Chapter 3 — Sparks and Tensions

Elena

Elena tightened her grip on the worn leather strap of her therapy kit as the sleek black gates of the Cole estate swung open with a quiet hum. The mansion loomed at the end of the long, meticulously landscaped driveway, its modern glass-and-stone facade gleaming under the midday sun. The symmetry of the hedges and the distant shimmer of a fountain exuded an almost intimidating perfection, like a fortress guarding its secrets.

Drawing in a steadying breath, she adjusted the strap on her shoulder and took a step forward. The crunch of gravel beneath her sneakers grounded her, a small, familiar sound against the overwhelming grandeur surrounding her. As she approached the door, it swung open before she could knock, and she was met with the imposing figure of Grayson Cole.

He stood framed in the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered, his tailored gray sweater and dark slacks emphasizing his effortless sophistication. But it was his piercing blue eyes, sharp and unyielding, that made Elena’s stomach tighten.

“You’re late,” he said, his tone clipped, as if he were noting an error in a meticulously crafted plan.

Elena glanced at her smartwatch, then arched an eyebrow. “Two minutes. If that’s late, I’d hate to see what happens if someone’s actually tardy.”

For a fleeting moment, something that might have been amusement flickered in his gaze, but it vanished almost instantly. “Follow me,” he said, stepping aside with mechanical precision. “Oliver’s waiting in the therapy room.”

As Elena stepped inside, the cool, air-conditioned interior enveloped her, carrying the faint scent of polished wood and fresh flowers. The high ceilings, pristine surfaces, and minimalist decor felt more like a high-end gallery than a home. She couldn’t help but think how cold it all felt—immaculate but devoid of warmth.

Grayson moved ahead of her with brisk, purposeful strides, his movements as controlled as the rest of his environment. Elena quickened her pace to keep up, her therapy kit bouncing lightly against her side. “I’ve had therapists come and go,” he said without turning. “None of them have made much progress. I hope you’ll prove to be the exception.”

The unspoken challenge in his tone bristled against Elena’s nerves. She was used to skepticism—overprotective parents, nervous children, even dismissive doctors—but something about Grayson’s words made her straighten her spine.

“I’ll do my best,” she said evenly. “But progress takes time—and trust.”

Grayson stopped abruptly and turned to face her. His broad frame and the sharpness of his gaze were as unyielding as the mansion itself, but Elena didn’t shrink back. “Let’s get one thing clear, Dr. Martinez. My son’s well-being is my priority. If your methods don’t work, I won’t hesitate to find someone else.”

Elena held his gaze, her voice calm but firm. “Then let’s get one thing clear, Mr. Cole. I’m here to help Oliver, not to meet your expectations. If you want this to work, you’ll need to let me do my job.”

For a moment, the air between them felt taut enough to snap. Grayson’s jaw clenched, but then his posture shifted slightly—just enough for her to notice. A flicker of hesitation, maybe, or a crack in the fortress. Without another word, he turned on his heel. “This way.”

The therapy room was a stark contrast to the rest of the house. Sunlight streamed through a large window, illuminating soft mats, colorful shelves filled with adaptive toys, and a small table with art supplies. A faint lemony scent lingered in the air, mingling with the warmth of the sunlight. It was the first space Elena had seen in the house that felt remotely inviting.

Oliver sat cross-legged on the floor, his sandy brown hair falling into his eyes as he fiddled with an action figure. His small shoulders tensed when they entered, his bright blue eyes darting to Grayson before settling on Elena.

“Hi, Oliver,” Elena said, crouching to his level. She softened her voice, letting warmth and playfulness seep into her tone. “I’m Dr. Elena, but you can just call me Elena. I hear you’re a big fan of superheroes.”

Oliver’s grip on the action figure tightened, and he glanced nervously at his father.

“Say hello, Oliver,” Grayson prompted, his voice firm but not unkind.

Elena raised a hand, stopping him with a subtle look that said, Let me handle this. She reached into her therapy kit and pulled out a small, bendable figurine with exaggerated muscles and a bright red cape. “You know,” she said, holding it out to Oliver, “I’ve got a superhero here who’s been looking for a sidekick. Do you think you could help me train him?”

Oliver’s gaze flicked to the figurine. After a moment of hesitation, he reached out and took it, his fingers tentative but curious. “What’s his name?” he asked softly.

“Hmmm,” Elena said, tilting her head thoughtfully. “I was hoping you could help me come up with one. Any ideas?”

Oliver studied the figurine intently, his fingers bending its arms into exaggerated poses. “Maybe... Captain Flex?”

Elena grinned. “Captain Flex. I love it. And you’re his trainer, teaching him all the moves he needs to save the day.”

A small, tentative smile tugged at the corner of Oliver’s lips. He positioned Captain Flex on the mat and made him perform a dramatic flip. The sight made warmth bloom in Elena’s chest—a tiny victory, but a victory nonetheless.

From the doorway, Grayson stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Yet there was a subtle shift in his face—his rigid features softening just enough to reveal something behind the stoicism. Elena couldn’t tell if it was hope, doubt, or something in between.

She rose to her feet and moved closer to him. “He’s opening up,” she said quietly, her voice low enough that Oliver wouldn’t hear. “That’s a good sign.”

Grayson’s eyes stayed fixed on his son, his jaw tightening briefly. “We’ll see if it lasts.”

Elena bit back the sharp reply that sprang to her lips. Instead, she turned back to Oliver. “Let’s try something fun,” she said, reaching for a therapy ball on the shelf. “Captain Flex needs to practice his balance. Can you show him how?”

Oliver hesitated, glancing at his father for reassurance.

Grayson took a step forward, his presence looming. “Come on, Oliver. You can do it.”

Elena shot him a pointed look and crouched beside Oliver, her tone gentle. “No rush. Captain Flex can wait until you’re ready.”

After a few moments, Oliver tentatively placed his hands on the ball. Elena guided him through the exercise, offering praise with each small success. When a soft, hesitant laugh escaped him, it was like a beam of sunlight breaking through heavy clouds.

By the end of the session, Oliver had engaged more than she’d expected, but the tension in the room remained palpable. As Elena packed up her kit, Grayson approached her.

“You’re not afraid to speak your mind,” he said, his tone neutral but edged with something she couldn’t quite place.

“Is that a problem?” she asked, meeting his gaze with a raised brow.

“Not yet,” he replied, a faint glimmer of grudging respect flashing in his eyes. “Same time tomorrow?”

Elena nodded. “Same time tomorrow.”

As she walked back to her car, the gravel crunching beneath her sneakers once again, she let out a slow, steadying breath. Sparks and tensions aside, she could already feel the weight of the challenge ahead. But as a small, determined smile tugged at her lips, she realized she was ready.