The heavy oak doors of the Montenegro mansion stood slightly ajar, framing a scene of utter chaos in the sprawling

The predawn light had barely begun to bleed over the sprawling, manicured gardens of the Montenegro estate when the door to Dante’s master suite swung open with a resounding bang.

Dante, who had spent half the night staring at the ornate plaster molding of his ceiling, cursed under his breath as the overhead lights flooded his dark room with blinding clarity. He reached for the heavy brass lamp on his nightstand, ready to hurl it across the room, but his hand froze mid-motion.

Marina stood in the doorway, wearing comfortable athletic gear—dark joggers and a fitted grey t-shirt—holding a pair of resistance bands and a small digital blood pressure monitor. Her expression brooked no argument.

"It's 5:58 AM, Mr. Montenegro," Marina announced cheerfully, walking straight toward the massive king-sized bed with the confidence of a seasoned drill sergeant. "Rise and shine. Or, well, rise and sit."

"Get out," Dante growled, pulling the heavy velvet duvet up to his chin like an oversized shield. His hair was slightly disheveled, dark shadows bruised beneath his piercing eyes, betraying a sleepless night. "I didn't give you permission to enter my private quarters. Augusto!"

"Augusto is downstairs brewing black coffee, and he’s not coming to save you," Marina said smoothly, pulling the duvet down with one swift, merciless tug before Dante could secure it. "Now, sit up. We have work to do."

Dante’s face flushed a dark, angry crimson. He shot his arms out, grabbing the edges of the mattress to hoist his upper body up, glaring daggers at her the entire time. "You are testing my patience, nurse. How many times do I have to tell you? My legs do not work. You are wasting your time, my time, and Augusto’s money."

"My time, my rules," Marina replied, stepping closer and placing the blood pressure cuff around his thick, muscular bicep. She pumped the bulb efficiently, her fingers light and professional against his skin. "And Augusto’s money is already in my escrow account, so you can stop worrying about your butler's wallet."

Dante watched her closely, his jaw tight. Despite his fury, he couldn't ignore the effortless efficiency with which she handled him. Every other nurse had trembled when touching him, their hands shaking as if they expected him to strike them at any moment. Marina’s touch was firm, steady, and completely devoid of fear.

"Why are you doing this?" Dante asked suddenly, his voice losing its thunderous roar, replaced by a low, gravelly curiosity. He stared down at her hands adjusting the Velcro strap. "Every other woman who walked through those doors took one look at me and ran. You walked straight into the fire. Are you insane, or just deeply in debt?"

Marina finished checking his pulse and jotted the numbers down on a small notepad. She looked up, her dark eyes locking onto his with a quiet, unreadable intensity. "Let's just say I've lost people, too, Dante. I know what it looks like when someone chooses to die while their heart is still beating. And I don't like losing."

Before Dante could dissect her cryptic words, Marina grabbed his left arm, looping a heavy elastic resistance band around his wrist. "Alright, tough guy. Let's start with upper body activation. Pull."

"I am not your puppet," Dante snarled, refusing to budge an inch.

"Fine. Then stay sitting there like a spoiled child while your family council votes to strip your assets and hand your empire over to your cousin Marco," Marina retorted coolly, pulling a sharp card from her back pocket and tossing it onto his lap.

Dante glanced down at the slip of paper. It was a confidential memo from his corporate legal team, detailing an emergency board meeting scheduled for the end of the week, hosted by Marco Montenegro—the ruthless corporate shark Dante despised above all others.

Dante’s head snapped back up, his eyes blazing with sudden, lethal fury. "Where did you get this?"

"Augusto has loose lips when he's desperate," Marina lied smoothly, though the corporate threat was entirely real. She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a harsh, challenging whisper. "Marco thinks you're permanently out of the picture. He thinks the great Dante Montenegro is finished. Are you going to prove him right from this wheelchair, or are you going to stand up and fight back?"

For a long, agonizing moment, the room was suspended in time. Dante stared at the memo, his fingers crumpling the expensive stationary into a tight ball. The veins in his massive forearms bulged, straining against his skin as the dormant fury inside him finally found a new, lethal direction.