Chapter 5

I woke to soft morning light and a knock on my door.

"Yes?"

The door opened slightly and Maya, the somatic therapist, peeked in.

"Good morning. Just wanted to let you know breakfast is ready whenever you are. Dr. Kane asked me to show you to the meditation room at eight."

I glanced at the clock. Seven fifteen.

"Thank you. I'll be there."

I showered quickly, pulled on yoga pants and a comfortable top, and headed to the dining room. A beautiful spread waited but I was alone. Vincent didn't appear.

At seven fifty-five, Maya found me and led me to the meditation room. Vincent sat on a cushion, eyes closed, breathing slowly. He wore simple gray sweats and a white t-shirt. Without his professional clothes, he looked younger. More vulnerable.

Maya gestured for me to sit across from him, then quietly left.

For several minutes, nothing happened. Vincent just breathed. So I breathed too.

Finally, his eyes opened.

"Good morning."

"Morning."

"How did you sleep?"

"Better than I have in weeks."

He smiled.

"Good. Today we start with basics. Breathing. Body awareness. Your body can't experience pleasure if it's in constant stress."

"I'm not stressed."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Your shoulders are up by your ears. Your jaw is clenched. Your hands are fisted. Mia, you're a bundle of tension."

I forced myself to relax.

"That's better. Now close your eyes."

I obeyed.

"Breathe in for four counts. Hold for four. Out for four. Hold for four. Focus only on your breath."

His voice was low and soothing. I followed his instructions, feeling tension slowly ease from my body.

We sat like that for twenty minutes. When he finally told me to open my eyes, I felt different. Calmer.

"How do you feel?"

"Relaxed. Almost floaty."

"Good. We'll do this every morning."

We spent the rest of the morning talking. He asked about my childhood, my relationship with my parents, my first sexual experiences. Clinical questions but asked with such gentleness that I found myself sharing everything.

At noon, we broke for lunch. The dining room table was set for six. Maya was there, along with Dr. Chen and two nurses. The conversation was easy, normal. I felt myself relaxing.

After lunch, Maya took me for body awareness exercises. We lay on mats and she guided me through tensing and releasing different muscle groups.

By dinner, I was exhausted in a good way.

Vincent didn't join us. Dr. Chen explained he often ate in his study when catching up on work.

I felt disappointed.

Back in my suite that night, I checked my phone. A text from Sophie.

Day one survival check. How is it?

I smiled and typed back.

Good. Tired. It's intense but in a good way. The estate is incredible.

Her response was immediate.

I'm so glad. Vincent really knows what he's doing. Keep me updated. Love you.

Love you too.

I was about to set my phone down when I saw an email. From Ethan.

My stomach dropped.

The subject line read: I know where you are.

My hands shook as I opened it.

Mia, I know you're at some fancy estate with that rich doctor. Sophie wouldn't tell me but I have friends who know people. What the hell are you thinking? You move from my bed to some billionaire's house in two weeks? I knew you were cold but I didn't know you were a whore. Everyone's going to know about this. Everyone's going to know what you really are.

I felt sick.

There was a knock on my door.

I opened it to find Vincent standing there, his expression concerned.

"I saw your light on. Is everything okay?"

"I..." I held up my phone. "My ex. He knows I'm here. He's threatening to tell people I'm sleeping with you for money."

Vincent's expression darkened.

"May I see?"

I handed him my phone. Watched his jaw tighten as he read.

"This is harassment. We should respond through my legal team."

"No! That'll just make it worse."

"He did get to you. You're shaking."

"I just need to ignore him."

Vincent stepped into my suite, closing the door behind him. The space suddenly felt smaller.

"Mia, listen to me. Men like your ex thrive on control. He's lost control of you and he's trying to get it back through fear. Don't give him that power."

"But what if he does tell people? What if he makes it sound like something it's not?"

"Then we'll deal with it. Together. But right now, you need to block his number and email. Cut off his access completely."

He was right.

I took my phone and blocked Ethan's number, his email, his social media. With each tap, I felt lighter.

"Thank you," I whispered.

Vincent was standing very close now. Close enough that I could smell his cologne. See the flecks of silver in his blue-gray eyes.

"You're safe here, Mia. I won't let anyone hurt you."

The words hung between us, loaded with meaning neither of us acknowledged.

"I should let you get some sleep," he said, his voice rough. "Tomorrow we start more intensive work."

"More intensive than today?"

"Much more. Tomorrow we begin the actual treatment protocols."

He moved toward the door, paused with his hand on the handle.

"Mia, about what I said last night. About transference. I need you to understand it's a very real phenomenon. Your feelings, whatever they are, they're a response to the care and attention you're receiving. Not to me as a person."

"I know. You made that very clear."

Something flickered in his expression. Disappointment? Regret?

"Good night, Mia."

"Good night."

He left, and I stood in the middle of my suite feeling more confused than ever.

The next three days fell into a rhythm. Morning meditation with Vincent. Breakfast alone. Morning sessions where we talked about my past, my fears, my relationship with pleasure. Lunch with the staff. Afternoon body work with Maya. Dinner without Vincent. Evenings alone.

By the fourth night, I was going stir-crazy.

I ventured out of my suite around nine, thinking I'd explore the library. The house was quiet, most of the staff having retired for the evening.

I found the library and was browsing the shelves when I heard piano music. Soft, melancholy, beautiful.

I followed the sound to the living room.

