin fabric left little to the imagination, hugging every sculpted line.
First impression? Damn.
I froze, wishing the floor would swallow me whole.
Then his voice—cool, detached—drifted down from where he loomed over me. "So. You're the miracle worker everyone's whispering about."
"Dr. Roscente, what a… surprise."
Mortification burned through me, but before I could stammer further, he turned and strode toward the bedroom.
At the threshold, he paused, glancing back with a raised brow. "You planning to work your magic out here?"
Alexander's temper was legendary—not a man you crossed lightly.
Money talked, though. So I swallowed my pride and followed.
The door clicked shut behind me.
His gaze raked over me for a beat before he hooked his thumbs into his waistband—and let the briefs drop.
End of The Andrologist's Secret Therapy Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to The Andrologist's Secret Therapy book page.