Chapter 4 - The Price of HealingThe bodies were cleared before dawn. The polished marble floors of the estate gleamed as if nothing had happened, but the smell of cordite and copper hung heavy in the air.
In the private gym, Sebastian was already waiting for me.
There were no guards outside the door today. Just Sebastian, sitting alone under the harsh fluorescent lights, his shirt off, staring intently at his own bare feet resting flat against the rubber mat.
I stepped inside quietly, holding my medical kit. "You shouldn't be pushing yourself after last night. Adrenaline masks pain, but your muscles—"
"Look at them," Sebastian interrupted, his voice rough.
I stopped. I looked down.
His right big toe had just twitched. A clear, distinct, deliberate movement.
I gasped, dropping my kit to the floor. I rushed forward, dropping to my knees right in front of his wheelchair. Without asking permission, I gripped his right ankle, my fingers pressing into the Achilles tendon.
"Do it again," I whispered, my eyes burning with tears of absolute triumph. "Sebastian, do it again."
He closed his eyes, his forehead damp with sweat as he concentrated with every ounce of his formidable willpower. Slowly, painfully, his entire foot flexed upward.
It wasn't much, but to medical science, it was a miracle. It was the impossible made real.
Sebastian opened his eyes and looked down at me. For the first time since I met him, the cold, ruthless armor around his heart cracked. He reached out, his large, calloused hand cupping the side of my face. His thumb brushed softly across my cheekbone.
"You did this," he murmured, his voice thick with an emotion I couldn't quite read. "Every specialist in Zurich, Geneva, and New York told me I was a ghost. You looked at me for two minutes and saw a man."
"I'm a physical therapist, Sebastian," I breathed, leaning slightly into his warm palm before pulling back, remembering who we were. "Your nervous system just needed the right key to unlock the cage."
"You are much more than a physical therapist, Clare," Sebastian said, his expression hardening again as he withdrew his hand. "And that's why you're in danger."
"What do you mean?"
"Word got out about last night. The Chicago Police Department is being bought off by my rivals, and federal agents are sniffing around my properties," Sebastian said, leaning forward in his chair. "They know a woman and her sick son are living in my estate. If they trace your identity, your ex-husband—the man who tried to ruin you—will be the first weapon they use."
My heart stopped. My ex-husband, David, had threatened to take Oliver away from me permanently using his corrupt legal connections. If the FBI or Sebastian's enemies used David to get to me, I would lose everything.
"What do we do?" I asked, my voice shaking.
May you like
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed into dangerous, calculating slits.
"We strike first. You're going to help me walk on my own two feet, Clare. And I'm going to tear down every enemy who dares look in your direction."
