No One Wanted to Care for the Paralyzed Crime Boss Until the Maid’s Three-Year-Old Daughter Walked Into His Office With a Broken Cookie

Julian stared at the little girl standing in the doorway of the rehabilitation room.

His muscles screamed. His white undershirt clung to his chest, damp with cold sweat. He hated being seen this way—weak, struggling, compromised. For two years, he had barred everyone but his doctors from this wing of the house.

"Did you exercise?" Ellie asked again, taking a step inside, her stuffed rabbit dragging on the sterile white tiles.

Dr. Bennett looked at Julian, waiting. She had seen him fire a man for looking at his wheelchair too long.

Julian’s jaw tightened. He looked down at his trembling hands, gripping the parallel bars. Then he looked at Ellie.

"I tried," Julian said, his voice raspy.

Ellie walked up to him, entirely unfazed by the intimidating aura that usually radiated from him. She reached into the tiny pocket of her denim overalls and pulled out a slightly crushed, foil-wrapped butterscotch candy.

She placed it on the exercise table next to him.

"For when you're done," she said seriously. "Mommy says brave boys get treats."

A sound escaped Julian’s throat. It took Dr. Bennett a full second to realize it was a laugh. It was a rusty, unused sound, but it was real.

"Thank you, Ellie," Julian said softly.

"Ellie!" Claire’s panicked voice echoed down the hall.

A moment later, Claire skidded into the doorway, her hair escaping her messy bun, a feather duster gripped tightly in her hand like a weapon. When she saw Julian suspended between the bars, sweating and exhausted, the color drained from her face.

"Mr. Moretti, I swear to God I turned my back for two seconds," Claire rushed out, already crossing the room to scoop her daughter up. "I'm so sorry. We're leaving right now."

"Leave her," Julian commanded.

Claire froze, clutching Ellie to her chest. "Excuse me?"

Julian slowly, painfully, lowered himself back into his wheelchair. He gripped the wheels, his knuckles white, and turned to face Claire. His dark eyes, usually cold and unreadable, held a strange intensity.

"Leave the door open," Julian corrected himself, grabbing a towel to wipe his neck. "She's not bothering me, Mrs. Carter."

Claire stared at him. She had heard the whispers in the kitchen. The Boss is a ghost. The Boss is a monster. The Boss doesn't care if you live or die. Yet here he was, accepting hard candy from a three-year-old.

"Okay," Claire breathed. "But if she gets in the way..."

"If she gets in the way, I'll tell her," Julian said. He looked at Dr. Bennett. "Reset the clock. We go again."

Dr. Bennett smiled. "Yes, sir."

That afternoon, Julian made a phone call. It was a short call to his head of security, a man named Dante who hadn't heard from his boss in weeks.

"Dante," Julian said, staring at the drawing of the green wheelchair on his wall. "I want a background check on the new maid. Claire Carter."