Chapter 1 The man who wouldn't be touched
“Miss Hale, you have five minutes. That’s all he’ll give you.”
Alain’s voice carried the exhausted precision of a man who had repeated the same warning too many times. He stood stiffly beside a carved oak door, a notepad in his hand, eyes flicking between Sienna and the corridor behind her as if expecting someone to pull her back before she could do something foolish.
“I only need three,” Sienna said, adjusting her bag. Her shoulders ached from the long flight, her pulse sharp with caffeine and nerves. She’d been briefed about Dante Varon’s reputation, about the accident, the broken career, the villa where no one lasted more than a week. But records didn’t prepare her for the living person.
Alain exhaled. “He doesn’t like strangers.”
“I’m not here to be liked.”
He gave her a tight look, then pushed open the door.
The room swallowed the sound. Pale walls, a faint hum of machinery from somewhere unseen. And near the massive window, facing the sea, sat Dante Varon, the ghost of a man who had once filled stadiums. Broad shoulders, hands clasped on the armrests of his wheelchair, profile cut from shadow.
Alain cleared his throat. “Sir, your new physiotherapist.”
Dante didn’t turn. “They sent another one.”
His voice was low, smooth, and sharp-edged, like a blade dulled by disuse but still dangerous.
Sienna stepped forward, letting her tone stay calm, professional. “Mr. Varon, I’m Sienna Hale. I’ll be working with you for the next..”
“Don’t touch me.”
The words stopped her mid-step.
Her hand froze near the file she’d been about to set down. “I wasn’t going to.”
He gave no response. Just silence and the faint creak of his chair as he turned slightly toward the window again.
Sienna tried again, gentler this time. “I’d like to start with a simple evaluation. Muscle tone, range of motion”
“No.”
Her jaw tightened. This was what she’d been warned about, the fortress of refusal. Still, she kept her tone even. “You asked for a physiotherapist.”
“I was told to accept one,” he said. His gaze flicked toward Alain. “You can leave now.”
Alain hesitated. “Sir, she just arrived.”
“I said leave.”
The assistant glanced helplessly at Sienna before backing out of the room. The door shut behind him with the quiet finality of a cell door.
Dante turned his chair slightly, finally facing her. His eyes were colder than she’d imagined,gray like sea glass left too long in the tide. “You all think you can fix me. You come in with your soft voices and charts and hope I’ll perform.”
“I don’t perform, Mr. Varon,” she said. “I treat.”
That earned the faintest curve of a smile, not amusement, exactly, more the ghost of disbelief. “You’re young.”
“And qualified,” she corrected.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-six.”
He leaned back. “So, you're still a child.”
Sienna let that pass, though heat stirred behind her ribs. The trick with men like him was control never mirror their temper. “I’ve been working with post-trauma cases since I was twenty-two. You’ll be my twentieth.”
“And the others?”
“They recovered.”
Something flickered behind his expression, irritation, maybe, or envy. “Of course they did.”
He turned the chair abruptly toward the center of the room. “You’ll stay in the study. There’s a couch. Don’t go near the guest rooms.”
Her brows lifted. “That’s hardly an appropriate accommodation.”
“You’re hardly a guest.”
It was meant to sting. He wanted a reaction.
She gave him none. “I’ll manage.”
“And stay out of the kitchen,” he added, eyes on some distant point beyond her shoulder. “Your feeding isn't my responsibility.”
Sienna smiled, she knew men like that. He wants to see her fall, maybe leave immediately.
“That won’t be a problem,” she said.
He studied her, as if waiting for the crack in her composure. When none came, he tilted his head slightly, voice softening into something more cutting. “You must have done something very wrong to be sent here.”
“I volunteered.”
He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Then you’re either naïve or desperate.”
Her hands remained steady at her sides, though her pulse thudded in her throat. “Or persistent.”
For a moment, the silence held. Then his jaw worked, tension sliding down his neck. “You all come in thinking persistence is virtue. Then you see what’s left of me and call it progress when I move half an inch. I don’t want to be seen as a charity case.”
