Chapter One: Tragic Billionaire

Keegan’s POV

I stood in the long verandah outside my private wing with my arms crossed tight over my chest. The rest of the mansion was all fancy lights and expensive furniture for guests I never invited.

The air had been filtered twice and the windows were shut tight just as I liked it. I hated surprises and made sure everything around me was the way I needed it.

Dr. Sterling stood a few feet away, looking at me in that careful way he always did, like I might break if he said the wrong thing.

He had his white coat on and his stethoscope hanging over his neck. He was in in his sixties and his dark hair was quickly turning gray. “Keegan, let’s try the new protocol today. We'll make use of your wrist with just two seconds of contact and we believe the meds we gave you an hour ago should keep the reaction smaller this time.”

I didn’t answer right away.

My black leather gloves felt like an armor to me and I hated taking them off. Hated even thinking about it. “You said the same shit last time,” I muttered. “I couldn’t sleep for three nights. My skin looked like raw meat.”

“I remember,” he said quietly. “But your numbers are getting worse, not better. You can’t stay locked away forever. One day something will happen that we can’t control.”

I let out a slow breath as I clenched my jaw tight. A part of me wanted to tell him to leave, to go back to his fancy clinic and leave me alone, but another part, the part that was tired knew that he was right.

I was twenty-nine years old and yet I lived like a damn prisoner in my own house.

“Fine,” I said. “Two seconds and that’s it.”

I pulled up the sleeve of my black shirt and held out my arm and my heart was already pounding hard.

Dr. Sterling stepped closer and I could smell the hospital smell on him ; antiseptic and rubber. He reached out slowly, like he was approaching a wild animal and then his fingers touched my bare wrist.

For half a second, nothing happened.

Then the burn hit.

It started under his fingers and shot up my arm like someone poured boiling water on me. I yanked my arm back fast, but it was too late. The itch came right after the burn an it was spreading fast, red patches popped up on my skin, rising into thick welts, making my wrist look like it was on fire.

“Fuck…” I growled through my teeth.

I ripped my glove off with my teeth and stared at my arm and saw that the rash was moving and spreading up toward my elbow. My throat started closing up, like invisible hands were squeezing it and each breath got harder.

My chest felt heavy, like someone was sitting on it.

I slid down the cold wall until my ass hit the floor. My back pressed against the wall as sweat rolled down my face even though the room was cool. The welts were getting bigger and angrier.

Some of them were even starting to blister. Fuck.

Dr. Sterling was already on the phone and in a sharp voice he says, “I need the epinephrine kit in the verandah. Now. He’s reacting fast.”

I closed my eyes tight and tried to breathe through it.

Fifteen years. Fifteen fucking years since that night and there were no changes.

Doctors called it severe psychosomatic contact reaction mixed with trauma. Fancy words for “your skin tries to kill you if someone touches you.”

Anytime someone touched me, my skin broke out in hives and it swelled. Sometimes I couldn’t breathe, so I built walls, the literal ones and the invisible ones.

I wore gloves every day, I had private doctors and I sanitized everything.

There were no handshakes, no hugs, no kisses, nothing.

The shot finally came as one of the nurses from my medical team ran up and jabbed it into my leg. The medicine hit fast and cold rush through my veins. The worst of the burning started to fade and the welts faded, my throat loosened a little and I could breathe again, but it still hurt.

Dr. Sterling crouched a safe distance away. “I’m sorry, Keegan. We’ll adjust the dosage again.”

I didn’t look at him, I just stared at my arm, at the mess my own body made and the anger sat heavy in my stomach.

I was angry at everything, angry at the crash, angry at my stupid immune system and angry at the whole damn world that got to touch and laugh and live while I rotted in this clean, empty house.

I leaned my head back against the wall and laughed once. It was a short, bitter sound that turned into a cough.

Never again, I told myself. I won’t let anyone close enough to break me.

But even as I thought it, a darker, quieter thought slipped in. The same one that kept me up at night.

What if there’s one person out there whose touch doesn’t do this?

One person who could put her hand on my skin and my body wouldn’t fight back. One person I could actually feel without paying for it later.

It was a stupid, dangerous fantasy.

I wiped the sweat off my face with my clean hand and stared at the empty hallway.

God help her if she ever walks into my life.

Because if she does… I don’t know if I’ll push her away or hold on so tight she can’t escape.