Chapter 1Diagnosis: Ex-Boyfriend

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."

* * *

"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???