Vincent sat at the grand piano, playing with his eyes closed. He'd changed into comfortable clothes, a soft gray t-shirt and dark pajama pants. His hair was slightly mussed, like he'd been running his fingers through it.

I stood in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt but unable to leave.

He must have sensed my presence because the music stopped. His eyes opened and found mine.

"Mia. Can't sleep?"

"I was restless. I heard the music. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You didn't." He gestured to the space beside him on the piano bench. "Come sit."

I shouldn't have. Every professional boundary said I should have politely declined and gone back to my suite.

Instead, I walked over and sat beside him.

The bench was small. Our thighs touched. The contact sent electricity through me.

"Do you play?" he asked.

"Not really. My mom made me take lessons when I was ten but I hated it."

He smiled.

"Most kids do. I didn't appreciate it until college. Now it's how I decompress."

"What were you playing? It was beautiful."

"Chopin. Nocturne in E-flat major. It's melancholy but peaceful somehow."

He placed his hands on the keys and played a few bars. I watched his fingers move, long and elegant and sure.

"You're very good."

"Years of practice." He stopped playing and turned to face me. "How are you really doing? With the program, I mean. Are the sessions helping?"

"I think so. It's hard to tell. I feel calmer. More connected to my body. But I haven't actually tried to, you know, test anything yet."

"That's normal. We're still in the foundation phase. The actual breakthroughs usually come in the second or third week."

We sat in comfortable silence for a moment. Then he spoke again.

"Can I ask you something personal?"

"Of course."

"Why did you really say yes to this program? The truth."

I thought about lying. About giving him the clinical answer he probably expected.

Instead, I told the truth.

"Because I'm tired of feeling broken. And because when I'm with you, I don't feel broken anymore. You make me feel like maybe there's nothing wrong with me after all."

His eyes held mine.

"There's nothing wrong with you, Mia. There never was."

The air between us felt charged. Dangerous.

"I should go," I whispered.

But I didn't move.

Neither did he.

"Mia," he said, his voice low. "You need to go. Now."

"Why?"

"Because if you stay, I'm going to do something we'll both regret."

My heart hammered.

"What if I don't want to go?"

"You don't know what you're saying. This is exactly what I warned you about. Transference. Misplaced feelings."

"And what if they're not misplaced?"

He stood abruptly, putting distance between us.

"They are. They have to be. Mia, I'm your doctor. You're Sophie's best friend. This can't happen."

Sophie. The mention of her name was like cold water.

"You're right," I said, standing. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking."

I turned to leave but his voice stopped me.

"Mia, wait."

I turned back.

He stood by the piano, his expression tortured.

"I need you to understand something. This isn't about not wanting you. God knows I do. But I can't. Not while you're my patient. Not while you're Sophie's best friend. The ethics are complicated enough without adding that."

"Sophie said she's moved on. That you being my doctor isn't weird for her."

"She said that because she doesn't know you're standing in my living room at nine o'clock at night looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you want me to kiss you."

The words hung in the air.

"And if I do?" I whispered.

He crossed the space between us in three strides. For a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. Instead, he stopped inches away, his hands fisted at his sides.

"Then I need you to know that if we cross this line, everything changes. Your treatment, our relationship, my friendship with Sophie, everything. And I don't know if either of us is ready for those consequences."

"I don't care about consequences."

"You should. Because I've been down this road before. I let my feelings for a patient override my judgment and it destroyed everything. I can't do that again."

Katherine. Of course. She was the ghost standing between us.

"I'm not her," I said.

"I know that. But the situation is the same. The power dynamic is the same. And I swore I'd never put myself or a patient in this position again."

He stepped back, creating distance.

"Go to bed, Mia. Tomorrow we'll pretend this conversation never happened."

I left the living room, my heart pounding, my skin still tingling from how close he'd been.

In my suite, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling.

He wanted me. He'd admitted it. But he wouldn't act on it because of ethics and Katherine and Sophie.

And maybe he was right. Maybe this was transference. Maybe I was confusing gratitude with attraction.

But lying there in the dark, all I could think about was the look in his eyes when he'd said, "God knows I do."

And the way his hands had fisted at his sides, like he was physically restraining himself from touching me.

Tomorrow, he'd said, we'd pretend it never happened.

But I knew we were both lying.

Something had shifted tonight. Some line had been crossed even though we hadn't touched.

And there was no going back.

My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

I opened it and felt my blood run cold.

It was a photo. Of me and Vincent sitting together at the piano, taken through the window from outside. The angle made it look intimate, romantic.

Below the photo was a message.

Looks cozy. Wonder what Sophie would think about her best friend and her ex-husband playing house. Maybe I should ask her.

Ethan.

He'd followed me here. He'd been watching us. And now he had ammunition.

I sat up, my heart racing. Should I tell Vincent? Should I warn Sophie?

Before I could decide, another text came through.

You have 24 hours to come home, Mia. Or everyone finds out what you're really doing there. Your choice.

I stared at my phone, hands shaking.

Everything was about to fall apart.

And the worst part? I didn't even know if what Vincent and I had was worth fighting for.

Or if it was exactly what he'd warned me about. A patient falling for her doctor. Nothing more than transference and proximity and loneliness.

But as I looked at the photo again, at the way Vincent was looking at me in that moment, I couldn't convince myself it was nothing.

It felt like everything.

And tomorrow, one way or another, I was going to have to decide what to do about it.