Chapter 4

Friday morning arrived wrapped in fog. I stood at my apartment window at eight-thirty, watching the street below, a single suitcase packed and waiting by the door.

I'd told my bosses at both jobs I was taking a medical leave. Told my mother I was going to a wellness retreat. The lies felt necessary. How could I explain the truth when I barely understood it myself?

Sophie had been the hardest call.

"A month?" she'd said when I told her I was doing Vincent's intensive program. "That's amazing, Mia. I'm so proud of you for committing to this."

"You don't think it's weird? That it's your ex-husband?"

"Vincent is one of the best doctors I know. If anyone can help you, it's him. And honestly, we've been divorced for three years. I've moved on. You shouldn't feel weird about this."

But I did feel weird. Because the flutter in my stomach when I thought about seeing Vincent again had nothing to do with medical treatment and everything to do with the way his eyes had held mine when he'd said, "I'll see you Friday."

At exactly nine o'clock, a black town car pulled up to the curb. The driver, an older man with kind eyes, stepped out and looked up at my building.

My phone buzzed.

Your car has arrived. Safe travels. I'll be waiting.

Vincent. Not Dr. Kane. Just Vincent.

I grabbed my suitcase and headed downstairs before I could change my mind.

The driver smiled as he took my bag.

"Ms. Hartley? I'm James. I'll be taking you to Willowbrook Estate."

Willowbrook Estate. The name sounded like something from a novel.

The interior of the car was all leather and quiet luxury. James pulled away from the curb and I watched my neighborhood disappear, then the city itself, replaced gradually by suburbs, then rolling countryside.

An hour passed. Then another. We turned off the main highway onto smaller roads, then onto a private drive marked only by a discreet sign. Willowbrook.

The driveway wound through manicured grounds. Then the house came into view.

It wasn't a house. It was an estate. Three stories of modern architecture, all glass and stone and clean lines. It looked like something from a magazine.

"Oh my God," I whispered.

James smiled in the rearview mirror.

"Dr. Kane's grandfather built the original structure in the thirties. Dr. Kane renovated it about ten years ago."

The car stopped at the entrance. Before James could open my door, the front doors of the estate opened.

Vincent stood there, and my breath caught.

No white coat. No professional attire. Just dark jeans and a soft gray henley that somehow made him look both more approachable and more devastating. His hair was slightly tousled. He smiled as I stepped out.

"Mia. Welcome home."

Home. The word sent a shiver through me.

He came down the steps and I realized this was the first time I'd seen him outside a medical setting. The first time the boundaries felt blurred.

"How was the drive?"

"Long. Beautiful. This place is incredible."

"Overwhelming?"

"That's one word for it."

He smiled, genuinely amused.

"Come inside. I'll give you the tour."

James brought my suitcase and Vincent led me through the entrance into a soaring foyer. Modern art on the walls. A floating staircase. Light pouring in from everywhere.

"The main house has common areas," he explained as we walked. "Living room, library, dining room. The east wing is my private residence. The west wing is the treatment center and guest suites. That's where you'll be staying."

We walked through bright corridors. He pointed out various rooms. A gym with equipment that probably cost more than my car. A yoga studio with floor to ceiling windows. A meditation room that was all soft light and cushions.

"The pool is heated year-round," he said, gesturing to glass doors. "There's also a sauna and steam room."

This wasn't a medical facility. This was a luxury resort.

We reached the west wing and he opened a door.

"This is your suite."

I stepped inside and felt my jaw drop.

The space was bigger than my entire apartment. A sitting area with a fireplace. A bedroom with a massive bed. Floor to ceiling windows with views of rolling hills. A bathroom that was all marble and glass.

"There's a walk-in closet through there," Vincent said. "The staff will unpack unless you prefer to do it yourself. Fresh linens daily. The mini fridge is stocked, but all meals are provided. If you need anything, there's a phone by the bed. Dial zero and someone will respond immediately."

I walked to the windows, looking out at gardens and hills.

"Vincent, this is too much."

"It's what you need. Peace. Beauty. Space to heal."

I turned to face him. He stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

"When does treatment start?"

"Tomorrow. Today is for settling in. Dinner is at seven in the main dining room. Casual dress. Tonight it's just us, but starting tomorrow the staff will join us."

"Staff?"

"The program requires a full team. Dr. Sarah Chen, a psychologist. Maya Rodriguez, a somatic therapist. Two nurses, a nutritionist, a yoga instructor. You'll meet everyone over the next few days."

