Married To The Crippled Billionaire

I never imagined that today would mark the end of my single life. Dressed in an elegant white gown, holding a bouquet of soft pink roses, I should have been feeling ecstatic. Brides dreamed of this moment—walking down the aisle, exchanging vows, stepping into forever with the one they loved. Yet, standing in front of the mirror, I felt disconnected, as if the reflection staring back wasn’t mine. It had all started six months ago when Matthew proposed to me on my twenty-fourth birthday. He had been everything I ever wanted—loving, attentive, kind. He didn’t come from extreme wealth, but I never cared about luxury. All I ever wanted was happiness, a simple married life filled with love and warmth, something that had always seemed just out of reach. A sudden swing of the door startled me out of my thoughts.Maria Sears—no, Maria Comb now—stepped into the room, her presence sucking the air from it. My stepmother, for the last nine years, carried herself like a queen, always adorned with lay

For the first time in my life, I refused. I refused to be controlled. Refused to be used. Refused to be given away like some lifeless object to be traded between families. I had spent years silently obeying—enduring Maria’s venomous commands, bowing to Dave’s feeble attempts at peacekeeping, and swallowing every injustice forced upon me. But this? This was too much. “No,” I said, my voice shaking but firm. “I won’t do it.” Maria’s expression twisted into something dark, her lips curling in disbelief, as if I had just committed an unforgivable sin. For a moment, silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating, before it snapped like a whip. Her hand struck my cheek with a force that sent my head snapping to the side. A sharp sting bloomed across my skin, heat radiating from the point of impact, but it was nothing compared to the ache in my chest. The humiliation. The sheer injustice of it all. “You ungrateful little brat,” Maria spat, her voice like acid. “Do you have

Layla and Dario ended up at the dreary civil office. She sat on a rigid plastic chair with her hands clutched in her lap, fingers pressing into her palms in a quiet effort. Her thoughts drifted, far away and distracted, hardly taking in what the clerk had to say about the document in front of her. Sitting there, both physically and psychologically, she struggled with the fact that she was going to sign something she had never wanted to do. She had once dreamed of a world of love and laughter, maybe with Matthew or the man she really wanted, planning their future and happily signing their marriage licenses. LAYLA'S POVNow, as the bizarre circumstance unfolded, I had an unexplained pain and a want to go. As I fought to remain composed and still, tears silently ran down my cheeks, and a chilling cold shook my resolve. At that moment, I felt as though I was in a suffocating dream, absolutely out of air.I'm having different thoughts. My father was pictured lying in a hospital bed with t

His words were like a strain to me each time he replied to me with just a word, it haunted me to the deepest part of me.Not going home was something I should get used to, cause it doesn't seem like it's going to be the end. I am now in chains. I stood and admired the luxurious outfit in racks and velvet drapes. Then I thought to myself, what does he think I was laverish, all his money on me with his no limit, he must be joking. If Dario thought his wealth could erase my identity, he’d misjudged me. I scanned all through their price tags and deliberately picked up the cheapest shoes, clothes, and bagsGetting all those things, I glanced at Dario, who sat in his wheelchair near the suite’s arched window; his silence was what I could scale. His hands resting on the armrest, showing no expression, unrelaxed, but his eyes were on me. Still had this doubt that there was something to him, a whole lot to know about his hidden agenda. Ì tried to understand him while getting what I needed- thi

Concierge POV Although I haven't witnessed Mr Dario bringing any women in, this notice was unexpected. The notes from the day, a thorough checklist for Mr Dario's request, illuminated my iPad. He gave specific instructions: make sure Ms Layla had whatever she required, no matter how much it cost. The words were powerful, a directive that allowed for no space for mistakes. I had previously worked for Mr Dario, setting up suites and managing employees as efficiently as he required, but this time was different. I was intrigued by the suddenness of the fact that Ms Layla was the first woman he had ever brought here. I had never witnessed Mr Dario bring a partner, much less someone like Ms Layla, whose name was mentioned in my notes without any background information. I put everything in its proper place and pulled out the finest and most costly items from the clothing. As I set up the room, my fingers rushing over my iPad to double-check every detail, the shock of it stayed. His riches