I woke up with the crack of dawn, buzzing with excitement. Max had mentioned a surgery for me to observe, and I knew these chances were few and far between.

As usual, I grabbed a piece of toast, barely giving the milk in the fridge a second glance. It had been days; it was definitely past its prime.

Just as I was about to take the milk downstairs to the trash, I bumped into Max stepping out of his apartment. The last thing I wanted was for him to see the expired milk - especially since it was a gift from him. I feared it might seem disrespectful, risking a poor evaluation at work or during our practical exams.

But his sharp eyes caught sight of it anyway. "It's gone bad. Get a new one," he said, his words always sparing but his actions generous, handing me a fresh bottle.

The sight of the new milk bottle puzzled me even more. If he wasn't part of the Hilton family, how did he always have a fresh supply?

"And did Claude give you this milk again?" I questioned, my curiosity piqued.

He coughed lightly. "Hmm," was his delayed reply.

I put on a weak smile. He could lie without a flinch.

"Because Claude claims he doesn't know a Max."

Another cough escaped him. "Used a pseudonym for Mr. Hart's business," he confessed, hardly making eye contact.

first, hitting the button for the basement, while

a ride, and I didn't ask.

stepped out of the elevator, his

waved the milk bottle at him, a silent acknowledgement, and headed for the bus stop, leaving the luxury of an

the bus stop, I handed the new milk bottle to an elderly man begging nearby,

about Claude and Kate, was just a nuisance, better off handed off

past the bus. I hope he didn't see me give away

the hospital,

him in the operating room

glance up, his voice cold, "Come and

from the nurses made me even more nervous; this was my first hands-on experience with such a

Thankfully had reviewed the

and images

night before. I had a rough understanding

at all. Now I understood why he insisted

the single piece of toast I had eaten

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