CHAPTER FOUR: THE MAN BEHIND THE WHEELCHAIR

As the cab pulled up to the estate, I found myself staring. The place was massive. Not just a house or even a mansion but an empire in its own right. The kind of estate that told the world, we are powerful, leaving me to wonder who this person is.

My stomach twisted.

I stepped out of the cab, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag. The wind was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and something faintly floral. My heartbeat pounded against my ribs as I forced my feet towards the massive carved doors.

There is no turning back now.

With a shaky breath, I pressed the doorbell. The chime echoed through the estate, deep and regal, like the kind you’d hear in an old castle.

Within seconds, I was face-to-face with Edward.

His suit was impeccable, as always, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed back. He looked at me with that unreadable expression—polite, distant, as if I were just another piece in a game he had already mastered.

“Miss Layla,” he said with a nod. “You’re right on time.”

I swallowed. “I—um, yeah. Of course.”

He stepped aside, motioning for me to enter.

The moment I crossed the threshold, a wave of warmth hit me—not just from the temperature, but from the deep, rich tones of the interior. Cream and dark brown hues painted the walls, giving the space an old-money elegance. Paintings framed in gold hung along the hallway, their subjects watching me with silent judgment. The chandeliers above glowed softly, casting fractured light across the polished floors.

It felt surreal. Like stepping into a world where I didn’t belong.

Edward walked ahead, his steps measured. “Dario is expecting you. This way.”

We finally reached a set of large glass doors. Edward pushed them open, revealing a terrace bathed in sunlight. The space was breathtaking—flowers hanging in woven baskets, vines curling around the railings, a bubbling fountain in the background. A brick-red cushioned seating area took up one side, while an outdoor dining table sat on the other.

But my eyes weren’t on the scenery.

They were on him.

Dario Harrison.

He sat by the dining area, his laptop open in front of him, fingers idly tapping the table. He wasn’t what I expected.

His dark brown hair was slightly longer than I’d imagined, messier, as if he hadn’t bothered cutting it in weeks. A thick beard shadowed his sharp jawline, and deep circles marred the skin beneath his eyes. He was handsome, but not in the polished, effortless way of a man used to being admired. He looked like someone who had seen too much, who had stopped caring about appearances long ago.

And then there was the wheelchair.

My gaze flickered to the dark frame of it, sleek but unmistakable. I hadn’t known. No one had mentioned…

Now it makes sense why Maria pushed me to it when her daughter could have lived a life of fortune.

Edward cleared his throat. “Sir, Miss Layla is here.”

Dario’s fingers still.

Slowly, he lifted his head, locking eyes with me.

A chill ran through my spine. His gaze was unreadable, his hazel eyes sharp, assessing. He didn’t smile, didn’t move.

He just… studied me.

I took a shaky breath and stepped forward. “Um… hi.”

Nothing.

I forced myself to keep going. “I—I’m Layla. It’s… nice to finally meet you.”

Still nothing.

“Sit.”

One word. No greeting. No pretense of civility. Just a command.

I swallowed hard, glancing at Edward, silently pleading for some kind of reassurance. But he gave me none. Instead, he gave a polite nod and excused himself, leaving me alone with the man I was supposed to marry.

Panic swelled in my chest, but I forced myself to move. My legs felt unsteady as I crossed the distance and lowered myself into the chair opposite him. The silence was suffocating, stretching unbearably as Dario continued tapping his fingers against the table, his gaze flickering back to the laptop.

“So why?”

“Huh?”

“Why did you agree to this marriage? I heard you were quite stubborn at first”

…Why is he asking, does he care…. I wondered

“Because of my father”. I answered simply

“So you have no reasons of your own?”

“I do what I must!”

“Interesting to know you have no mind of your own” he said condescendingly

Oh….he doesn't care

“Let's go”

He declared, Edward already wheeling him out of the room

“Where to?”

“The civils bureau…to get married” he stated simply like it was a simple gardening activity

“Already?!”

“Why? You want a grand wedding?”

“No!”

“Thought so”

The car ride to the civil bureau was suffocating.

Layla sat stiffly, her hands clasped in her lap, stealing glances at Dario. He hadn’t spoken a word since they left the estate, his attention focused out the window. His sharp jaw was set, his fingers drumming rhythmically on his thigh.

She should say something. But what?

"You don't have to marry me, you know," she finally blurted out.

Dario didn’t even blink. “You already agreed.”

She clenched her fists. “I agreed because I had no choice.”

At that, he turned his head slightly, hazel eyes locking onto hers. “You always have a choice. You just didn’t like the alternative.”

Layla swallowed hard. He was right. The alternative was watching her father die, losing everything.

“So, what do you expect from this marriage?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Dario studied her for a long moment before answering. “Nothing.”

Her breath caught.