Chapter 1 Chapter 1 72 55 vouchers It was raining the kind of chilly , misty , dramatic drizzle you only ever see in old black - and - white movies . And Manhattan was dressed in its usual expensive hustle - chaotic traffic snarled between Teslas , limos , and cabs , and people with boring dark umbrellas and Gucci swarmed the sidewalks like a parade of rich shadows . The rain didn't stop the glimmer of the city , though . No. It only made everything shimmer . Like the whole world had been polished in grief , Prada and money . And I ? I stood in front of the most exclusive , private penthouse in all of Tribeca , gripping my red umbrella in one hand and the strap of my ridiculously oversized PT bag in the other . It was my first day as a private physical therapist . Not just to anyone - but to Steven . Freaking . McLeon . At 30 , he was once the poster boy for speed , muscle , hotness , and luxury . Formula One royalty . The Ferrari God . Endorsed by more brands than I had shoes in my closet . And trust me - I have a lot of old shoes . He had graced everything from Calvin Klein billboards in Times Square to grinning beside luxury watches on every airport lounge screen in Europe . He was the abs , the jawline , the smirk . The bad boy who made speed look like seduction . But that was a year ago . Then came the accident in Dubai . Ferrari . Flames . Headlines . Screaming fans . And then - silence . He hadn't walked since . No more races . No more billboards . No more smirks or speed . Now ? Now he lived like a ghost in a penthouse that probably cost more than the GDP of a small European country . And I , Madison Luis - half - Italian , half - Asian , standing at a proud 5'3 " and armed with sass , sarcasm , and a physical therapy license - was apparently his last shot at " getting better . " Or at least that's what his mother said when she hired me . Lady Elise McLeon was terrifying in a Grace Kelly - meets - dragon - empress kind of way . Think silk gloves , pearl necklaces , and a rich British accent sharp enough to slice parmesan . She grilled me over tea and biscotti one week ago in a suite that smelled more expensive than my apartment building . But I got the job . " You have fire , " she said , with one perfectly arched brow . " Steven will hate you . Which is why I think you're perfect ," Interesting ... So here I was . Dripping in the hallway of his expensive penthouse with a private elevator . On the luxurious 87th floor . Inside a building where the walls were dark marble , the elevator had a chandelier , and the doorman looked like he'd once guarded the Queen . 11:24 Thu , Sep 18 Chapter 1 1 knocked . The door didn't open . I knocked again - louder . 72 55 vouchers " Oi ! Hold your damn horses , " a low growl snapped through the intercom . Then a click . Then silence . Very British ! The massive black door swung open automatically . And damn . clean The inside , however , looked like something out of a Bond villain's dream . Chic ! Floor - to - ceiling , very glass windows revealed the rain - soaked skyline of Manhattan glowing like molten silver . Gold - covered chandeliers hung like icicles from a ceiling higher than my ambitions because why not ? Rich people are weird . White velvet couches . A fireplace the size of my bathroom . And a scent of cedar , old money , and ... was that espresso ? " Take off your shoes , " a voice barked . I turned . And there he was . Steven McLeon . Alive . Brooding . Unsmiling . He sat in a yellow and black , high - tech wheelchair that looked like it had more horsepower than a Tesla . Dressed in gray sweatpants , a fitted white shirt that clung to his broad chest , and that signature stubble that made women and tabloids swoon . His hair was longer now - messier - but the eyes were the same . Cold . Icy blue . Staring at me like I was a fly or a moth that dared land on his perfectly polished glass . I raised a brow . " Hello to you too , Sunshine ." His jaw twitched . " You're the new PT ? " " I'm the miracle worker . Madison Luis . And yes , I brought pain and sass in equal measure . " He didn't smile . Good . Neither did I. 11:24 Thu , Sep 18 Chapter 1 I kicked off my old sneakers and stepped into the palace of pain . 