chapter 3

One week later, I sat in Vincent's office for my second appointment, feeling more nervous than the first time.

The week had been brutal. I'd practiced the techniques he'd shown me. Breathing exercises. Mindfulness. But every time I tried to touch myself, I hit the same wall.

Now I was back, feeling like a failure.

"How was your week?" Vincent asked, settling into his chair across from me.

I wanted to lie. But something about him made lying impossible.

"Terrible," I whispered. "I tried everything you said. But I just freeze. Like my body won't let me feel good."

He leaned forward.

"Mia, when did you first start feeling this way? Not when your boyfriend noticed. When you first felt it yourself."

I thought about it.

"Maybe a year ago? I started comparing myself to articles about what women should be doing, feeling, wanting. And I realized I wasn't any of those things."

"So you began performing instead of feeling."

"I guess so."

"And the more you tried to perform, the less your body responded."

I nodded, tears spilling over.

He handed me tissues, waited patiently.

"Mia, what you're experiencing is very treatable. But I don't think weekly sessions are going to be enough."

My stomach sank. "So I'm hopeless."

"Not at all. I'm saying you need something more intensive."

He stood and retrieved a leather folder from his desk.

"For the past five years, I've run a private residential program. Thirty days, completely immersive. It's designed for women experiencing exactly what you're experiencing."

I stared at him. "Residential? Like I'd live somewhere?"

"At my private facility about forty minutes outside the city. You'd have your own suite, full amenities, a complete team of specialists. The environment is designed to reduce stress and create the conditions for healing."

This sounded expensive.

"I can't afford something like that."

"The program is fully funded. It wouldn't cost you anything."

"Why would you do that?"

He settled back in his chair.

"I should probably be more forthcoming about my background. My full name is Vincent Kane the Third. My grandfather founded Kane Medical Corporation. I'm the heir to a considerable fortune."

My mouth fell open.

"You're a billionaire."

"Technically. Most of my wealth is tied up in trusts. But yes, I have significant resources. I became a doctor because I wanted to help people, not manage a corporation. This clinic and the residential program are funded by family money."

I couldn't process this. Sophie's ex-husband was a billionaire?

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to understand that this isn't charity. It's a legitimate medical program. And I think you're an ideal candidate."

I stood, needing space. I walked to the windows.

"This is insane. You want me to move into your private facility for a month?"

"I want you to give yourself the chance to heal." He came to stand beside me. "In five years, forty-three women have completed this program. The success rate is one hundred percent."

I turned to look at him.

"What would the treatment involve?"

"Daily sessions with me. Meditation and body work. Education. Guided self-exploration. And most importantly, time. Time to exist in your body without pressure."

It made sense. But something felt too good to be true.

"And this is all appropriate? Professional?"

His jaw tightened.

"I'm going to be honest about something. Six years ago, I made a catastrophic error in judgment. I fell in love with a patient in this program. Her name was Katherine."

My heart sank.

"We married quickly. Within a year, she became unstable. Paranoid. When I filed for divorce, she sued me. Claimed I'd manipulated her. The case was settled, but it nearly destroyed my practice."

He turned to face me fully.

"I tell you this because I need you to understand the boundaries. You'd sign extensive consent forms. The facility is monitored. There's a full staff. I would never cross professional lines with you."

The certainty in his voice should have reassured me.

Instead, I felt oddly disappointed.

"I need time to think," I said.

He returned to his desk and handed me the folder.

"All the information is here. You have forty-eight hours to decide."

Our fingers touched briefly when I took it.

The spark was undeniable.

"Mia," he said softly. "If you commit to this program, you will leave understanding exactly what your body is capable of. The question is whether you trust me enough to let me show you."

I clutched the folder.

"I should go."

As I reached the door, he called after me.

"Mia? You're not broken. You never were."

I left the clinic in a daze.

At home, I spread the folder's contents across my table. Photos of a stunning estate. Testimonials. Detailed schedules. Legal forms.

I pulled out my laptop and googled Vincent Kane.

Forbes articles. Society photos. And there, an article from six years ago about a lawsuit settlement with his ex-wife.

My phone rang. Sophie.

"Hey! How was your second appointment?"

I hesitated. Should I tell her about the residential program?

"It was good. Really good actually. He's helping a lot."

"I'm so glad. I told you he'd be great."

"Sophie, can I ask you something? About Vincent?"

"Sure."

"Why did you guys get divorced?"

She was quiet for a moment.

"We were too young. I was twenty-three, he was twenty-eight. We rushed into it. And honestly, he was still figuring out who he was after medical school. We wanted different things."

"But you're still friends."

"Yeah. The divorce was amicable. We both knew it wasn't working. Why are you asking?"

Because I'm considering moving into his private estate for a month and I think I might be attracted to him and I need to know if that's going to destroy our friendship.

"Just curious," I said instead. "He mentioned you guys were still close."

"We are. He's a good person, Mia. One of the best I know. If he's helping you, trust him. He really does care about his patients."

After we hung up, I stared at the brochures.

Sophie trusted him. Forty-three women had completed the program successfully. And I was desperate.

I opened a new message to the number on the program information.

One word.

Yes.

The response came within minutes.

A car will pick you up Friday at 9 AM. Pack for thirty days. Comfortable clothes only. Leave work phones and laptops at home. This is about disconnecting. And Mia? Once you arrive, there's no going back. Not until we're done. I'll see you Friday.

I read the message three times.

I was about to spend thirty days alone with my best friend's ex-husband. Learning about my body. Learning about pleasure.

And somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice whispered what I didn't want to admit.

This was going to change everything.

Not just my body.

Everything.

Friday couldn't come soon enough.