Heal

Chapter 1

Y/n's POV
Manhattan, NY

I woke up to the sound of my phone buzzing on the nightstand, its screen lighting up in the dim morning light. I reached for it without a second thought, already knowing what awaited me. Another day, another challenge to conquer. The city was waiting, and I had no intention of keeping it waiting for long.

I slipped out of bed, moving quickly to avoid waking the woman who had spent the night beside me. She wasn't anything special. Just another fleeting encounter, someone who thought they could find comfort in my world. They were always surprised by how quickly I could shut everything off, how easily I could sever the connection. Relationships weren't my thing—not when you had a billion-dollar empire to build.

I moved across the room, grabbing my clothes and tossing them on the bed. I needed to get dressed. Time was money, and I didn't have much of either to waste on things that didn't serve my purpose.

The woman shifted in her sleep, her hand reaching out for me, probably still clinging to the idea that this time could be different. I wasn't interested. I yanked the sheets off the bed and began to get dressed, my movements precise and controlled. As I finished buttoning my shirt, I turned to her.

"Time to go," I said, my voice sharp and direct.

She opened her eyes, her confusion turning quickly to frustration. "You can't be serious. I just—"

"I'm serious. Get dressed," I interrupted, not even waiting for her to finish.

Her eyes flared with anger as she sat up, her gaze fiery. "You think you can just toss me out like this? After last night?" She stood up, the sheets falling away, but I didn't flinch.

I turned, walking toward the door without acknowledging her further. "Uh, yeah. Don't forget all your shit."

I didn't wait for her to say another word. I opened the door, standing in the frame as she gathered her things, her movements swift, filled with the kind of resentment I had seen far too many times. She shot me one last glare, her lips curling into a sneer as she stormed past me.

"You're a real piece of shit, you know that?" she spat as she brushed past, but I didn't respond. I didn't need to.

I shut the door behind her without hesitation, the click of the lock echoing in the silence. I wasn't bothered. She was just another face, another meaningless connection. In my world, I couldn't afford to waste time on anything or anyone that didn't further my goals. Relationships, emotions—they were weaknesses. I didn't have room for them.

As I stepped into my penthouse bathroom, the cool, sleek marble beneath my feet was a reminder of how far I had come. I stared at myself in the mirror for a moment. The reflection wasn't exactly what people expected when they heard "intersex woman" or "business tycoon." I stood tall, my body muscular and well-built, like something carved from stone. My broad shoulders and chiseled upper body were the product of years of training—both physical and mental. My intersex identity had always set me apart, made me an outsider in many ways. But I had learned to wear it like armor.

People had never known what to do with me. My body didn't fit neatly into the boxes they wanted it to. I wasn't traditionally feminine, but I wasn't masculine either. I existed in this strange, unapologetic space, and I had made it my own. Growing up, my parents had tried to hide it, sweep it under the rug, as if I was something to be ashamed of. They had wanted me to be something I wasn't, and I'd spent most of my life feeling the sting of that rejection. But that was in the past now. I had built an empire, one that could not be ignored, and my identity—my body—was no longer a weakness. It was a weapon.