Chapter 26 Cold feet
In the morning, everywhere felt strange before Sienna even reached his room.
The villa that was always quiet, seemed different, not peaceful, but hollow, like something had been removed in the night.
She paused at the bottom of the marble stairs, adjusting the strap of her bag against her shoulders. She heard voices somewhere down the hall and the shuffle of shoes, When she turned the corner, she saw them.
Two new staff members. One was unpacking groceries in the kitchen, the other ironing fresh linens in the sitting room.
Her first thought was confusion. Her second was the sharp, sinking realization that she was being replaced.
When she entered the living room, Dante was already there. He sat near the terrace in his chair, the early light casting hard lines across his face. A newspaper lay open in front of him, his fingers tapping against the armrest.
He didn’t greet her. He didn't even look up like he heard someone approaching.
“You’re late,” he said flatly, eyes still on the page.
Sienna frowned and glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s eight-thirty. Our session starts at nine.”
He turned the page slowly. “Not anymore.”
Something in his voice made her pulse jump. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve changed the schedule,” he said. “Sessions will be once a day from now on. Afternoons only.”
Her brows furrowed. “Why?”
He folded the newspaper neatly and set it aside. “Efficiency.”
The word landed like a slap. No anger,just the indifference.
Sienna took a slow breath, steadying her voice. “If there’s a problem with my work, I’d rather you say it directly.”
Finally, he looked at her. The sunlight hit his eyes, turning them to a sharp gray-blue. “There’s no problem,” he said. “I just don’t need you as much anymore.”
Her heart gave a small, painful twist. Don’t need you? She should have been glad, wasn’t that the goal? Recovery? Independence? But the words stung more than she wanted to admit.
She crossed her arms. “Understood.”
He turned his chair slightly toward the sea. “Good.”
The silence that followed was a living thing thick, breathing, impossible to ignore. Sienna stood there for a long moment, waiting for him to say something else, to soften the edge, to explain. But he didn’t.
So she picked up her clipboard, her throat dry. “I’ll see you at two, then.”
He didn’t answer.
By noon, the tension in the house had changed shape. It wasn’t just Dante’s silence anymore, it was everyone’s. Even the staff moved differently, careful, hushed, watching her with quick glances but saying nothing.
She passed by the open doorway of the study and froze. Then she heard voices.
Luca’s voice.
And Dante’s.
“You can’t just shut her out, brother,” Luca said. His tone was patient, but underneath it, there was steel. “She’s been the only one who hasn’t walked out on you.”
Dante’s reply came low, strained. “I don’t need her sympathy.”
“She’s your doctor, not your enemy.”
“I said I don’t need her.”
Luca let out a short breath that sounded like a laugh tired, not amused. “You can keep pretending you don’t care, but we both know you do.”
Sienna should have walked away. It wasn’t her place to listen. But her feet wouldn’t move.
There was a pause, then Dante’s voice was heard again, sharper, and brittle. “You’ve taken enough from me already. Stay out of this.”
The silence that followed was heavy and cold.
Sienna’s chest tightened. She didn’t know what that meant taken enough from him but the pain in his tone made her stomach twist.
When she finally stepped back from the door, her hands were shaking.
She returned to her quarters and tried to read her notes, but the words blurred. The conversation looped in her mind, pulling at something she didn’t want to name.
Why was he doing this? Why pull her close just to push her away again?
By the time she went to his room for the afternoon session, she had convinced herself to stay professional,detached. And have a doctor and patient relationship. Nothing else.
But the moment she stepped inside, she felt it, the cold, invisible but absolute.
Dante sat at the exercise bar, his hands resting on the metal rail. His movements were sharp, efficient, and emotionless. When she guided him through a stretch, he didn’t flinch or resist but he didn’t look at her either.
His jaw clenched when her fingers brushed his shoulder. The air between them tightened like a thread stretched too far.
She counted softly, “One, two, three, good. Hold it there.”
He obeyed silently. His breathing came out even, controlled, but his eyes stayed fixed on the floor.
When he finally lowered himself back into the chair, she caught a glimpse of his hands trembling slightly, though he hid it well.
She wanted to say something. You’re doing better. You’re healing. But the words caught in her throat.
“Is it too much pressure?” she asked instead.
“No.”
“Pain level?”
“Manageable.”
The conversation was stripped bare just clinical notes and answers. Nothing human left in it.
She wanted to tell him that the silence hurt more than the anger ever did. But she couldn’t. It wasn’t her place.
They finished early.
When she closed her notebook, she felt his eyes on her for the first time that day. Not warmth, not curiosity just something unreadable, distant, almost disappointed.
She stood up, forcing a steady tone. “We’ll continue with this tomorrow. The progress is good.”
He didn’t respond.
She hesitated by the door, waiting for even a small sign that the wall between them could still break. Nothing.
“You’re shutting me out,” she said finally, her voice softer than she meant.
He leaned back in the chair, eyes still on the sea beyond the window. “You should get used to it,” he said. “It’s safer that way.”
Her throat tightened. “Safer for who?”
He exhaled, almost a sigh. “Both of us.”
Something inside her cracked not loudly, but enough to leave an ache. She wanted to argue, to tell him she wasn’t afraid of him, that she didn’t want anything safe. But she didn’t.
Because she wasn’t sure which of them she’d be lying to.
She turned and walked toward the hall, her steps were slow and careful.
When she reached the doorway, his voice came again quieter, but clear enough to stop her in her tracks.
“Don’t mistake his attention for kindness, Doctor.”
Her breath hitched.
She turned slightly. He was still facing the window, his expression hidden, but his tone had changed not cruel this time, almost tired.
“He collects people he can’t have.”
The words hit her chest like a wave she couldn’t brace for.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The air hummed between them, heavy with things neither wanted to admit.
Finally, she said, barely above a whisper, “Goodnight, Mr. Varon.”
He didn’t answer.
The hallway was empty when she stepped out, the echo of her footsteps filling the space. Her heartbeat was too loud in her ears.
Outside, the wind off the cliffs carried the scent of salt and rain. The sea below was rough tonight.
She stood by the terrace railing and tried to breathe, tried to make sense of what had just happened.
He was jealous of Luca. She knew it, even if he didn’t say it. And the knowledge twisted something deep inside her that she didn’t want to name.
She shouldn’t care what Dante thought. He was her patient. This wasn’t supposed to feel like loss.
But it did.
She closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her chest, trying to quiet the storm beneath her ribs. You knew what this was. You knew better.
The waves crashed harder below, and still, she couldn’t stop hearing his voice that quiet warning, sharp as glass.
He collects people he can’t have.
Was he warning her about Luca or was he talking about himself?
The question followed her back to her room, steady and merciless, long after the lights went out.