il mio professore

Chapter 4 ~~✨

The first time Livia saw death, it wasn't clean or quiet.

It was messy.

A third-year had collapsed during a practical rotation in the emergency ward. His name was Matteo. Brilliant, loud, alive. One second he was helping a resident take vitals, the next he was on the floor, choking on air that wouldn't come. His eyes rolled back. His lips went blue.

Panic erupted like a flash fire. The room filled with noise—shouting, alarms, someone screaming for a crash cart.

Livia didn't move.

Not at first.

She stood frozen, hands shaking against her scrubs, her pulse a thunderclap in her ears.

Then, she heard it.

"Livia—now!"

Augustus's voice. Cutting through chaos like a blade.

Her body snapped into action.

Check airway. Check breathing. Check pulse.

Matteo was seizing. A nurse pushed oxygen toward him. The defibrillator pads were being prepped, but they had seconds—seconds—to stabilize him before brain damage set in.

"Side him—on his side, don't let him aspirate—" she shouted, her voice higher than she wanted.

A hand caught her wrist. Steady. Warm.

Augustus.

He looked at her, not the patient. "Think. What's missing?"

Her breath trembled. Then: "He's hypoglycemic."

Augustus's expression didn't change, but something flickered—approval, just for a moment.

"Dextrose IV. Now."

She grabbed the vial, the syringe. Hands no longer shaking.

By the time the attending rushed in, Matteo was stabilizing.

By the time the other students returned to their bodies, Augustus had stepped back into the shadows—letting Livia take the credit.

Later, she found him outside in the alley between hospital wings, lit only by a flickering security lamp.

"You knew it was hypoglycemia," she said.

He didn't look at her. "Yes."

"Then why make me guess?"

"Because you won't always have me there," Augustus said flatly. "You needed to find it in yourself."

She stepped closer, chest still tight from adrenaline. "You used a dying student as a teaching opportunity."

He turned to her now, sharply. "Don't ever mistake necessity for cruelty."

Livia felt the ache beneath her ribs, a wound opening where fear had lived. "You could have taken over. You could have pushed me aside."

"I wanted to," he admitted.

That stopped her.

He stepped forward—too close, again. Always too close.

"I wanted to shield you," Augustus said, voice low. "But shielding you makes you soft. And soft gets people killed."

She stared at him. The cold mask was cracking.

"You're not just preparing me for medicine," she whispered. "You're preparing me for you."

Augustus's jaw tensed.

"I'm preparing you for a world that doesn't care how clever you are," he said. "Only how ruthless you can be."

"You're scared," she said suddenly. "Aren't you?"

That pierced something.

"You're scared I'll fail. Or worse—you're scared I won't need you anymore when I don't."

His eyes darkened. And then—

His hand touched her cheek.

Soft. Unexpected.

The moment burned with restraint.

"You're not ready for what it means to be mine," he said quietly.

And then he stepped back. Vanishing into the dark before she could say a word.

That Night

The apartment was silent when she returned. She peeled off her hospital coat, her fingers trembling—not from fear, but from clarity.

She saw it now. The way he watched her—not as a man watches a woman, but as a sculptor watches marble.

He wanted her perfect. But perfection had a price. And she wasn't sure she could pay it without losing something essential.

She looked at the note he'd left on the counter again. This time, it read:

You did well.
Your instincts are sharpening.
—A.M.

Livia didn't sleep.

She lay awake, eyes on the ceiling, her body buzzing from memory.

Matteo's eyes. The screaming. The silence.

And Augustus's voice, whispering behind all of it.

You're not ready to be mine.

She turned onto her side, fingers curled under her jaw.

But maybe, just maybe, she thought, he isn't ready for what it means when I choose to be.