Chapter 2 Thirty - four seconds . That's how long I had peace . 72 E55 vouchers Thirty - four whole seconds after I gently - gently ! -asked him to lift his arms for a basic range - of - motion test , the kind even my retired uncle with a beer belly can do after a nap , his royal highness finally opened his mouth . And what came out ? Not gratitude . Not cooperation . Complaints . Big , juicy , deluxe - grade , premium - aged complaints . " Why are you holding my wrist like that ? Are you trying to dislocate it ? " " This stretch is pointless . I've done it a hundred times . " " My last PT didn't manhandle me like this- " I dropped his arm . " Oh , I see , " I said , dramatically brushing off invisible lint from my leggings . " We've entered the ' Brooding Billionaire Baby Mode .' Cool . Noted ." He scowled , the banana from earlier long gone but the attitude still ripe . " Excuse me ? " " Nope . You're not excused . We've only just begun ." I stood back , hands on hips , glaring at him like I was about to bless him with holy water and two decades ' worth of sarcasm . What the actual hell is wrong with this man ? All I did was ask him to do a very basic series of exercises - ones recommended by his last three therapists , including the poor woman who , according to Elise McLeon herself , quit after only three hours of employment yesterday . I honestly thought she was exaggerating . She was not . " I'm literally following the exact same routine your gold - plated medical team prescribed . I printed it out . In color . On cardstock . With bullet points and smiley faces , " I said , waving the clipboard in his face . " Yet here you are , acting like I'm waterboarding you with jazzercise . " He rolled his eyes and muttered something about " incompetent clowns in overpriced yoga pants ." Oh , hell no . 11:24 Thu , Sep 18 Chapter 2 72 55 vouchers you " Listen , Steven . Can I call you Steven ? No ? Great , because I'm calling you Steven anyway . " I crouched beside his wheelchair , eye level now , voice lower and sassier than my bank account at the end of the month . " Let me be real with you . I don't care that you used to be a billboard with abs . I don't care that women cried when took your helmet off on the podium . I don't even care that your socks probably cost more than my monthly rent . I am here because your mom thinks I'm the last sliver of hope between you and becoming a very rich , very bitter statue . " He blinked , stunned at my boldness . Or maybe the fact that I was so close he could see the eyeliner I perfectly winged in the cab this morning . " You're insane . " " I'm persistent , " I corrected , tapping his shoulder . " And lucky for you , I don't scare easily ." He tilted his head , a smirk ghosting - ghosting - his lips . " Most people don't speak to me that way . " " Well , " I smiled , sweet as arsenic . " Most people don't have to fix your broken butt . " His brow shot up . " Did you just say- ? " " Yes . I said ' fix your broken butt . Now if we're done insulting my perfectly valid degree and excellent wrist support technique , can we please get back to making you slightly less of a grumpy tragic romance novel cliché ? " He stared at me for a beat . Then - slowly , reluctantly - lifted his arm . Progress . Tiny , moody , banana - fueled progress . Rich kids are a menace , I thought , as I guided his limb through the motion again . Spoiled , dramatic , muscle- sculpted menaces with too much money , too much time , and apparently zero ability to say " thank you . " But I wasn't going anywhere . Let him brood . Let him pout . Let him shoot icy glares until the penthouse turned into Elsa's castle . Because I , Madison freaking Luis , was going to drag this man - abs , wheelchair , and all - back into the land of the living . One eye roll at a time . ***** Steven's POV To say I was surprised was a gross understatement . I was ... offended . Outraged . Personally attacked . Spiritually wounded . How dare this small little human with dark jet - black hair , wild eyes , and a mouth that clearly had no concept 11:24 Thu , Sep 18 Chapter 2 : of hierarchy or self - preservation speak to me like that ? How dare she ? I am Steven Mcleon . The one and only . 72 55 vouchers The face of half the billboards in Tokyo , the abs that launched a thousand gym memberships . Women used to scream when I so much as winked on camera . Producers fought to get me in their ads . Talent managers lined up just to pitch deals . Heiresses , celebrities , models - I didn't even remember half their names . They all worshiped the ground I walked on . And yet ... Here I am . Sitting . No walking . No racing . No abs in Calvin Klein . Just ... this chair . This prison with wheels . And this woman . This tiny sass goblin in leggings , armed with a banana and a clipboard , daring to call me pathetic - with smiley face bullet points and everything . The audacity . Of course I was moody . Who the hell wouldn't be ? My personal chef ghosted me this morning . Ghosted . Me . ME . Why ? Because I may have thrown his ridiculous filet mignon across the dining room table last night . The thing tasted like sorrow and nostalgia . It reminded me of the night I celebrated my fifth win in Monaco- surrounded by lights , roaring crowds , and a steak that didn't taste like regret . I was emotional . Whatever . I didn't ask to be reminded of the version of me that used to win . But still . He could've stayed . That was the third chef this month . And now ? I'd been sitting here all morning , no breakfast , no espresso , no " Good morning , Mr. McLeon , " no warmth , no care - just silence and pity , echoing through these luxury walls like a ghost I can't outrun . I hate this life . 11:24 Thu , Sep 18 Chapter 2 : I hate what happened to me . : 72 55 vouchers I hate the way my legs feel like they're missing - like someone took them away and forgot to leave a receipt . And then she showed up . Madison Luis . Tiny . Loud . Drenched from the rain . Wearing scuffed sneakers and a ponytail that swung with purpose . And when I didn't greet her properly ? She didn't blink . She just waltzed into my penthouse like she owned the place and tossed a damn banana at my chest . " You need potassium for that attitude , " she said . With a wink . I didn't know whether to fire her or marry her . And now ? Now she's looking at me like I'm some sort of tragic sculpture in a museum exhibit called Billionaire in Self - Pity . Her eyes were dark , expressive , judgmental as hell , and I swear - she looked like she wanted to slap me . Me . Steven Mcleon . I should have yelled . Ordered her out . Called my mother . But I just sat there , chewing on the damn banana like it personally offended me , while she rolled her eyes and said things like : " Lift your arm like you're trying to reach for a life that doesn't suck . " And weirdly ? I did . I lifted my arm . Because deep down , buried under the bitterness , the bruised ego , and the thirty - two therapist rejections , there was something about her - something relentless , infuriating , and alive . She didn't look at me like I was broken . She looked at me like I was being annoying . And God help me , maybe I needed that . Just not before coffee . " Do you know how to make espresso ? " I asked flatly , watching her scribble something on her cursed clipboard . She didn't even look up . " Do you know how to say thank you ? " 11:24 Thu , Sep 18 Chapter 2 I blinked . :. And for the first time in months ... I almost smiled . Almost . : 72 EX 65 vouchers AD Comment