Professional. Supervised. Safe.

So why did I feel disappointed that tonight was the only time we'd be alone?

"I'll let you get settled," Vincent said. "Take your time exploring. I'll see you at dinner."

He left, pulling the door closed with a soft click.

I stood in the middle of my suite and felt the reality crash over me.

I was here. In my best friend's ex-husband's estate. For thirty days.

My phone buzzed. Sophie.

Did you make it? How is it? Text me!

I typed back quickly.

I'm here. It's beautiful. Talk tomorrow. Love you.

I spent the afternoon exploring. The library was two stories, walls lined with books. The living room had a grand piano and views that went on forever. Outside, I found walking paths through gardens, a greenhouse, a small pond.

Everything was perfect. Maintained. Beautiful.

And I was completely alone.

At six-thirty, I stood in front of my closet trying to decide what to wear. I finally settled on dark jeans and a soft sweater.

I found my way to the dining room at seven exactly.

Vincent was already there, opening a bottle of wine. He'd changed into a dark blue button-down, sleeves rolled up. He looked up when I entered and smiled.

"Perfect timing. Wine?"

"Just water, please. I'm too nervous to drink."

"Don't be nervous. It's just dinner."

But it wasn't just dinner. It was the two of us, alone, in this massive house, and the air felt charged.

He poured me water and gestured to the table. It was set for two. A woman I hadn't met appeared with the first course.

"This is Marie," Vincent said. "She's the chef."

Marie smiled warmly and disappeared.

"So," I said, picking up my fork. "Do you live here full time?"

"Mostly. I keep an apartment in the city for late nights at the clinic. But this is home."

"It's beautiful. Lonely though. All this space for one person."

He considered that.

"Sometimes lonely. Sometimes exactly what I need. After Katherine, I craved isolation. This place gave me that."

Katherine. His ex-wife. The patient he'd fallen in love with.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"How did it happen? With her. How does that even happen when you're so aware of the ethics?"

He set down his fork, leaned back.

"She was brilliant. Funny. Gorgeous. And she looked at me like I'd saved her life. We'd have these long conversations during evening walks through the gardens. It felt innocent. But I was lying to myself."

He paused.

"The night before she was supposed to leave, she came to my office and told me she loved me. That she couldn't leave without knowing if I felt the same."

"And you did."

"God help me, yes. I told her we had to wait. That she needed to complete the program, go home, spend time integrating what she'd learned. That if she still felt the same in six months, we could explore it properly."

"But that's not what happened."

"She wouldn't leave. Said she'd stay nearby, that she didn't care about protocols. And I believed her. We were married within three months. Within six, I realized I'd made a terrible mistake."

The pain in his voice was palpable.

"She wasn't in love with me. She was obsessed with me. There's a difference. She couldn't stand me being out of her sight. Accused me of affairs. Went through my things. Started showing up at the clinic, demanding to see patient records."

He rubbed his face.

"The accusations got worse. When I filed for divorce, she sued. Said I'd coerced her during treatment. The settlement cost me millions. But worse than the money was the damage to my reputation."

"Is that why you tell patients upfront now?"

"Part of it. But mostly I tell them because I need them to understand I'm aware of the power dynamic. That they're safe with me."

He leaned forward.

"Mia, over the next thirty days, you're probably going to develop feelings for me. It's called transference. It happens because I'm helping you with something incredibly intimate. Your brain will interpret that care as romantic interest. It's normal. It's expected. And it's not real."

My stomach twisted.

"And if it is real?"

"It won't be. Trust me."

The certainty in his voice stung.

We finished dinner making small talk. Safe topics. But the conversation about Katherine hung in the air.

At nine, I excused myself.

"Tomorrow we start at eight with meditation," Vincent said. "Dress comfortably. And Mia?"

I turned back.

"I'm glad you're here. I know this is overwhelming. But I promise, by the time you leave, everything will be different."

I walked back to my suite, his words echoing.

You're probably going to develop feelings for me. It's not real.

I lay in the massive bed, staring at the ceiling, and tried to convince myself he was right.

But deep down, I already knew.

Whatever I was feeling, real or not, was going to make the next thirty days either the best decision of my life or the worst mistake I'd ever made.

And the fact that he was Sophie's ex-husband made it infinitely more complicated.

What would she think if she knew I was attracted to him? Would it destroy our friendship?

I pushed the thought away and closed my eyes.

Tomorrow everything would be professional. Clinical. Safe.

I just had to keep reminding myself of that.