He hadn’t meant to reveal that much. Sienna caught the strain beneath the words, anger laced with shame. She could almost hear the question he wouldn’t voice. Is that all you see when you look at me?
“No one here is doing charity work or seeing you as one,” she said quietly.
The muscles in his forearm tightened. He reached for the tumbler beside him, and before she could step back, it slipped or maybe didn’t and hit the far wall. The crash of glass fractured the silence. Water streaked the marble, glittering in the light.
Sienna didn’t flinch this time. Her heart raced, but her face didn’t show it.
Dante’s gaze stayed fixed on the window. “You don’t talk to me like that.”
“I talk to you like a man who still has work to do,” she replied.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then he spoke, voice even again, but the edge remained. “You’ll begin tomorrow. If you last that long.”
The room stayed silent after he dismissed her. For a moment, Sienna stood where she was, the fragments of glass catching the light like tiny warnings. She should have left. Any other therapist would’ve. But beneath the anger in his voice she’d heard something rawer, something that sounded a lot like fear.
He didn’t look at her again, so she gathered her folder and turned toward the door.
In the hallway, Alain waited, trying to read her face. “You lasted longer than most.”
“How long was that?”
“Ten minutes.”
She exhaled through her nose. “A promising start.”
He hesitated, lowering his voice. “Don’t take what he says to heart. He used to be..”
“I know who he used to be.” She started down the corridor.
She’d seen the highlight reels, the headlines, the accident report. Every article ended the same way. A fall that ended a legend. But nothing about the stories matched the man in that chair. The coldness wasn’t pride, it was protection.
The study was smaller than she expected, but clean. The couch was narrow, the kind of leather that remembered every shift in weight. A single lamp cast a pale circle of light over her notes. She spent an hour reviewing them, planning tomorrow’s session, then gave up and lay staring at the ceiling.
Why stay? Because quitting would mean he’d won, and she hated losing to men like him.
She woke up before dawn. The faint hum of waves rose through the glass balcony doors, and somewhere down the hall she heard movement, a low clatter of wheels and the echo of something metallic. She sat up, pulling her sweater around her shoulders.
When she stepped into the hall, Dante was already awake, rolling past her toward the dining area. He paused when he saw her.
“You’re still here,” he said.
“You didn’t dismiss me.”
“I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to stay.”
Her lips curved, not quite a smile. “Stupidity is underrated.”
He looked her over, eyes narrowing slightly. The sunlight made the scars along his left temple stand out, pale lines against darker skin. He hated the pity those lines drew, she could see that much in the way he avoided her gaze.
“Alain,” he called, and the assistant appeared almost instantly. “You let her stay in the house?”
“She refused to leave, sir.”
“Then you should’ve made her.”
Alain blinked. “Sir.”
“You’re fired.”
The words hit the air like a gunshot.
Sienna stepped forward. “That’s unnecessary. He didn’t..”
“I don’t need a staff who can’t follow orders.”
Alain’s mouth opened, and closed again. He looked between them, uncertain, then quietly left the room. The echo of his footsteps faded down the hall.
Sienna’s pulse beat faster not from fear, but from the way Dante’s control seemed to unravel the closer anyone got to him. She wondered if that was how he stayed in charge, by burning every bridge before it could carry weight.
She kept her tone measured. “You can fire everyone here, Mr. Varon. It won’t change what your body needs.”
His eyes met hers, unreadable. “You think you know what I need?”
“I think you need help. Not servants.”
He said nothing. The silence thickened. The morning light slanted across the marble floor, drawing a sharp line between them.
Sienna gathered her folder. “I’ll come back in an hour for your first session.”
She turned toward the door. Behind her, something crashed,the sound was sharper than before. She stopped but didn’t turn around.
Then came the voice, low and steady, carrying more menace for how calm it was.
“If you stay, I’ll make you regret it.”
Sienna’s hand tightened on the doorknob. Her pulse thudded once, hard, then steadied.
We’ll see about that, she thought, and walked out.
