The flickering fluorescent lights of the small examination room buzzed like a trapped fly, casting a sterile, cold glow over the white walls. The faint tang of antiseptic lingered in the air, sharp enough to sting the nostrils. Svetlana Volkov adjusted the crisp white coat she’d stolen—borrowed, she corrected herself with a smirk—from some poor sap who’d left it unattended in a locker room. The embroidered name tag read “Dr. E. Petrov,” but no one had questioned her yet. Why would they? She had the look: sharp cheekbones, piercing gray eyes that could cut through steel, and a commanding presence that made even the most seasoned nurses step aside when she strode down the halls of St. Mary’s Children’s Hospital.
It was her first day, and already she felt the rush of power coursing through her veins. A bandit by trade, a wolf in sheep’s clothing by choice, Svetlana had spent years running cons, pulling heists, and leaving broken men in her wake. But this? This was a new kind of game. Masquerading as a pediatric urologist gave her a thrill that no vault of cash ever could. Here, she held lives in her hands—or at least, the illusion of it. And oh, how she intended to play.
The door creaked open, and in shuffled a young boy with a mop of fiery red hair and a constellation of freckles across his nose. Trailing behind him was his mother, a mousy woman with worry etched into every line of her face. Svetlana’s lips curled into a predatory smile as she sized them up. Easy prey.
“Good morning,” she purred, her voice smooth as silk but laced with an edge of danger. She leaned against the examination table, crossing her arms, the stethoscope around her neck glinting like a trophy. “I’m Dr. Petrov, and you must be… Ivan, yes?” Her gaze flicked to the boy, who nodded shyly, clutching his mother’s hand.
“Yes, Doctor,” the mother stammered, her eyes darting around the room as if seeking reassurance from the peeling paint on the walls. “It’s just a routine check-up, for school. They said everything should be fine, but—”
“Oh, we’ll see about that,” Svetlana interrupted, her tone dripping with mock concern as she pushed off the table and sauntered closer. She towered over them, her presence suffocating in the cramped space. “Routine doesn’t always mean safe, does it, little man?” She winked at Ivan, who blushed a shade redder than his hair.
The mother blinked, clearly unsure whether to laugh or cry. “I… I suppose not. But he’s healthy, really. No complaints.”
Svetlana waved a dismissive hand, her manicured nails flashing under the harsh light. “Complaints are for children who know what’s wrong. I’m here to find what they don’t know. Now, let’s have a look, shall we, carrot-top?” She smirked at Ivan, whose eyes widened at the nickname.
“Carrot-top?” he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably on the paper-covered table as she gestured for him to sit.
“Oh, don’t take it personally, little radish,” Svetlana teased, her voice a low, playful growl as she leaned in, pretending to inspect his chart. “It’s a term of endearment. You’ve got fire in that hair, and I bet there’s fire in your spirit too, hmm? Or are you just gonna sit there blushing like a tomato?”
Ivan squirmed, a nervous giggle escaping him. “I—I don’t know, ma’am.”
“Ma’am?” Svetlana barked a laugh, straightening up and placing a hand on her hip. “Call me Doctor, sweetheart. I didn’t forge—er, earn—this degree for nothing.” She caught herself mid-slip, her grin never faltering. The mother didn’t seem to notice, too busy wringing her hands.
Svetlana turned her attention back to Ivan, her movements deliberate as she pulled on a pair of latex gloves with a loud snap. “Alright, let’s see what we’re working with. Shirt up, pants down to the knees. Quick now, I haven’t got all day to play peek-a-boo.”
The boy hesitated, glancing at his mother, who nodded encouragingly despite the growing unease in her eyes. Svetlana’s gaze sharpened, sensing the tension like a shark smelling blood. “Don’t be shy, little radish. I’ve seen it all before. You think you’re the first nervous Nellie to sit on my table? Think again.”
As Ivan reluctantly complied, Svetlana performed a cursory examination, barely glancing at him before letting out a dramatic gasp. “Oh my,” she said, her voice thick with feigned alarm. She turned to the mother, her expression grave but her eyes dancing with mischief. “I’m afraid I’ve spotted something… concerning. We’ll need to schedule an urgent procedure. Today, if possible.”
The mother’s face drained of color. “A procedure? But—but it’s just a check-up! What’s wrong? Is it serious?”
Svetlana placed a reassuring hand on the woman’s shoulder, her grip just a tad too firm. “Now, now, don’t panic. I’m the expert here, aren’t I? Trust me, it’s better we catch this early. I’ll need you to step out and fill out some paperwork with the nurse while I… discuss the details with young Ivan here. Confidentiality, you understand.”
The mother nodded numbly, casting one last worried glance at her son before being ushered out by a nurse who’d appeared at Svetlana’s sharp gesture. The door clicked shut, leaving just the two of them in the sterile silence.
Svetlana turned back to Ivan, her smile widening into something almost feral. “Well, well, carrot-top. Just you and me now. Feeling brave, or are you gonna cry for Mommy?”
Ivan swallowed hard, his freckles standing out starkly against his pale skin. “I’m not gonna cry,” he muttered, though his voice trembled.
“Good boy,” Svetlana cooed, stepping closer until she loomed over him. She tilted his chin up with a gloved finger, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Because I don’t have time for tears. You’re in my den now, little radish, and I’m the big bad wolf. But don’t worry—I don’t bite… unless you ask nicely.” She chuckled, low and dangerous, watching the confusion and fear flicker across his face.
“W-what’s the procedure?” he stammered, trying to sound braver than he felt.
“Oh, nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about just yet,” she replied, her tone teasing as she straightened up and peeled off her gloves with a slow, deliberate motion. “Let’s just say it’s… hands-on. And lucky for you, I’ve got very skilled hands.” She wiggled her fingers at him, her smirk pure sin.
Ivan didn’t know whether to laugh or shrink back, so he did a little of both. Svetlana reveled in it—the uncertainty, the power, the game. She turned away for a moment, pulling out her phone under the guise of checking a schedule. Her fingers danced across the screen as she typed out a quick message to her old crew, the band of misfits who’d followed her into this latest con, now posing as eager medical interns.
*“Got a live one in Exam Room 3. Fresh meat for a hands-on lesson. Get here quick, pups. Let’s make it educational.”*
She hit send, her lips curling into a wicked grin as she pocketed the phone and turned back to Ivan. “Don’t look so glum, carrot-top. You’re about to be the star of the show. And trust me, I always put on a good performance.”
The boy stared at her, wide-eyed, as the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows across the room. Svetlana leaned against the wall, crossing her arms, her white coat gleaming like a predator’s pelt. She was the wolf in this den, and she was just getting started.
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