From Heartbreak to High Stakes: The Night I Caught My Patient Standing (3 of 5)

“Private care gig just opened. Live-in. Good pay. Guy’s… not easy.”

I didn’t care. Not easy sounded better than broken.

The House on the Cliff

It wasn’t a home—it was a fortress of glass and steel clinging to the edge of the ocean.

Margaret Temple, the estate manager, greeted me with a handshake that felt like a contract. “No visitors. Full discretion. You work for Mr. Ryan Hale.”

When I saw him, he was framed by the window, sleek black wheelchair beneath him. Mid-thirties, sharp-featured, eyes cool enough to frost the glass.

“They sent me another one,” he said.

“I’m here to work,” I replied.

For a second, something flickered across his face—then vanished.

What I Wasn’t Supposed to See

Five nights in, a storm battered the coast. Passing the West Wing gym—a place he never used—I saw light spilling out.