THE CRIPPLED BILLIONAIRE

The following afternoon, a black Mercedes pulled up in front of the Sinclair mansion.

I stood near the staircase, adjusting the strap of my handbag while Mr. Collins, the Blackwood family’s butler, waited patiently by the entrance.

He was a neatly dressed man in his late fifties, with silver hair and a professional expression.

“Miss Sinclair, the car is ready,” he informed me politely.

I nodded and walked towards him.

“Thank you, Mr. Collins.”

He opened the front door and stepped aside to let me pass.

The journey to the Blackwood estate took approximately forty minutes. Throughout the drive, I studied the impressive buildings and expensive properties that passed outside the window, occasionally glancing at the document containing the proposed marriage agreement.

I knew very little about Damien Blackwood beyond what I remembered from the novel.

He was wealthy, influential and extremely private. His name was associated with one of the most successful business empires in the country, but information about his personal life was surprisingly difficult to find.

I had searched for his photographs the previous night but found very few useful results.

It was almost as though he had deliberately removed himself from public attention.

When the car finally stopped, I looked through the window and found myself staring at an enormous estate surrounded by carefully maintained gardens and tall security gates.

The Blackwood residence was considerably more impressive than the Sinclair mansion.

Mr. Collins opened my door.

“Welcome to the Blackwood estate, Miss Sinclair.”

I stepped out and adjusted my dress.

“Thank you.”

He led me through the enormous entrance, where elegant chandeliers illuminated the marble floors. Everything looked expensive, but there was something unusually quiet about the residence.

A few members of staff moved through the corridors, greeting us respectfully as we passed.

“Mr. Blackwood is expecting you in his study,” Collins informed me.

I followed him upstairs, wondering what kind of man I was about to meet.

When we reached the study, he knocked twice before opening the door.

“Mr. Blackwood, Miss Sinclair has arrived.”

“Let her in.”

The deep male voice came from inside.

I stepped into the room.

My attention immediately settled on the man seated beside the enormous windows.

He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, and his dark hair was neatly styled. His features were sharp, his jawline well-defined, and his expression carried an unmistakable coldness.

He was undeniably handsome.

However, what caught my attention was the wheelchair beneath him.

For a brief moment, I stopped walking.

Damien Blackwood was confined to a wheelchair.

I remembered reading something about his mysterious accident in the original novel, but the details had never been properly explained. His disability had been mentioned only briefly, and I had not expected to encounter it so soon.

He noticed my hesitation.

“If my condition is a problem, you can leave.”

His voice was cold, and his eyes remained fixed on mine.

I quickly composed myself.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Blackwood.”

He studied me for a moment before gesturing towards the chair opposite him.

“Sit down.”

I took the offered seat.

“I suppose my father has already explained the arrangement,” he began.

“He has.”

“And you agreed to it?”

“Yes.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

“Without meeting me?”

“My father provided your name and some information about your family.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

I met his gaze.

“Yes, I agreed before meeting you.”

He leaned back slightly in his wheelchair.

“Then allow me to make something clear. I did not request this marriage because I wanted a woman to take care of me. I have no interest in sympathy, and I certainly do not need someone pretending to be devoted to me because of my wealth.”

I listened without interrupting.

“I have my own life, my business and my responsibilities. I expect you to respect my privacy and stay out of matters that do not concern you.”

“Is that everything?” I asked.

His expression became slightly colder.

“You seem unusually calm.”

“Would you prefer that I become upset?”

“Most women would have questions.”

“Then perhaps you should give me an opportunity to ask mine.”

For the first time since I entered the room, his expression changed slightly.

I placed my handbag beside the chair.

“I understand that you use a wheelchair, Mr. Blackwood. I was surprised when I first saw you, but that doesn’t mean I intend to treat you differently or offer sympathy you haven’t requested.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“And what exactly do you want from this marriage?”

“Financial independence, personal freedom and a peaceful life. I have no intention of interfering with your business or demanding affection from you.”

He watched me silently, as though trying to determine whether I meant what I had said.

After a moment, he reached for a document on his desk and placed it in front of me.

“Then we should discuss the terms.”

I picked up the document.

It was a marriage contract containing several conditions concerning our personal lives, financial arrangements, public appearances and family obligations.

One particular clause caught my attention.

The marriage must remain intact for a minimum period of two years.

I looked up.

“Why two years?”

“Because that is the duration I have agreed to.”

“That doesn’t explain why.”

“Miss Sinclair, if you have a problem with the terms, you are free to decline.”

I studied his expression before returning my attention to the document.

There were other conditions, including separate bedrooms, respect for personal privacy and restrictions against interfering in each other’s professional affairs.

Nothing suggested that he expected a romantic relationship.

In some ways, that suited me perfectly.

“I have a few conditions of my own,” I said.

Damien raised an eyebrow.

“I’m listening.”

“I want access to my own finances, freedom to pursue my personal interests and the right to make decisions concerning my own life. I will respect your privacy, but I expect you to respect mine as well.”

He considered my request before nodding.

“Those terms are acceptable.”

I looked through the document once more before placing it on the desk.

“Then I believe we have an agreement.”

Damien extended his hand.

“Welcome to the Blackwood family, Isabella.”

I accepted his handshake.

His grip was firm, and his expression remained unreadable.

I had entered the estate expecting to meet a wealthy stranger. Instead, I had found a man who seemed determined to keep everyone at a distance.

Neither of us wanted love from this arrangement.

At least, that was what we believed.

The lawyers would handle the remaining formalities, and our civil marriage ceremony would take place once the necessary arrangements had been completed.

As I stood to leave, Damien’s voice stopped me.

“One more thing, Isabella.”

I turned towards him.

“From today onward, people will associate your name with mine. My family will not necessarily welcome you, and some of them may try to make your life difficult.”

I held his gaze.

“Then they will have to learn that I am not easily intimidated.”

For a brief moment, something unreadable crossed his face.

“Interesting,” he murmured.

I walked out of his study with the unsettling feeling that marrying Damien Blackwood would be far more complicated than I had anticipated.