Amelia
“It’s an opportunity of a lifetime, Amelia. Do you realize how much this could boost your career?”, Dr. Marks leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen against the desk like he had all the time in the world.
I did not. What I saw was the flashing neon sign of regret associated with Ethan Steele's work.
“No, I'm not listening," I stated decidedly as I grabbed my tote bag. “Let’s be honest, I care about my peace of mind and from what I’ve been told, Ethan Steele doesn't come across as a piece of cake to find serenity.”
I knew I should have sent him over to someone else the moment Estelle told me she'd be transferring her patients to me, since she was resigning, but I hadn't.
I thought I could handle it. Handle him…And I was wrong. I dreaded our sessions more than I dreaded working overtime.
Dr. Marks sighed, his eyes narrowing in that patronizing way senior doctors often did when they felt superior. “Amelia, Ethan Steele isn’t just any patient. He’s the Ethan Steele. If you succeed with him, the doors it could open—”
A scoff escaped my lips. The only doors that could open were the doors of my office, ushering him out after each session.
“I’m not here for doors”. I cut him off, my voice sharper than I intended. “I’m here to help people heal, not babysit some billionaire who’s too proud to put in the work.”
“He’s not your typical case, " Dr. Marks pressed, sitting forward. “You’re the best physical therapist we have after Estelle. If anyone can handle him, it’s you.”
Handle him. As if I didn't have enough to do. Between juggling demanding clients, my clinic responsibilities, and my mother’s mounting medical bills, taking on a high profile case like Ethan Steele’s felt like asking for trouble.
“Find someone else,” I said, standing. “I can’t do this.”
The elevator ride down to the clinic’s lobby felt suffocating.
My cell phone rang inside my bag, but I did nothing about it.
Probably just another prompt about late payments or calls I just did not have the energy to respond to.
As I stepped outside, the brisk air snapped at my face. The walk to my apartment was only ten minutes, but I could already feel the weight of the day pressing down.
Just the idea of sitting in my dingy one bedroom apartment and wrestling with another pile of medical chill out sheets sent me spiraling.
When I finally unlocked the door, the dimly lit apartment did nothing to raise my spirits. It looked just as gloomy as I felt.
My mother’s hospital room wasn’t much better, but at least there, I had her soft voice and the smell of lavender lotion to ground me.
Here, it was just... emptiness.
The pile of unopened mail on the counter taunted me. Grabbing the top envelope, I tore it open. As expected, it was another hospital bill.
Total due: $12,473.21
I dropped the paper, my stomach knotting. I’d been managing to scrape by with my savings and freelance gigs, but this? This was impossible.
Before I could keep beating myself up about it, my phone buzzed back one more time. I grabbed it from the counter with the intention of terminating whoever was on the other side, but I stopped dead in my tracks when I read the name.
Jared Marshall.
Just hearing the name was enough to cause my chest to constrict.
Jared was the right hand man of Ethan Steele, with an unsentimental and uncompromising style. He had a cold and calculating demeanor but was a nice guy overall.
But that wasn't why I froze.
I'd met Jared before. Briefly. At an industry gala over a year and a half ago.
Back then, I'd been a nervous wreck, a new employee eager to please and practically dragging myself through the evening, counting down the minutes until I could leave.
I hadn't expected anyone to notice me, let alone strike up a conversation.
But Jared had.
That night, I had no idea who he was or he was working for, I was too nervous to ask.
We'd ended up at the same bar, both desperate for an escape from the crowd.
He'd ordered whiskey, neat, and offered to buy me a drink. I'd refused at first, but then he told me to relax, and somehow, we'd ended up talking.
About everything and about nothing.
I closed my eyes as I remembered how his sharp, cold demeanor had thawed just a little by the time we clinked glasses.
How his eyes had locked almost too intently on mine, as if I was the only person present. It made me feel like I could do anything.
But then nothing had happened between us, because before it could, he was called away.
A couple months later, I saw him on the news, standing next to Ethan Steele, the arrogant yet most coveted bachelor and billionaire in the city.
I had been relieved nothing had happened between Jared and I after seeing that.
Against my better judgment, I answered.
“Hello?”
“Miss Blake," Jared, with a deep, commanding sound, on the phone. “I trust you’ve heard about Ethan Steele’s condition?”
“Wow you're still cold…”
There was a pause at the other end, and I could tell he was smiling. He rarely smiled, but that night, he'd smiled…
Even laughed.
