Chapter 2

Nicole’s POV

There’s a thing about desperation.

It uproots you from everything you’ve gotten used to, even the places that were never meant to feel like home.

The drive to the mansion feels like eternity, as different thoughts run through my mind, not sure of what to expect. I don't have the luxury to worry about what's to come, I have to do this if not for myself but for my mom, for a chance to live a better life.

Finally, I see the mansion in view and I'm literally stunned. Is this what wealth looks like- I mutter to myself, the towering black gates with men standing guard at both sides. Dressed in all black suits, with dark shades.

The cab driver whistles low under his breath as he looks at the gates. “You sure you’re at the right place, miss?”

“Yes,” I whisper, even though I don’t sound sure at all.

The driver shrugs and pulls away after I pay him, leaving me alone with my small suitcase. My heart races as I approach the gates.

The gates open slowly, like something out of a movie, and the two men step forward. Their eyes, all over me. One of them speaks into a small device in his hand before nodding.

“Miss Williams?” he asks. His voice is firm, no nonsense.

“Yes,” I reply, gripping the handle of my suitcase tighter.

“Follow me.”

I roll my suitcase across the long driveway. The mansion grows larger with every step, its gray stone walls stretching high, the windows dark and shining. It’s not just big, it’s intimidating. Like it was built to keep people out.

As we walk, I notice the others. Men scattered along the grounds, some near motorcycles parked in neat rows. The sound of an engine roars in the distance, and I turn to see a group of riders speed past the gates. Black leather jackets, helmets, the glint of chrome. My chest tightens.

A biker gang.

I don’t need anyone to explain it to me. The signs are all here. The mansion. The heavy security. The bikes. This client is definitely not a regular person.

I’ve heard about gangs like this before, whispered stories in the hospital hallways, late-night news reports. Dangerous men who live by their own rules. And now I’m walking into their world.

My legs feel heavy, but I keep moving because I don’t have a choice.

We reach the wide front doors, tall and carved with dark patterns. They swing open before I can say anything. Inside, the house is breathtaking. Marble floors are polished so well they reflect the chandelier light. Just beautiful.

The guard tells me to wait. He disappears through a doorway, leaving me standing in the middle of the foyer with my suitcase, feeling small and out of place.

Minutes tick by, and I begin to wonder if they have forgotten about me. Then the front doors swing open again, and a woman steps in, clipboard in hand.

“You must be Miss Williams,” she says, her voice calm. “I’m Clara, Alex’s assistant. I’ll show you around and help you get settled before your first meeting.”

I stand, trying not to show how nervous I am, and follow her down a long corridor. The walls are lined with expensive paintings, which makes the house more beautiful. Outside the tall windows, I notice motorcycles parked in neat rows, shining under the late afternoon sun. I catch a faint whiff of gasoline mixed with leather. A reminder that this is a household unlike any other.

We arrive in a sitting room where two people are waiting. Clara gestures toward them.

“Nicole, this is David and Megan.”

David stands first, offering a calm, playful smile that immediately puts me slightly at ease. His presence is quiet, but there’s a warmth in his tone that makes me relax without realizing it. “Welcome,” he says lightly, as if he’s meeting a friend rather than the new nurse.

Could he be my client…he's very hot. The image of my supervisor in my head warning me about the 4 p’s, brings me back to my senses.

“I'm David, Alex's brother. Nice to meet you.” he says.

“Who's Alex,” I mutter to myself.

Megan, in contrast, remains seated. Her eyes are cold, giving me that look- like I don't belong, and she studies me as if she's trying to determine if I'm worthy to take the job. “Do what you need to do, and stay out of trouble,” she says softly, but there’s an edge to it that sends a shiver down my spine.

“I…thank you,” I stutter.

David chuckles softly, leaning against the armrest of the chair. “Don’t let her scare you. She’s… Megan. Just remember she likes to keep everyone on their toes.”

I can’t help but smile, despite my nerves. There’s something oddly comforting about his presence.

We talk for a few minutes, small introductions and casual questions. David teases me lightly about my reaction to the mansion, making me laugh nervously. Megan remains composed, her gaze piercing, but I start to understand her. It’s not cruelty, it's just a natural distance she maintains.

Finally, Clara clears her throat. “We should show you to your next stop.” She leads me down another hallway, one lined with more paintings and suits of armor. My hands are sweaty, and my heart races. Curious to see who the mysterious client is.

We stop in front of a large, dark wooden door. Clara turns to me, her eyes serious. “This is where you meet Mr. Thorne.”

My stomach twists. A mix of nerves and curiosity pulses through me. “Right,” I whisper.

She pushes the door open, and I step inside. The room is massive, lined with bookshelves and dark leather furniture, with a desk positioned at the center.

Across the room, a chair turns slowly. I catch the edge of a broad shoulder, the dark sweep of hair, and there he was.

Alex Thorne.

The man in the wheelchair locks eyes with me. Calm, dark, impossibly familiar. My mind struggles to connect the dots.

It takes a beat. One long, frozen beat for recognition to hit.

My fingers tighten around my bag strap. My breath catches.

He leans back slightly, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, calm, collected, his dark eyes sharp. “Miss Williams,” he says, voice low, controlled. “Welcome.”

Every inch of me goes cold.

Because this isn’t just my patient.

This is the man I never thought I’d see again.