72 55 vouchers " So where do we start ? " I asked , slinging my bag down dramatically onto a velvet chair worth more than my college tuition . Steven narrowed his eyes . " We don't . You'll be gone in a week like the rest . " I smirked and looked around , admiring the absurd luxury . " Oh honey , you better hope I stay . Because without me , you'll still be a handsome nightmare with a bad attitude and no one to hand you your protein shake . " He blinked . I winked . The storm outside rumbled louder . But something told me - the real storm ? Was just the beginning . Then of course , I looked at him . Really looked at him . Yes , his jawline could slice cake . Yes , his cheekbones could cut glass . And yes , his shoulders looked like they were carved by ancient gods with a personal vendetta against T - shirts . The man was deadly handsome . But his eyes ? Lifeless . Flat . Grayish blue , like they forgot what the color joy even looked like . And I thought - really ? You're a billionaire . You live in a Manhattan penthouse that has a view of three states and a piano no one touches except the cleaner , who polishes it for show . You probably have custom expensive soap . There's gold trim on your wine glasses and a literal indoor koi pond in your hallway . And you - you dare look lifeless ? Sir . Sir . I live in a small one - bedroom apartment in Brooklyn with walls thinner than my patience and my bank account . My neighbor dances to Britney's Toxic at I a.m. sharp every Sunday like it's a silly sacred ritual . There's a Chinese restaurant downstairs that I love but also kind of hate because the oil smell clings to my curtains like a possessive ex . Hell , my washing machine is second - hand and sounds like it's summoning a demon every time I use the spin cycle . And don't get me started on the thrifted shoes that I superglue every 11:24 Thu , Sep 18 Chapter 1 : other week because apparently , therapy degrees don't come with a trust fund . And this man ? 72 65 vouchers This rich , privileged underwear model - turned - emo - in - a - wheelchair has the audacity to sit in his modern expensive throne and look like life personally offended him ? Pathetic . I squinted at him . " Okay , first things first ... did you eat today ? " Steven blinked slowly , like I just asked him if he believed in fairies . " Excuse me ? " " I said ," I crossed my arms and tilted my head , " did you eat , or are you just cranky because your billionaire stomach is empty ? Because clearly , you're moody . Grumpy . Growling at people like a cartoon villain . And the only reason I'm not turning around and taking the elevator of salvation out of here is because I've seen worse attitudes . From toddlers . At daycare ." He narrowed his eyes on me . " I don't recall hiring a therapist with a mouth ." I smiled sweetly . " You didn't . Your mother did . And honey , my mouth's the only thing that's going to get you walking again - so unless you want to spend the rest of your life being pushed around like a royal baby , I suggest you sit back and let me sass the pain into you . " His nostrils flared . Good . Be scared ! I walked toward the massive kitchen area - or what I assumed was a kitchen . It looked like something out of a Vogue spread . All black and white marble , gold and silver hardware , and a coffee machine that probably cost more than my apartment . I opened the fridge and found it mostly empty save for a suspicious green and yellow juice , five brands of expensive water , and enough protein shakes to feed a small gym cult . I grabbed a banana and tossed it at him . " Here . For the attitude . I heard potassium helps with being a pain in the ass . " He caught it , barely , and looked at me like I'd just insulted his bloodline . " You're insane , " he muttered . I grinned . " It takes one to rehab one ." He didn't say anything . He just peeled the banana slowly and bit into it like it had personally offended him . Honestly , I was impressed . He looked like a grumpy Greek god on house arrest . But me ? 11:24 Thu , Sep 18 Chapter 1 I wasn't intimidated . Hell no ! ... 72 55 vouchers I was exhausted . Underpaid for years . Drenched from the rain . And still not caffeinated enough to bring this man to his knees - literally . " Alright , Mr. Broodywheel . Time to stretch . Let's see if we can find a single working muscle beneath that designer sulk . " He glared . Of course ... I smirked . The real therapy had begun . And may the gods have mercy on him . Because I sure as hell wouldn't .