Chapter 2 - The Therapist Who Knew Too MuchAt precisely 3:00 PM, Dr. Marcus Vance—no relation to Dominic, though cut from the same cowardly cloth—stepped into my bedroom with a tablet under his arm. He looked surprised to find me upright, fully dressed, sitting rigidly in my chair rather than crumpled under a duvet.
"Vincent," Marcus said, flashing a tight, professional smile. "Arya mentioned you weren't feeling up for physical therapy today. She said resting was better for your nervous system."
"Arya is a wonderful fiancée," I replied, my tone dripping with a sarcasm so thick it nearly choked him. "She cares so much about my comfort that she’s practically willing to bury me early. Close the door, Marcus."
Marcus hesitated, looking back at the hallway. "I really don't think—"
"Close the damned door."
The click of the latch sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.
Tessa stood quietly by the corner, arms crossed, blocking the only other exit. Marcus swallowed hard, adjusting his glasses. "What is this about? My schedule is tight."
"Your schedule is funded by Corvino Holdings," I said, wheeling forward an inch. "Just like your quiet compliance when Arya told you to pull my sessions down to once a week. How much did Dominic pay you to sign off on my mental 'decline'?"
Marcus turned pale. "That’s an absurd accusation. Medical confidentiality—"
"Medical fraud," I corrected him smoothly. "You signed a preliminary evaluation stating my cognitive functions were compromised due to trauma-induced depression. Conveniently timed right before a corporate governance vote."
I rolled closer until I was inches from his knees, looking up at him the way I used to look at men who tried to short-change my shipping lines. "You think because I can't stand on my feet, I can't break your life? I know about your gambling debts in Atlantic City, Marcus. I know which ledger they're sitting in. Do you want to cure my legs today, or do you want to spend the rest of your career explaining to a federal judge why my medical chart was weaponized for a hostile takeover?"
Marcus dropped his tablet onto the bed. His hands were shaking.
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"She said... she said you were never walking again anyway," Marcus whispered, his professional veneer shattering completely. "She said you were becoming a liability to the upcoming merger with the Vance Syndicate. I just... I just adjusted the timeline of your rehabilitation notes."
"Fix them," I ordered. "And then get to work on my legs. Because if I don't feel a twitch in my left quad by the end of this hour, your medical license won't be the only thing we bury today."
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