THE BILLIONAIRE'S THERAPIST

Selene’s POV They told me not to bring a phone. Not even a watch. It felt strange, like being asked to step out of time itself. No signals. No contact, no reminders of the world outside. Just me and whatever waited out there in the snow. I had flown over the Alps before on vacation, but this was different. The air felt sharper, thinner, like it could cut into your lungs if you weren’t careful. Each gust of wind was a silent warning: nothing here belonged to anyone. As the helicopter crested the ridge of the Swiss Alps, the sun shone across the snow, scattering the light across the snow like spilled golden flowers. Beneath us, a small clearing lay hidden between the frozen trees and the edge of the cliff, almost as if nature itself was shielding the place. "which was the clinic". It wasn't what I expected. I'd imagine something warmer, a retreat designed to heal broken minds. It stood like a massive modern block of glass and steel, built right into the mountains, looking very strong, simple, and cold. It looked more like a villain’s hideout than a psychiatric clinic. Maybe that was the point. “You’ll be the only patient contact,” the agency had told me over the phone. “No names, no records. You will report only to us. With full confidentiality.” I'd said yes before asking the right questions. Maybe because I didn't want to hear the answers. The helicopter Landed, reaching down to the rooftop of the helipad with a thump that reverberated through my chest. The helicopter's blades rotate through the icy air, very loud and fast. The noise was deafening, dragging snow in small spirals into its harsh mechanical rhythm. I stepped out of the helicopter, my boots crunching in the frozen dust. The wind whipped through my coat, my scarf, and my thoughts. From behind, I heard footsteps: deliberate, calm. Just then, a man in a black suit approached me, eyes sharp and assessing. He didn’t speak at first. He didn’t smile. He didn’t introduce himself. He just studied me, as though he were reading a page of a book written in invisible ink. Dr. Ward? I nodded. "Follow me." The interior of the facility was nothing like I had imagined. Silence reigned. Not the kind of silence that calms you; it's the kind of silence that listens back. There was no welcoming receptionist, no soft music to ease the nerves. Only white walls that gleamed to cleanly, frosted glass panels, and the low vibrating sounds of machines running in the background. The air smelled faintly metalic, like the faint tang of blood but sterile, almost antiseptic. We walked down a long corridor lined with oil paintings, portraits of people I didn't recognize. All their eyes seemed to follow me as I passed. As we walked, the lights behind us faded on their own, leaving only the parts ahead us glowing. It was as if the building was swallowing me whole. Finally, we stopped in front of a smooth seamless door with no handle. No number. “Your session starts in ten minutes he’s waiting,” the man said. The door slid open without a sound. He was facing the window when I stepped inside. Snow fell softly against the glass in slow, like scattered and weightless ash floating through the air. He didn’t turn. He didn’t speak., he was standing perfectly still. He didn't move. His hands were clasped neatly behind his back, his reflection in the glass was dark against the bright snow outside. Damien Voss. A very reclusive billionaire. A technical mogul who built empires out of silence and algorithms. And according to the files, he hadn't spoken to a single person in twelve days. I waited. “Mr. Voss,” i said quietly. “I’m Dr. Selene Ward.” No response. “I’ll be handling your sessions. I understand you requested for a complete discretion.” Still nothing. I took a step closer, just enough to see his reflection more clearly in the glass. That's when I noticed his eyes. He wasn’t looking at the mountains outside the glass. He was looking at me through the reflection. Quietly watching and Studying me, steady and unblinking, piercing in a way that made the air in the room heavier. It was as though he could see every secret I carried in the small spaces of my chest, every fear hidden behind my practiced calm. Like he knew me. Like he’d been waiting for me. My pulse kicked. “I know who you are,” he finally said, with his voice low and controlled. Like someone testing the weight of words before using them as weapons. “I remember your voice.” I froze for a second. My breath hitched, and the air around me felt suddenly too thin to breathe. “Excuse me?” He then turned, slowly, deliberately, i swear the air in the room shifted. It wasn't about his wealth or the quiet reputation that hung around his name. It was the way he looked at me, steady, unblinking, a gaze that refused to let go, as if I was the only thing that was there. Like I wasn’t real. Like I was a ghost, or something his mind made up. “I’ve heard it before,” he murmured, his voice low and distant. “Back during the blackout.” I stiffened. My body refused to move, everything in me went still, breath, thought, heartbeat. “What blackout?” I managed, with my voice barely more than a whisper. He then smiled. A cold, uneven twist of his mouth. It wasn't amusement. It was the quiet, unsettling kind of smile that comes from someone who already knows your secrets. “The seventy-two hours I don’t remember,” he said, stepping toward me slowly, without hesitation. His eyes didn’t waver, unwavering in their focus. I swallowed, my throat dry. My heart raced. Every muscle in me tensed. “You… you were there.”