The phone vibrating in my pocket felt like a countdown to execution. I didn’t need to look. I already knew the message.

I already knew the photo that would come with it—my sister, Ava, tied to a chair in some filthy basement, fear carved into her face in a way no sixteen-year-old should ever wear.

Forty-eight hours. Six hundred thousand dollars. Or we send her back piece by piece.

I stood in the service alley behind the Blackspire Tower while icy rain soaked through my thin server uniform. My hands shook, not from the cold, but from the reality crushing my lungs. I had sixty-three dollars to my name. A waitress. A nobody. And the men my father borrowed from before he vanished had decided Ava was payment.

I looked up at the tower slicing through the clouds like a blade. It belonged to one man.

Elliot Crowe.

Everyone in New York knew the name. A tech emperor who built an AI empire before thirty. Brilliant. Untouchable. Then three years ago, a crash shattered his spine and his life. Since then, he lived sealed inside the tower, rumored to have become cruel, obsessive, unreachable.

That was why I was here.

Security was tight, but a catering badge and a stolen tray got me past the service elevator. The doors opened straight into the penthouse—cold chrome, black leather, glass walls bleeding gray city light.

He sat facing the storm, wheelchair unmistakable.

“I didn’t order food,” he said without turning. “Explain why you’re here before I call security.”

“I’m not delivering,” I said, stepping forward. “I’m here to trade.”

He turned. The magazines never captured it—how sharp he was, how angry, how alive despite the chair.

“A trade?” he sneered. “What could someone like you offer me?”

“Your legs.”

The room went deadly quiet.

“Leave,” he said softly. “Now.”

“I can heal you,” I said. “I can fix nerves. Reconnect what’s broken. But my sister has been taken. I need the ransom paid.”

He laughed, bitter and hollow. “I get lunatics like you every week.”

“Test me,” I said. “One touch. If nothing happens, I walk out in cuffs.”

He studied me, boredom warring with something buried deeper.

“Ten seconds,” he said. “Then you’re done.”

I dropped to my knees and pressed my hand to his leg.

I pushed the heat.

The energy ripped through me like fire. His body jerked violently. His leg spasmed—moved.

The glass in his hand shattered on the floor.

Silence.

His face drained of color. “What did you do?”

“I told you,” I whispered. “I can fix you.”

Hope lit his eyes like something feral.

“No more,” I said, standing shakily. “You help my sister first.”

He made the call.

Within minutes, we were descending in an armored SUV toward the docks—territory controlled by the men who took Ava. Rain hammered the glass as his security prepared for war.

“She’s asthmatic,” I whispered. “If they keep her damp—”

“We’ll get her,” he said, cold and absolute.

They smashed through the gates. Money was dumped in the mud. Guns were raised. The men laughed—until suppressed shots dropped three of them where they stood.

Ava was dragged out.

Alive.

I ran to her, sobbing into her hair. She shook but she was breathing. Whole.

We left the cash behind and disappeared into the night.

Back at the tower, the deal resumed.

I warned him it would hurt.

“I don’t care,” he said. “Burn me.”

I poured everything into him.

He screamed. I bled. The room blurred.

Then he stood.

For the first time in three years, Elliot Crowe stood upright, shaking, terrified, magnificent.

He collapsed on top of me, breath ragged, eyes wild.

“You’re not leaving,” he whispered.

He kissed me.

I should have stopped him. I didn’t.

Reality returned quickly. He needed more. The healing faded. It wasn’t a cure—it was a charge.

And he panicked.

He locked Ava away when I refused.

That was when I understood.

He needed me more than I needed him.

I healed him again—but this time, I left a knot of energy buried deep in his spine. A switch.

At the board meeting, cameras flashed as Elliot walked in on his own two feet. Power returned to him instantly.

Then the betrayal came.

Police. Mob money. A setup.

He faltered.

They reached for me.

I triggered the switch.

The power detonated.

Windows rattled. Guards flew across the room. Elliot moved like a force of nature.

The room surrendered.

I collapsed.

When I woke, I was in a hospital. Ava was safe.

Elliot came in quietly, back in his chair.

“The surge burned it out,” he said. “I can’t feel anything now.”

I started to apologize.

He stopped me.

The criminals were gone. My debt erased. Five million dollars sat on the table.

He had resigned.

“I wanted to walk to feel powerful,” he said. “But when you fell… I realized power wasn’t what mattered.”

He took my hand.

“For the first time in years, I don’t feel trapped.”

I felt a faint spark stir in my chest.

“Give me time,” I said softly. “We can try again.”

He smiled.

“I’ll wait.”