My Ex-Wife is a Multi-Billionaire!

EPISODE 3

NINA

SIX MONTHS LATER

Today was the start of my new job.

Being hired as a physiotherapist at a newly opened, private clinic seemed like the perfect job for me, after spending the last six months in a hiatus.

I located my office without any difficulties, the name tag reading Nina Simone.

With a small smile on my lips, I pushed the door opened and stepped into my office.

It was medium sized, looked warm and cozy. I fell in love with the black and white decor immediately, and the desk was a beautiful piece of old antique.

I had a good feeling about this place. I was pretty sure that I would love my job, and well, it came with its own perks.

No one here knew who I was.

Six months ago, I had made the decision of changing my name, my identity, and erasing every last trace of my past life, of who I was.

It felt weird at first, but after a little bit of relocation, changing my names officially and laying low for a couple of months to make sure everyone who ever knew me quietly forgot who I was, I found myself applying for, and taking up this job.

The clinic had great potential though, and the pay was good, not that I cared about the money anyway.

It was just nice to have a job, something to look forward to every day.

The intercom on my desk pinged, and I picked it up immediately. It was a message from the Manager, asking to see me as soon as I got the message.

I left my office, asked a couple of people for directions, and knocked on his office door a few minutes later.

A middle aged, slightly bald man with what had the potential to be a big belly rose up as I came in. He offered me his hand in form of a greeting, and I took it.

“Nina. It is so nice to see you here,” he stated with considerable warmth as we took our seats.

“It's nice to be here too,” was my response.

“I take it that you've been to your office, yeah?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good. Now that you're settled in and all, here's the file on the patient I will like you to work on,” he said as he handed me a file.

I accepted it, my eyes already roving around the first page of the patient's file.

“He's…a little bit tricky, but I'll let you work your magic on him. Please, feel free to let me know if you encounter any difficulties,” he stated politely.

I gave him my appreciation and left the office, a thrill already rising up my body. I loved my job.

I loved it so much my best friends always seem to think I was bewitched, but they could not possibly understand how it felt, being a direct contact, the one person a patient can rely on to bring them back to the way they were.

Deciding to do a little detour, I made my way towards the directions of the room of my new patient.

I wasn't going to check on him now, the doctor who was in charge of his case before I got here would probably have the rest of today to round up, and I would have to take over tomorrow.

As I got closer to the room though, I heard voices. The words being spoken were not particularly coherent due to the distance, but as I got closer, the words became clearer.

“He thinks he's special because he is rich, but I see no damn difference. A cripple will always be a cripple. So f*****g entitled, as if having a fat bank account can change him now.”

Those words were delivered so harshly, so condescending that I felt myself starting to get angry.

My brows furrowed into what Iris always referred to as a get ready to get your ass kicked frown.

That was a very mean and totally uncalled for thing to say to someone, especially to a patient.

My Patient, specifically.

A doctor — young and had a permanent sneer on his face — was carrying out his daily morning routine. But he was being obviously rough, and he kept making more of the damning comments that I just heard.

His victim was a man in wheelchairs.

The patient was breathtaking, but he just sat there with a blank expression as if he couldn't care less about what the doctor was muttering about him.

I saw the signs though. How his hands curled into fists ever so slightly at his sides. He must be feeling very horrible with those harsh comments directed at him.

Not withstanding, my heart skipped a beat once. Then twice.

He was, hands down, the most beautiful man I had ever seen in my entire life.

Who, as fate would have it, happened to be my first patient.

I knew the rude, uncouth doctor in there still had the patient to himself today, but I could not resist opening the door and stepping inside.

Both men looked up, surprised. The doctor raked his eyes over me appreciately, and his look made me shudder.

He straightened, his expression morphing into a pleasant one as he walked towards me.

“Hi, are you here to see the patient? I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to step out for a while. Visiting hours haven't started yet.”

He sounded so polite that I would not have believed he was the same jerk who said those horrible words less than one minute ago if I hadn't heard him speak.

Without a word, I whipped out my Identify card, smiled at him with teeth, and said, “I'm in charge of this patient here.”

The jerk looked stunned, his expression going through different phrases of disbelief, shock, and then…reluctant recognition.

“Wow. That's…I didn't really peg you as the type, you know. You don't really look like a doctor,” he said with a small laugh, waving his arms around like I was a mannequin on display.

“Physiotherapist,” I corrected sharply.

“Right, right,” he nodded, and was about to say something else when I cut in.

“Actually, I will like to take over the patient now, if you don't mind. Please, have your assistant send the files over to my office,” I deadpanned and pushed past him without waiting for a response.

I felt his stare burning into my back for a long moment, but I didn't turn to face him.

When the door closed behind him, I finally gave my attention to the man in the wheelchair.

“Hi.”

He was silent for a bit and then he said, “That was so…kind of you.”

My lips curled into a small smile.

“That was nothing. Please, don't pay any mind to him. I believe he's an idiot.”

There was a slight — almost nonexistent — ghost of a smile on the man's face.

“Thank goodness you walked in at the right time then,” he stated warmly and held out a hand.

“I'm Keith.”

“Nice to meet you, Keith. I'm Nina, and I am going to be your physiotherapist from now on.”

As we shook hands, I could not help but think that he had a very familiar face. Like someone I had seen before.

Who was this man? And where had I seen him before?