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CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE WRONG WAY OUT.

Author: Penks
last update Last Updated: 2025-05-22 07:49:38

Layla Pov

I feel regret wash over me, my faith in Dario a silly error, a wave of bitterness that hurts my eyes and drowns my breath. His strained, pleading glance, his gentle words, and his assurance that Edward would take me to the hospital—how could I have fallen for them last night? Angry at my own foolishness, I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms. Rather than eating his food at his table and allowing his sensitivity to lower my defenses, I should have exploited the night's cover and sneaked out while the mansion was asleep. Edward's piercing voice and his "for his sake" lulled me, confirming my father's fragile condition, and I missed my opportunity.

Annoyance sears like a hot coal in my chest. I stayed because my father needed me at that time, alone in that antiseptic hospital, his heart weak from the stepmother's deal shattering him. I am taunted by the image of Dario's flashing pain, his scar glaring in the candlelight. Was it real, or was it a ruse to keep me imp
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  • Married To The Crippled Billionaire    CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN: THE SPARK BEGINS

    As I stared into Dario's study's silent glow, my heart lurched as his eyes locked with mine. I had been preoccupied with him, not the Child Psychology book on my lap, but with his powerful jaw and the way his old grey shirt embraced his shoulders. I attempted to hide it, furrowing my forehead as though I was thinking deeply, but his gentle, playful tone broke through my armor. "Is that book difficult for you?" he inquired, examining my unread pages. "How about looking it up online?" I felt a heat crawl up my neck and my cheeks burned as his eyes twinkled, as if he knew I had been daydreaming. This man had exposed my deception, and my weak-to-strong arc was telling me to defend myself as my thoughts frantically searched for a way out.I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and mumbled, "Uh, yeah," speaking too quickly. It's a thick book. The Internet is most likely superior. Although it was clear that I was nervous, Dario's smile broadened and his laughter was sympathetic rather than mo

  • Married To The Crippled Billionaire    CHAPTER TWENTY SIX: DRAWN TO HIM

    Layla Pov The breakfast remained like a smoldering spark in my heart. Or the heir in a wheelchair, but the man who noticed me. I, therefore, came up with a justification: research for my Harmony Haven lesson. The reality? Children were off for a public holiday. All I wanted was to be close to him, which is what I love about school. Nestled in the west wing of the Harrison estate, Dario's study was a sanctuary of intelligence. The walls were lined with dark oak shelves that were piled high with business files and leather-bound books, their edges worn from years of use. The space was anchored by a mahogany desk that was strewn with documents and a modern laptop, demonstrating Dario's proficiency. A leather armchair by a large window and the burgundy carpeting were warmed by the soft light that split from a bronze lamp. The scent of cedar and old paper permeated the air, providing a peaceful counterpoint to the sparkling mayhem of the Vance dinner party. Dario was sitting at the desk w

  • Married To The Crippled Billionaire    CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE: THIS MOMENT

    Layla Pov To get to know him without fear, I wanted to go with the flow. So I thought we could start simply by having breakfast together. With sunlight pouring through large windows and warming the polished oak floor, the dining area felt like a welcoming haven. The aroma of a vase of lilies on the table blended with the richness of the freshly brewed coffee. Across from the dining room, a modern kitchen counter shined, a coffee maker, and a basket of croissants resting on its marble surface. With his wheelchair hidden away in a corner, its frame gleaming in the sun, Dario relaxed on a soft grey couch near the dining table. His wide shoulders were embraced by his classic navy shirt, which was genuine and not a copycat. The sleeves were pulled up, which lessened his often intense demeanor.My heart skipped a beat when his dark hair was a little disheveled, and his deep eyes scanned a tablet with quiet intent. As I walked across to the kitchen counter, I remarked, "Good morning," in a

  • Married To The Crippled Billionaire    CHAPTER TWENTY TWO: THE FAMILY TABLE

    Layla Pov Expecting a happy party, a chance to relieve the stress of my marriage to Dario, and a chance to feel some love from his family, I enter the courtyard of the Harrison family mansion. Lowering my defenses when he rolled into my room yesterday with a navy silk frock balanced on his lap. In a quiet but determined voice, he said, "For the family dinner." "I want you with me there." The gown shone in the lamplight, its subtle beauty a striking contrast to my battered hands and shabby jumper. Was this a sign of reconciliation or just another trick in his toolbox? I nodded, tempted by a glimmer of hope that I may catch sight of the man hiding in the shadow.When Dario and I walk into the garden, the looks come like a chilly wind, destroying my idea of a cozy get-together. Fairy lights flicker among old oaks, illuminating well-kept hedges and marble fountains with a golden glow, their gentle whispers overpowered by the weight of eyes—judging, dissecting. Standing next to me, Dario

  • Married To The Crippled Billionaire    CHAPTER TWENTY ONE:THE INVITATION

    Dario POVSilence reverberates through the marble hallways of the estate, a chilly reminder of Layla's absence. She has been a ghost for a month, sneaking out at dawn to see Dave or working at Harmony Haven's miserable front desk, her trainers squeaking against the flooring to keep me at bay. Our conversations are brief, terse nods over breakfast, courteous whispers when Andrew takes her to the hospital, her eyes flitting from mine. Sometimes I see her in the corridor, a shadow, her hazel eyes wary, suspicions etched into her scowl. It pierces deeper than I acknowledge; she has created a wall that I am unable to overcome.With my hands holding the rims until my knuckles hurt, I wheel through the estate, the buzz of my chair a lonely rhythm. Her avoidance is a slow poison that erodes the tenuous bond we've held since our marriage, but I don't want to force her to face me out of pride or fear, I'm not sure which. My phone buzzes as I'm in my study, with contracts and a half-empty glass

  • Married To The Crippled Billionaire    CHAPTER TWENTY: THE SCRATCH IN HIS PAST

    Layla Pov I sit at the front desk of my non-profit, Harmony Haven, like a degraded soldier without a rank, and the place is a battlefield. My failure is defended by mountains of paperwork; each stack is a sharp reminder of my slide from project manager to receptionist—a hurt so acute it makes me gasp. Sorting mail, answering phones, and recording donor lists are all such insignificant chores that they make fun of my previous position. My hands hurt, and the fluorescent lights burn my tired eyes, their buzz acting as an unforgiving arbiter. As a horrifying indication of Dario's strength, the echo of his warning, "You'll regret it," throbs in my head. Was this something he anticipated? Did he have an impact on this tiny non-profit that I believed to be my haven? I resist the want to let paranoia take over, yet the concept nags at me. I've endured worse—my stepmother's plots and Matthew's deception. If it means slogging my way back up from the bottom, I'll make it through this too.I wa

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