Donathan Ashford is a late 30-year-old, good-looking, mega-rich business tycoon. Handsome, sharply featured, and perfectly groomed, he is the second and last-born of the Ashford family, one of the most elite private families in the country. On the surface, he appeared to have it all: wealth, power, influence. But his life, like any story of greatness, was forged through hardship
His childhood was comfortable, even privileged, until his late teenage years when things turned bad. He got to witness his father take his own life, leaving the family drowning in debts and sorrow. Life got tougher and tragedies intensified when his elder brother vanished without a word, abandoning the family in their darkest hour. His distant relatives, drifted away, leaving only his mother, Donathan alone had to bear burdens far heavier than any teenager should.
Yet, where others might have crumbled, Donathan's intelligence, discipline, and unyielding determination became his armor. With a mind as sharp as his features and a will that refused to bend, he set about rebuilding what had been lost. Slowly, he restored his father's fallen empire, reclaiming the Ashford name and transforming it into a force recognized not just nationally, but internationally.
Women drooled over him because of his looks, his character, and his possessions—but work was like blood in his veins, something he never abandoned, even after his accident. He had no time for long relationships; he would just enjoy moments with a few he trusted.
one heavily raining night, a terrible accident happened taking him into a coma, when he woke up he realized parts of his body were paralyzed and was told he was not going to walk ever again.
....
A sleek satin-grey Tesla Model S glided into the driveway of the mansion. The car's door opened, and Dr. Samantha Whittemore stepped out. She was striking, not in an ostentatious way, but in a manner that drew attention naturally. Her ginger hair curled softly over her shoulders, catching the sunlight, and her green eyes were sharp, alert, and analytical. She carried a professional bag in one hand and she glanced at her wristwatch on the other, then took in the view around her.
"Wow," she murmured.
"Doctor Whitmore," a voice called from behind.
Samantha turned, her expression softening into a polite smile. "Hello."
A young man stepped forward with a welcoming smile, his uniform a slightly different shade of blue than the others with black pants, distinguishing him as someone with experience yet not in charge of the main room. "Mrs. Ashford is expecting you," he said smoothly. "Please follow me."
Samantha nodded and followed him inside. The foyer was vast, the ceiling high and adorned with intricate mosaics. The floors gleamed under the sunlight streaming through the big tall glass windows, and intricate mosaics blended seamlessly with ornate décor. It was a beauty Samantha thought then came a sudden crash, followed by a loud, furious shout.
"Get out!"
Samantha froze. The sound carried raw anger, enough to make anyone pause. Seconds later, three nurses and a doctor rushed down the stairs, their faces pale, hands trembling, their bodies moving quickly as if fleeing from some danger. Behind them came a woman dressed sharply, her black leather trousers and fitted jacket giving her a commanding presence. Her heels clicked rhythmically against the marble floor, her hair a sleek bob framing her face perfectly. She looked early fifties,
"I'm terribly sorry," she said, turning to the group. "Please forgive my son. He tends to act impulsively."
The doctor, tall and precise, with sharply combed black hair, raised an eyebrow, "It's perfectly fine, Mrs. Ashford; I truly understand."
""Thank you for your understanding, Cane. It means a lot to me. You did everything you could, and I'm grateful for that." said Mrs. Ashford
The doctor's eyes softened and he smiled. Mrs. Ashford gestured towards the hallway. "Let me walk you out. Once again, I'm truly sorry for all the inconveniences."
As they descended the grand staircase, their footsteps echoing softly, Mrs. Ashford's gaze landed on the guest at the entrance.
"Dr. Whittemore," she said, eyes lighting up. "What an honor for you to accept my request."
She crossed the distance and embraced her warmly, dimples appearing as she smiled.
"Oh, Mrs. Ashford, please," Whittemore replied softly, returning the hug. "The honor is all mine."
At the sound of her name, the departing nurses froze.
"Wait," one of them whispered. "Did she say… Whittemore?"
The doctor turned sharply, disbelief written across his face. "As in Dr Samantha Whittemore?"
"It's really you," another nurse said breathlessly. "You trained half our department."
The doctor stepped forward, visibly impressed. "dr. Whittemore," he said, stepping forward. "It's an honor meeting you I am Dr William cane.".
"Dr. William Cane, I have always wanted to meet what beautiful luck I have run into," she said with a smile.
He smiled, clearly pleased. "Oh I am the lucky one, I've always wanted to meet the young beautiful woman the town talks about who achieved such achievements at... 27 years is it."
"Oh Dr cane it's no big deal," said Dr Whittemore
"Ooh it is, wait till you meet my daughter" Dr. cane turned to Mrs. Ashford. "You've entrusted your son in the right hands."
Then back to Mrs. Whittemore. "I wish we met in difference circumstances; I don't want to waste your time now I should leave."
He extended his hand. She took it firmly.
"Good luck," he said, she smiled, he turned to Mrs., Ashford "Farewell, ladies."
"Safe travels, Doctor," she said. "And thank you."
Mrs. Ashford turned to her quietly.
"We can reschedule for tomorrow, if you wish," she said. "I would understand."
Dr. Whittemore smiled calmly.
"Oh, Mrs. Ashford—he will have to bear with me. I'm rescheduling nothing."
Mrs. Ashford studied her, then smiled.
"I like you."
Dr Whittemore returned the smile. "I'll take that as a good start."
They began up the stairs together.
"I hope this goes well," Mrs. Ashford said after a moment. "I've done everything—hired everyone I know. I've brought the best specialists money can buy into this house," she said. "Psychiatrists, nurses, therapists… none of them stay. You're my last hope. No more doctors are willing to come after hearing about his… attitude."
"You don't need to worry," Whittemore replied evenly. "I promise you—everything will be fine."
At the end of the corridor, a young early 20 looking woman approached them, dark hair braided neatly down her back, a small trash bin in hand she was in regular clothes a jean and a black blouse but an apron tied around her waist.
"Esther, meet doctor Samantha," said Mrs. Ashford
"Good afternoon," she said softly.
"Good afternoon," Samantha replied, warm yet professional.
"What is he doing" asked Mrs. Ashford
"Grandma is helping Mr. Ashford with his lunch," said Esther.
"Thank you ...you can go ahead now." said Mrs. Ashford "she and Maria her grand mother are the only helpers that Nathan allowed to this side, the rest are on the other side of the mansion"
At the end of the corridor, Mrs. Ashford opened the heavy door. "Come in," she said.
Samantha paused. She took a steady breath, lightly touching the small necklace around her neck—a habit she allowed herself before entering tense situations. She stepped inside; her steps slow her eyes wandering the room
The space was darker, quieter, though luxurious it wasn't livelier and more glamourous like the parts of the house she had just passed. Heavy curtains blocked the sunlight, turning the afternoon light into something that felt closer to night. There were no paintings or mosaics she had seen elsewhere. Instead, the room was filled with only few ornate décor pieces.
When she looked at the walls It seemed as though paintings had once been hanged there but got removed.
Whittemore turned toward the far side of the room. A small stylish dining table stood there. A man sat in a wheelchair beside it, tall and broad-shouldered despite the paralysis that held most of his body still. His black hair was long, uncombed, falling into his eyes. A full beard shadowed his face as he stared down at an untouched plate.
Beside him sat an older, curvy woman with her hair in a neat bun, a maid's apron tied carefully around her waist. She smiled warmly at their entrance.
"Meet Donathan Ashford," she said calmly, "my second son."