“And you're no longer nervous. Very sharp tongue.” He retorted, his voice still firm but less formal.
I smiled. “Much better…now…”
“You have to say yes.” Jared cut in.
I groaned inwardly. “I’ve heard enough. If this is to take him up as a client, I already turned down the offer and the answer is no.”
There was a break and then Jared spoke and my heart skipped a beat. “What if I told you there was more at stake here than just a therapy contract?”
I hesitated. “I’m not interested in publicity stunts.”
“This isn’t a stunt,” Jared said evenly. “This is about preserving Ethan’s legacy. The board is circling like vultures, and if Ethan doesn’t show progress soon, he’ll lose everything he’s built. That’s why we need you.”
The sincerity in his tone caught me off guard, but I wasn’t ready to relent. “Why me? Surely you can afford the best therapists in the world.”
“We already have the best therapist in the world, " Jared said smoothly. “And she’s the one I’m speaking to.”
Flattery wasn’t going to work on me. “I appreciate the compliment, but I have personal obligations. I am not able to handle this kind of case right now.”
I didn't tell him what I really felt. That I didn't want to deal with Ethan. Estelle stories about him were all I wanted them to be. Stories.
“I understand your hesitation,” Jared said, his voice softening. What if I showed you how to eliminate all of your financial troubles in a single stroke?”
My grip tightened on the phone. “What are you talking about?”
“A contract,” he said. One that carries with it full payment of your mother's medical debt, plus bonuses. The only catch is that it involves more than therapy.”
I frowned, suspicion rising. “What’s the catch?”
Something was up.
“You’d have to marry Ethan.”
The words hit me like a freight train. For a moment, I was sure I’d misheard. “I’m sorry, what?”
Then I threw my head back and laughed. This was a joke.
Has everyone gone mad today?
“It's a publicity stunt", Jared said, as if asking to marry a stranger was a perfectly good call. “The board needs to see Ethan as stable and rehabilitating. A wife would make him appear grounded, and your reputation would assure them he’s in the best hands.”
“This is insane,” I muttered, pacing my tiny kitchen. “You think I’m going to marry someone I’ve never met, let alone someone like Ethan Steele?”
“You wouldn’t be marrying him in the traditional sense,_ Jared said. “It’s a business arrangement. “You would live with him, care for him, and pretend to be a couple in good spirits. Once the situation stabilizes, you’re free to leave.”
I did want to giggle, but nothing was funny about any of this. “And what if I say no?”
How did I go from being a therapist to a wife?
There was a long silence before Jared spoke, "Well I hope you are ready to watch your mother's condition get worse while you wait for a miracle to make those payments.”
I froze. This was no longer funny. Who did he think he was?How dare he weaponize my mother’s health against me?
“How dare you? No. No way. I will not do it!” I heard myself yell.
“You have 24 hours to decide. Please think carefully about your decision” Jared said. “Consider what this has the potential to do for you, your mother, and your career.”
“Now, look here. You can tell Ethan Steele that—”
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone, doing my best to control the way my hands were shaking with anger. This couldn’t be real.
However, the pile of money on my counter begged to differ. It was real, and somehow I had a chance to clear all these debts and finally be free.
I had a chance to save my mother.
Clutching the silver necklace on my chest, I sank into a chair.
This was nuts. Everyone was nuts. Marry Ethan Steele? Live under the same roof as a crippled man known for his temper and arrogance?
I couldn't do it.
Yet, the alternative was even grimmer. It was either that or sink into the ground with debts, or probably lose my mother.
I swallowed hard, tears stinging
my eyes. How has my life come to this? Why was everything suddenly so hard?
Jared said I had a choice, but that was a lie.
I had no choice.
