“DON’T TOUCH ME!” Julian Vance growled from the slate floor, his wheelchair sitting just out of reach like a calculated insult. The tech mogul who once made venture capitalists wait outside his office was now helpless in his own Lake Washington mansion… until the 25-year-old nanny touched his shoulder and lifted him like she had done it a hundred times before. And the way she knew exactly where to place her hands made his face go completely still.

The sound of stilettos clicking against the slate floor was a noise I hadn’t heard in my home for six months. It was sharp, rhythmic, and entirely unwelcome. I was in the middle of a grueling set of seated core stabilization drills, sweating through a grey t-shirt, when Eleanor walked into the conservatory unannounced.

My ex-wife stopped in the doorway, her designer sunglasses pushed up into her perfectly blown-out blonde hair. She took in the scene with a mix of disdain and utter confusion. Clara was standing over me, adjusting a heavy resistance band strapped to my chest, her hands resting firmly on my shoulders to ensure my posture didn’t break.

“Julian, what on earth is going on here?” Eleanor’s voice sliced through the quiet morning. “I thought I hired a nanny for Lily, not a personal trainer.”

I didn’t break eye contact with Clara. “Engage the lats,” Clara whispered, ignoring Eleanor completely.

“Julian!” Eleanor snapped, stepping further into the room. “Who is this girl, and why is she treating you like a circus animal?”

I slowly released the tension on the band, my muscles screaming in protest. I turned my head to look at the woman who had walked out of the hospital when the doctors told her I might never walk again.

“Clara is handling my rehabilitation,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “And she is exactly where she needs to be. The real question is, Eleanor, why are you in my house?”

Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. She looked Clara up and down, taking in the yoga pants and messy bun, her lip curling in a silent sneer. “Marcus called me. The board is getting anxious. They want to know if their CEO is ever going back to the office, or if he’s just going to play physical therapy with the hired help.”

Clara didn’t flinch. She simply picked up her clipboard, marked down my repetition time, and looked at Eleanor. “Mr. Vance is in the middle of a vital neurological window. Interrupting his focus disrupts the neural pathways we are trying to rebuild. I’ll have to ask you to leave the immediate training area.”