Chapter 3 - The First Step
Dr. Marcus hesitated, his hand hovering over the strap of his duffel bag. He looked at Dominic, then at me, caught squarely in the crossfire of a war he hadn't signed up to fight.
“Dominic,” I said softly, each word falling like a lead weight. “Step away from the door.”
“Vin, don't be a fool,” Dominic hissed, stepping closer to the bed. “Arya doesn't want you exhausting yourself. The doctors said—”
“The doctors told Arya what she paid them to say,” I interrupted, my voice cutting through the room like a razor. “Marcus. Get over here. We’re starting with extension exercises.”
“Mr. Corvino, without official clearance from the family—” Marcus stammered, stepping backward.
“I am the head of this household, and I am paying your retainer out of my private account,” I barked, my hands gripping the metal rails of the bed so hard my knuckles turned white. “Unless you want your medical license audited by the federal commission by tomorrow morning, you will pick up that strap and do your job.”
Dominic’s face flushed a dark, mottled red. “You’re out of your mind, Vincent. You’re letting stubborn pride ruin everything you built!”
“Get out,” I whispered, staring straight into his eyes.
Dominic glared at me for three long, agonizing seconds, his jaw working furiously. Finally, he grabbed his portfolio off the nightstand, snatched his coffee mug, and marched toward the door. As he passed Tessa, he gave her a venomous shoulder check that nearly sent her stumbling, but she didn't flinch.
“You’re cutting your own throat, cousin,” Dominic snarled over his shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.
The heavy oak door clicked shut.
Silence rushed back into the room, thick and heavy with adrenaline.
Dr. Marcus let out a long, shaky breath, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “Jesus, Vincent. You didn't have to threaten the man’s license.”
“He’s helping my fiancée steal my company while my legs are dead,” I said flatly. “Set up the harness, Marcus. Let’s see how much of my body still belongs to me.”
Tessa stepped forward immediately, ignoring the therapist's hesitation. She slid her hands under my knees, her touch firm and steady, helping Marcus rig the overhead suspension sling above the mattress.
“You ready for this?” she asked quietly, her dark eyes searching mine.
“I was never not ready,” I said.
For the next forty-five minutes, the room turned into a torture chamber of dead nerves and screaming muscles. Marcus manipulated my ankles while Tessa braced my torso against the upright harness. Every fiber of my lower body felt like it was encased in wet concrete, dead and unresponsive to the electrical impulses my brain was screaming down the spinal cord.
Sweat poured down my temples. My teeth were clenched so hard my jaw ached.
“Nothing,” I panted, collapsing back against the pillows, my chest heaving, tears of sheer frustration burning behind my eyelids. “It’s just... nothing. There’s no connection.”
“Nerves don't regenerate in an hour, Mr. Corvino,” Marcus said gently, packing up his resistance bands. “The spinal contusion was severe. We’re fighting scar tissue as much as the trauma.”
“Leave us, Marcus,” I said, closing my eyes.
The therapist packed his bag, gave Tessa a sympathetic nod, and slipped out of the room.
Tessa stayed. She poured a glass of ice water from the pitcher on the nightstand, held a straw to my lips, and let me drink until the burning in my throat subsided.
“You pushed too hard today,” she said quietly, wiping a stray drop of water from my chin with a clean napkin.
“If I don't push, I die in this bed, Tessa,” I whispered, looking up at her. “And so does everything I built.”
She looked down at me, her expression softening just a fraction. Then, she reached into her pocket, pulled out a small, encrypted flash drive, and dropped it gently onto my chest.
“What’s this?” I asked, staring at the tiny piece of plastic.
“While Dominic and your fiancée think I’m just an exhausted aide cleaning the guest bathroom,” Tessa whispered, leaning in close so her voice barely registered above the hum of the air conditioner, “I have a habit of checking the smart-home server logs in the downstairs study. Your cousin isn't just moving corporate shares, Mr. Corvino.”
My blood ran cold. “What else is he doing?”
May you like
“He’s liquidating your offshore accounts in the Caymans,” she said. “And the person authorizing the transfers from your primary terminal isn't Dominic. It’s Arya.”
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