The penthouse elevator opened with a gentle chime, and Ava Monroe stepped out, sharp-eyed and focused as always. She wore her navy-blue scrubs, hair pinned back in a sleek twist, and carried a satchel of therapeutic tools like a knight ready for battle. A battle she waged daily against Liam Ashford's resistance.
The hallway was quiet, save for the faint notes of jazz drifting from the sound system. A false calm. She'd learned quickly that silence in this place didn't mean peace—it meant Liam was retreating again.
The lighting on this particular morning felt off—too dim for the time of day, the morning sun barely touching the walls through the tall glass windows. Ava moved forward, her steps practiced, but her mind was ticking. She'd memorized every inch of this place over the last few weeks, yet Liam still managed to surprise her.
"Elise?" Ava called softly.
The nurse appeared from the side kitchen, phone in hand, brows furrowed. "He's in the studio room."
Ava blinked. "Studio?"
Elise gave a tight smile. "Old workspace. He hasn't used it in a while, but this morning he wheeled himself in and locked the door."
Ava tilted her head slightly. That wasn't part of their routine. It wasn't like Liam to detour from the plan without making it abundantly difficult. "Locked it?"
"He's brooding," Elise said simply. "That's how he broods now. In silence and shadows."
Ava exhaled, set her bag down on the counter, and walked toward the double doors Elise pointed to.
She knocked lightly. "Liam?"
No answer.
"I know you can hear me."
A pause. Then the door clicked and opened an inch.
Ava stepped inside.
It was darker than she expected—only half the blinds drawn—and the space smelled faintly of cedar and worn leather. On one side, shelves lined with tech models, old prototypes, and awards. The other side had whiteboards covered in half-erased equations and design sketches. At the center, Liam sat in his chair, hands resting on his lap, facing a large drafting desk that hadn't been touched in months.
"I didn't know you had a lab in here," she said.
He didn't look at her. "This was where I worked before I needed help to get across the room."
Ava took a slow glance around the studio. Dust danced in a narrow shaft of light near the corner window. There was a coat rack with an untouched jacket still hanging, and on the floor beside it, a sketchpad with crumpled papers around it. She wondered how long this space had stayed frozen—untouched, unrevisited, too painful to face.
"Looks like you still could. It's not gone, you know. What you built. What you know."
He didn't answer. She didn't push.
Instead, she opened her tablet and switched gears. "We're doing balance and posture again today. If you're ready."
"Am I ever?"
She gave him a blank look. "Would you rather sit here sulking or actually move again?"
He gave her a look that could cut glass.
"Don't sugarcoat things for my sake," he said coldly.
"I never do."
Back in the living room, Ava laid out the resistance bands and balance tools while Liam begrudgingly followed.
The therapy space had become a strange battleground. A neutral zone between his bitterness and her discipline. Ava had grown used to the subtle cues—how he hesitated at the second step of any set, how he clenched his jaw not from pain but from pride. This wasn't just physical recovery; this was ego repair.
She helped him into position and began guiding him through arm movements, slow stretches, and breathing.
"Ten reps," she instructed.
"I'll do eight."
"You'll do twelve."
He rolled his eyes but obeyed.
There was no warmth in his compliance, but there was movement. Progress. That mattered more than charm.
Halfway through the second set, Liam groaned. "This is humiliating."
Ava didn't look at him. "No. This is discipline."
"I used to run five miles every morning."
"And now you can barely extend your leg. That's not failure. That's reality. And it changes if you let it."
"You're really good at this pep talk thing."
She glanced at him. "It's not a pep talk. It's accountability."
He paused, then gave a dry chuckle. "You'd make a terrifying CEO."
She smirked faintly. "You'd make a frustrating patient."
"Touché."
The tension between them was stiff, professional, and brimming with unspoken truths—but not affection. Just a stubborn therapist and a man who hated being broken in front of anyone.
Ava counted silently while he performed his final stretch. Sweat clung to the back of his neck, his knuckles tense against the handles. But she noticed something—he wasn't grimacing anymore. Not as much. There was something almost steady about the way he moved, like the beginning of a rhythm.
They finished the session in a strained silence. Ava cleaned up the equipment while Liam rested, towel draped around his neck, sweat beading at his temple.
Elise entered the room with a tray. "Hydration and light protein," she said cheerfully. "Doctor's orders."
Liam glared. "Who made you a doctor?"
"Someone has to care if you don't," she quipped, setting the tray down beside him.
Ava watched the two of them. There was history there—not romantic, just loyal. Elise had likely worked with Liam for years, back when he was the confident, arrogant mogul still climbing ladders two steps at a time.
"You know," Ava said, sipping her water, "it's okay to admit when you're overwhelmed."
Liam glanced up. "Is that a therapy tactic?"
"No. It's a human one."
He didn't respond. Not right away.
Then, quietly: "Overwhelmed implies I was handling it before."
Ava said nothing. She knew better than to interrupt a man breaking his own silence.
Liam ran a hand through his hair. "Do you know what it feels like to have your entire life paused and reshaped without your permission?"
She looked at him carefully. "More than you think."
For the first time, something flickered across his face. Not interested. Not curiosity. But recognition.
Still, neither said more.
As the session wrapped, Ava gathered her things and stood. "I'll be back tomorrow."
Liam said nothing. Just watched her with those unreadable eyes, half-tired, half-proud.
On her way out, Elise caught up to her near the hallway.
"You okay?" Elise asked.
"Yeah," Ava replied. "He's... getting better."
Elise nodded. "So are you."
Ava frowned. "Me?"
Elise smiled. "You're letting him in. A little."
"No," Ava said too quickly. "I'm just doing my job."
Elise didn't push. But her smile lingered.
That night, Ava returned to her quiet apartment and uploaded the day's progress.
The lights in her home glowed warmly against the dim outside world. She sat at her desk for a moment longer than usual, fingers resting over the keyboard. Her apartment, filled with soft beige accents and unlit candles, felt still—too still.
She clicked through the therapy notes, reviewing Liam's vitals, resistance levels, and feedback. But even as the data scrolled past, her mind wandered—to that studio, to the ghosts he kept in sketches and dust.
And for just a second, she wondered if healing someone else meant having to reopen the wounds you buried deep in yourself.