It was either this or death
POV: Amelia“You keep looking at me like that,” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep, “and I’m going to forget we’re supposed to take it slow.”I didn’t answer. I just smiled and trailed my fingers lower under the sheets, past the curve of his stomach, until I felt him—already half-hard, already responding to just my touch.Ethan inhaled sharply, his arm tightening around my waist.“Morning,” I whispered.“Best one yet,” he said, voice gravel and heat.I shifted onto my side so I could look at him fully. The sunlight cut across his chest in soft lines, making everything golden and impossibly tender. But when I slid my leg over his and pressed against him, what lit between us wasn’t soft.It was fire.His hand slid down to my thigh, gripping it as I rocked against him slowly. I kissed him then—deep, lazy, indulgent. Not like we were in a hurry. Like we had all morning. Like we’d earned this.Because we had.He pulled me on top of him, his hands firm on my hips, and I didn’t hesita
POV: AmeliaI didn’t wait for him.The second the music swelled and Sienna draped herself across him like a memory refusing to die, I slipped out from the marble halls like a ghost. I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t need to. If he had looked hard enough, he would’ve seen the truth in my eyes.My heart pounded as I pushed through the corridor of glittering strangers and exited the villa’s garden. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses faded behind me, replaced by the echo of my footsteps on cold stone. Each step was a scream I couldn’t voice.By the time I reached the hallway of our suite, I’d kicked off my shoes. The champagne had soaked through the suede, and they squished with every step. I let them go. Left them behind like the part of me that had smiled when he whispered “just one more night.”Inside, everything was too quiet.The villa’s suite was draped in muted golds and thick cream curtains, soft light glowing from lamps he’d turned on before we left. My reflection followed me
POV: Amelia The garden looked like something out of a dream—moonlight spilling across marble floors, paper lanterns strung through olive trees, casting soft golden halos over clusters of Italy’s most elite. There were fountains that whispered as they trickled and tables dressed in champagne-colored silk, the kind of place that made one forget reality and lean into something more dangerous—like illusions.Amelia descended the stone steps slowly, her pearl-gray dress clinging like a second skin, elegant but quiet, unlike the glimmering gowns that brushed against the marble around her. She wore no necklace, just pearl drop earrings and a flick of silver at her eyes. Understated, but Ethan had called her devastating.He’d kissed her hand just before they entered, his voice low and sure, like it belonged in her bones.“Just one more night,” he whispered, the pad of his thumb stroking her knuckles, “and we vanish again.”She had smiled, leaned in, and kissed the edge of his jaw, as if seal
Ethan’s POV“Try to keep up, sweetheart,” I called over my shoulder, laughing as I climbed the narrow stone steps that led into the twisting hills of Positano, the sun already warming the back of my neck.Behind me, I heard Amelia groan dramatically, “You’re really using that cane for sympathy now, aren’t you?”I glanced back at her, grinning, “What can I say, it’s my secret weapon. Makes people underestimate me.”She rolled her eyes, her ponytail bouncing as she climbed a few steps to catch up with me, her hand brushing my lower back, “You’re not allowed to look this smug and this hot at the same time. It’s illegal.”I leaned slightly on the cane, but I didn’t slow down, not when the breeze felt this good and the narrow trail led us deeper into the blooming side of the cliffs, where lemon trees overhung the path and old stucco walls were painted shades of burnt coral and gold. This wasn’t the kind of walking I used to do, but it was the kind I chose to do now, with her.“You’re not s
Amelia’s POV“You packed sunscreen, right?” Ethan asked, smirking as he leaned against the open glass doors, one hand on his cane, the other balancing a pair of sunglasses on his head.I was already in my bikini, tying the wrap around my waist, and I shot him a look over my shoulder, “I’m not the one who burns like toast after ten minutes in the sun, Steele.”He grinned, slow and crooked, and walked over to me, his limp barely noticeable now, “Fair warning, if you slather it on me like last time, I might make some very inappropriate sounds.”“I count on it,” I murmured, standing up fully, brushing past him just close enough to graze his chest, “That’s the only reason I agreed to this yacht trip.”“Not for the view?” he teased.“Oh, I’ll get my view,” I said, looking him up and down as he grabbed his linen shirt, still unbuttoned over his swim trunks, muscles flexing just enough to remind me that therapy had taken a back seat to other kinds of physical activity lately, “I get it every
Amelia’s POVI couldn’t sleep.Ethan had held me close after the gala, his arms warm and steady around me, but the moment his breathing shifted—slightly heavier, no longer synced with mine—I opened my eyes.Something was off.It was in the way he kept checking his phone even when he thought I wasn’t looking. The way his grip had been tender, but distracted. His kiss deep, but not all the way there. Not the way it usually was. Not the way it had been earlier, when I’d spoken Italian and watched his whole world tilt in my direction.I told myself I was being paranoid. I told myself this wasn’t one of those stories—where the rich man got distracted, and the woman in his bed stopped being enough.But sometimes the gut just knows.And mine was twisting like a storm was coming.I lay there for a while, watching his face in the soft light spilling from the hallway. Then, around 3 AM, I felt him shift.He thought I was asleep.He slipped out of bed, pulled on pants and a shirt, and left the s