Chapter 3 The Session
“Dr. Hale, he’s in a mood today,” whispered the maid as Sienna crossed the corridor.The woman’s eyes darted toward the far end of the hallway,the sealed wing, the one no one seemed eager to approach.
“When isn’t he?” Sienna asked lightly, tightening her ponytail.
The maid hesitated, wringing the corner of her apron. “No one goes in there twice. I wouldn’t either, if I were you.”
Sienna smiled faintly. “Good thing I’m not you, then.”
She walked on before the woman could reply. The corridor was long and hushed, the kind of silence that wasn’t peace but warning. Every door along the way stayed closed, every step echoing clearly against the polished stone. She could feel the weight of the villa pressing down like being watched.
When she reached the therapy room, she found Dante exactly as she expected, seated by the window, half in shadow, his wheelchair positioned like a throne. He was staring at the sea again, his profile still, expression unreadable.
“You’re early,” he said, in a smooth, detached voice.
“You fired your staff,” Sienna replied. “I can’t risk you starving before we fix your leg.”
That earned the faintest smirk. “Concerned for my health?”
“Concerned for my professional reputation,” she said. “You’re a liability if you don’t improve.”
He turned slightly toward her, his gaze cutting through the quiet. “You talk like you’ve already given up.”
“I don’t give up. I get results.”
“Then you’re in the wrong house.”
Sienna ignored the jab, walking past him to set her clipboard on the small table by the wall. “We’ll start with basic standing exercises today. I want to test endurance and balance.”
He made a low sound,amusement, disbelief, maybe both. “You’re confident.”
“It’s my job.”
“Or arrogant.”
“It’s called experience,” she corrected. “Confidence is what you fake when you don’t know what you’re doing.”
For a moment, Dante said nothing. Then, “You’re a piece of work, Doctor.”
“And you’re wasting both our time, Mr. Varon.”
The air between them thickened, the tension almost physical. He didn’t look away, and neither did she.
“Let’s begin,” she said.
He didn’t move.
“Dante,” she pressed, keeping her tone neutral.
He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something between challenge and disdain. “Say please.”
She froze for a fraction of a second. “Excuse me?”
“You want me to stand? Ask nicely.”
“That’s not how therapy works.”
“Everything’s negotiation, Doctor.”
Sienna exhaled, rubbing the bridge of her nose. He’s baiting you. Don’t give him what he wants.
“Fine,” she said. “Please, Mr. Varon, stand.”
He gave a mocking half-smile but finally reached for the walker. “See? Not so hard.”
The tension in the room shifted as he braced his hands, trying to rise. Sienna stayed close but didn’t touch him, he’d made that mistake clear. His arms strained, muscles tightening against resistance. His injured leg trembled, his body jerking once, twice, before he managed to get upright.
For a moment, he was standing. Three seconds,maybe four before his knee buckled.
He fell back into the chair hard, his breath ragged. The silence that followed was deafening.
Sienna scribbled something in her notes. “You’re making progress."
Dante’s head snapped toward her. “Progress? I lasted three seconds.”
“Three seconds longer than yesterday.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“I’m not.” She looked him dead in the eye. “I’m counting.”
The walker clattered against the floor a second later. He’d shoved it so hard it hit the far wall and bounced back. The sound rang through the room.
Sienna didn’t move. She didn’t even flinch.
He stared at her, expecting fear or anger. He got neither.
“Done?” she asked quietly.
He laughed bitterly. “You’re not scared of me, are you?”
“No,” she said. “You’re just scared enough for both of us.”
That stopped him cold.
For the first time, she saw it, the flicker of something real under all the arrogance. Shame. Pain. The ghost of a man who once knew how to race with a car.
But it vanished as quickly as it appeared.
“Session’s over,” he muttered.
“Not yet,” she said, jotting one final note. “You’ll stand longer tomorrow.”
She packed her bag in silence. He didn’t speak, didn’t move. The tension was a wall between them now.
Halfway to the door, his voice broke it.“You think this is helping?”
“It will, eventually.”
He gave a low laugh. “You sound like my doctors after the crash. They all said the same thing.”
“And what did you do?”
“I proved them wrong.”
“By staying broken?”
The words came out before she could stop them. His head turned sharply, eyes narrowing.
“You think you understand me?” he asked, his voice softer now, and more dangerous for it.
“No,” she said. “But I understand the pain that talks too much.”
That earned her a long, searching stare. One that made the air heavy again.
She turned toward the door, fingers tightening around the handle.
Then, barely audible: “Tomorrow won’t come for me.”
Her hand froze.
Something in his tone was too calm, too certain which sent a chill through her spine. Slowly, she turned back. He was staring past her now, toward the window, his face unreadable.
“Is that a threat?” she asked quietly.
He didn’t answer.
Her gaze dropped to the floor and that’s when she saw it. An empty amber vial beneath the chair. The prescription label peeled off. And the cap twisted open.
Sienna’s pulse kicked up.
She crouched slowly, picking it up between two fingers. “What is this?”
Dante didn’t look at her. “A reminder.”
“Of what?”
He turned his head, finally meeting her eyes. The faintest ghost of a smile curved his mouth.
“Of what not to waste time on.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. She stood there a moment longer, the empty bottle still cold in her hand, before setting it on the table beside him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, though part of her wasn’t sure he’d be there.
As she stepped out of the room, the door clicked shut behind her softly for comfort. Her mind was flooded with numerous questions about the drugs and its use.
And lastly, what he meant by tomorrow won't come for him. Was he planning suicide?
