Chapter 402: The Therapist

"Proceed," Grayson commanded smoothly, adjusting his sweater with regal dignity. "Read my scores, Mailah. I am fully prepared to receive my absolute triumph."

Mailah opened her mouth to read the final line of his evaluation, her red pen hovering over the paper.

Before she could utter a single word, a loud, pleasant chime echoed through the grand estate. The heavy front doorbell had rung.

Grayson’s dark eyes narrowed instantly. His posture went rigid as an iron post, his head turning slowly toward the grand hallway. The lingering warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by the sharp, defensive focus of a lord whose sanctuary had just been invaded.

"Who dares disturb us at this hour?" Grayson muttered, his deep voice dropping into a low rumble. "I explicitly placed a dark ward over the front gate."

"Grayson, you turned the ward off this morning so the mailman wouldn’t faint," Mailah reminded him with a grin, setting her notepad aside. "It’s probably the doctor. Soren said he would stop by this evening for my regular check-up."

Grayson let out a soft, aristocratic sigh of annoyance. "Right, the phoenix healer. Very well. I shall allow him entry, provided he does not linger."

Grayson stood up in one fluid, breathtaking motion. He smoothed down his grey sweater, checked his reflection in the dark glass of the sunroom door, and adjusted his cuffs. He looked like an ancient king preparing to hold court with a minor village official.

He walked down the long hallway toward the front entrance. Mailah leaned forward on her plush pillows, watching his tall, imposing figure with an amused smile.

A moment later, heavy footsteps echoed down the wooden floorboards.

"Ah, Mr. Grayson! Good evening," a calm, friendly voice called out.

Dr. Soren Morrison stepped into the sunroom.

"Soren! Hi!" Mailah greeted him warmly, waving from her blanket fort. "Come on in!"

"Good evening," Dr. Soren smiled, stepping into the warm, rose-colored light of the room. "You look much better than the last time I saw you."

"She is in peak health," Grayson announced, stepping into the room right behind the doctor. Grayson didn’t just walk in—he hovered like a massive, broad-shouldered shadow, his dark eyes fixed on Soren. "I have personally supervised her recovery. Her diet, her sleep, and her environment have been maintained at absolute perfection."

"I can see that," Soren said, looking around at the dozens of yellow roses, the glowing fairy lights, and the giant pink blanket fort. The doctor raised a amused eyebrow, but wisely chose not to ask about the fort. "You’ve certainly been thorough, Grayson."

"I am her husband," Grayson stated flatly, as if that explained everything from the pink blankets to the yellow roses. "Thoroughness is my duty."

"Well, let’s take a look at that leg," Soren said, setting his leather bag down on the low wooden table. "Oh, before I forget—I brought someone with me today."

Grayson’s dark eyes flicked toward the sunroom doorway. "Someone?"

"Yes," Soren called back over his shoulder. "Ethan, come on in!"

A tall young man stepped into the sunroom.

Mailah’s eyes widened slightly.

The man—Ethan—looked like he had just walked off the cover of a fitness magazine. He was roughly twenty-six years old, built like a professional athlete, with broad shoulders, a lean waist, a perfectly chiseled jaw, bright blue eyes, and thick, messy brown hair that looked effortlessly styled. He wore a fitted dark polo shirt that showed off his muscular arms, holding a sleek digital tablet in one hand.

"Hi everyone," Ethan said, giving Mailah a bright, dazzling, white-toothed smile that practically lit up the room. "I’m Ethan Vance. Dr. Soren’s top physical therapy specialist."

The air in the sunroom instantly dropped five degrees.

Grayson froze. His dark eyes locked onto Ethan’s face, his expression turning into a cold, majestic mask of absolute, unadulterated hostility.

Grayson stood at his full, towering height, his broad shoulders blocking half the light from the hallway behind him. In Grayson’s mind, Ethan’s existence was not merely an arrival—it was a direct, offensive challenge to his authority.

Mailah felt the sudden, icy chill in the air and had to bite the inside of her cheek so hard it nearly bled.

Oh no, Mailah thought, her heart pounding with a mix of terror and pure, hilarious entertainment. It’s Julian all over again, but ten times worse.

"Grayson, Mailah," Soren introduced smoothly, completely oblivious to the dark storm brewing beside him. "This is Ethan. I asked him to come along today because Mailah’s bone has officially healed enough to start intensive physical therapy immediately."

Ethan stepped closer to the pink fort, his bright smile widening as he looked at Mailah. "Nice to meet you, Mailah. Dr. Soren told me all about your case. You’ve had a tough four weeks, but don’t worry—we’re going to get that leg back to one hundred percent in no time."

Grayson moved.

He didn’t use teleportation—he simply took two long, swift, silent strides, placing his massive, broad-shouldered frame directly between Ethan and the blanket fort. He stood like a stone wall, completely blocking Ethan’s view of Mailah.

Grayson adjusted his grey sweater with supreme, terrifying arrogance. He looked down his sharp nose at Ethan, his dark eyes burning with petty, dramatic jealousy.

"Your presence is noted, mortal," Grayson said, his deep voice smooth as liquid ice, echoing with heavy authority. "However, it is unnecessary. My wife is fully cared for."

Ethan blinked, taken aback by the towering man standing inches from his face. "Uh... nice to meet you too, sir. I’m just here to conduct her initial mobility assessment."

"She has been assessed," Grayson declared firmly, folding his long arms tightly across his broad chest. "By me. Her mobility is exquisite."

Mailah peeked out from behind Grayson’s broad hip, poking his thigh hard. "Grayson! Move! Let the physical therapist speak!"

Grayson didn’t budge an inch. He merely shifted his weight, ensuring his broad shoulder remained a permanent barrier between Mailah and the handsome therapist.

"I am merely protecting the integrity of our home, Mailah," Grayson muttered quietly over his shoulder, his dark jaw tight. "This individual’s polo shirt is excessively tight. It indicates a lack of professional discipline."

Mailah wheezed, hiding her face behind her blanket to stifle a burst of laughter.

Soren let out a dry, tired sigh, clearly used to eccentric husbands. "Grayson, please let Ethan do his job. We need to check her joint flexibility."

Grayson narrowed his eyes at Soren, then slowly, reluctantly, took one small step to the side. But he did not sit down. He stood right beside the couch, hovering over Ethan like an imposing, sulky dark gargoyle, his dark eyes tracking Ethan’s every single movement with hawkish intensity.

Ethan knelt gracefully on the soft rug in front of Mailah’s blanket fort. He set his tablet down and looked up at Mailah with a warm, friendly expression.

"Okay, Mailah," Ethan said gently. "I’m just going to place my hand near your knee and test your range of motion. Tell me if you feel any sharp pain."

Ethan reached out his long, muscular hand, moving it toward Mailah’s exposed ankle.

BZZZT.

The small glass candle holders on the side table gave a tiny, sudden rattle. The golden fairy lights strung around the room flickered violently once.

Grayson took a fast, silent step forward. Before Ethan’s fingers could touch Mailah’s skin, Grayson’s large, warm hand came down hard on Mailah’s knee, covering her leg entirely like a dark shield.

Ethan froze, his hand hovering two inches in the air. He looked up at Grayson in complete confusion.

Grayson glared down at Ethan, his sharp face frozen in a expression of majestic, undisputed possessiveness.

"Is it vital to the healing process for your fingers to make contact with her skin?" Grayson demanded coldly, his deep voice dropping an octave into dangerous velvet.

"Grayson!" Mailah gasped, her face bright red, swatting his hand lightly. "Stop it! He’s a medical professional!"

"He is an athletic male with styled hair," Grayson corrected haughtily, refusing to remove his hand from her knee. "I am evaluating his credentials."

Ethan let out a nervous chuckle, clearing his throat as he looked up at the terrifyingly handsome, brooding man. "Sir, I promise you, I’m just checking her joint tightness. I need to physically touch the ankle to feel the tendon resistance."

Grayson stared at Ethan for three long, agonizing seconds. The silence in the sunroom was so heavy you could hear the rain dripping off the glass roof outside.

"Very well," Grayson stated with immense, royal condescension. "You may apply a light touch. But if my wife experiences a single micro-second of discomfort, I shall remove you from this estate."

"Grayson, stop threatening the medical staff!" Mailah groaned, burying her face in her hands.

Soren rubbed the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath, "I don’t get paid enough for this."

Ethan carefully, hesitantly placed two fingers against Mailah’s ankle. He gently flexed her foot upward. "How does that feel, Mailah?"

"It feels a little tight," Mailah answered honestly, looking at Ethan. "A bit stiff around the back of the heel."

"That’s completely normal," Ethan smiled warmly, his bright blue eyes locking onto Mailah’s face. "The Achilles tendon shortens when you don’t use it for a few weeks. We just need to stretch it out slowly every single day. I can come by every afternoon to guide you through the routines."

Every afternoon.

The words hung in the air like a declaration of war.

Grayson’s jaw tightened so hard a small muscle twitched in his sharp cheek. He stepped forward, placing himself right beside Ethan again, staring down at the therapist as if Ethan had just suggested setting the estate on fire.

"That will not be necessary," Grayson announced smoothly, his deep voice filled with absolute, undisputed finality. "I shall handle her daily physical training."

Soren looked up from his medical bag, raising an eyebrow. "You, Grayson?"

"Yes," Grayson stated proudly, lifting his chin. "I possess supreme physical capability. My strength is absolute. My precision is flawless. I am more than qualified to bend a human ankle."

"Grayson," Soren said calmly, stepping forward to stand beside Ethan. "Physical therapy is not about raw strength. In fact, raw strength is the dangerous part. Rebuilding torn muscle tissue requires specialized knowledge, precise angles, and consistent, gentle resistance over several months. If you apply too much force, you could tear her healing ligaments completely."

Grayson looked deeply offended, as if Soren had just insulted his royal lineage. "Are you implying that I do not possess gentle control?"

"I am saying you don’t have a degree in physical therapy," Soren replied dryly, gesturing to Ethan. "Mailah needs structured, professional care. Ethan knows the exact biology of human muscle recovery. If she doesn’t get proper, consistent therapy, she could end up walking with a permanent limp."

Grayson stilled.

The word limp hit him like a cold bucket of water. His dark eyes flicked down toward Mailah’s leg, a sudden, heavy shadow of worry crossing his sharp features. His fierce, petty jealousy briefly gave way to his deep, overwhelming desire to see her fully healed.

"A permanent limp..." Grayson repeated softly, his deep voice losing its arrogant edge for a brief moment.

"Yes," Soren nodded seriously. "Consistency is key. Mailah needs two hours of specific stretches and exercises every single day. Ethan can provide that consistency."

Grayson stood silent for a moment, his dark mind working furiously. He looked at Ethan—with his bright smile, his broad athletic shoulders, and his tight polo shirt—and then looked down at Mailah, who was watching him with soft, tender eyes.