Episode 5: Married

Tardrain  expertly navigated his wheelchair toward his bedside. There was his alarming gadget, lying on his bedside drawer, used for calling his servants during emergencies. 

He angrily punched the red button. His fingers curled on his wheelchair armrest, the leather cracking under his grip, a fiery rage coursed through his veins, threatening to consume him.  

“Who the hell was that maid? Her audacity. Her guts. Who the hell employed her?” he groaned through gritted teeth. 

His chest rose and fell, his anger mounting at himself. He felt humiliated; he felt downgraded. Everything about Ivana’s gaze was something he had never seen or experienced before.  

Her eyes, the way she stared at him as if he wasn’t the most feared in the city, as if he was just a ‘cripple’ to be pitied.  

“Fuck!” Tardrain stamped his clenched fist repeatedly on the wheelchair armrest. The impact rattled up his useless legs; at least he could feel something other than this choking fury. But at the same time, he felt trapped and powerless.  

No one, nobody, had ever had the guts to look him in the eyes and defy him. But Ivana did worse! 

Worse than those who merely obeyed him. She looked him in the eyes and dared him to drag her out with his disabled legs. 

Tardrain couldn’t forget the mockery in her voice. She was insulting his condition; she even called him ‘crippled’ Without lifting a finger.  

“Who the hell was she!” He  screamed, nearly on the verge of tears. ‘I have to find out who hired her and skin that person alive.’  

Immediately, Paulo rushed into the room, tiptoeing to avoid making a sound, familiar with Tardrain’s rules. He quickly bowed his head as he approached. 

“Y-you called, sir,” his trembling voice muttered.  

“The girl. The one that just left. Who is she?” Tardrain demanded, pointing at the door. 

Paulo raised his face, brows furrowed in confusion, as if struggling to grasp Tardrain’s words. Tardrain’s glare forced him to hastily lower his head.  

Paulo hesitated. He had never seen any lady walk out of Tardrain’s room, making the question impossible to answer. “I-I don’t know, sir.” He nervously scratched the back of his head.  

“You are a fool!” Tardrain spat, shoving him aside. Yet Paulo didn’t move, his head still bowed.  

“Tha-thank you, sir,” he nodded repeatedly.  

“You are stupid!” Tardrain added. 

Paulo’s presence only fueled his anger. He wanted to kick him with his legs, but the reminder of his own helplessness left him cursing inwardly.  

“Yes, sir, I’m stupid, sir,” Paulo kept nodding, beads of sweat soaking the neck collar of his uniform.  

“You are fired!” Tardrain slammed his fist on the wheelchair armrest.  

“Yes, sir, I’m…” Paulo trailed off, realization dawning. He quickly raised his head, eyes widening. “Sir?”  

“Get your stinking self out of my sight. You are fired!” Tardrain screamed in his face, jabbing a finger toward the door.  

Paulo stood up. “Sir, please, don’t fire me. I beg you,” his voice cracked, as if he might break down any moment. Who wouldn’t? This job fed him, his pregnant wife, and her mother. For five years, he had endured Tardrain’s insults solely for his family’s sake and the substantial salary.  

But who cared? Tardrain despised having people around him. He didn’t care who endured hardship or not. He had the money to hire as many workers as he wanted; losing them meant nothing. 

Tardrain grabbed his wheelchair armrest and rolled forward, intentionally crushing Paulo’s foot beneath the wheel.  

The sickening crunch of bone under the weight was audible, but Tardrain felt only twisted satisfaction.  

“Ughh!” Paulo let out a blood-curdling scream, eyes shut in agony as he hopped on one foot, clamping his mouth to stifle the moan.  

“Leave my room,” Tardrain ordered, facing the mirror to stare at his reflection. Paulo nodded helplessly, tears streaming down his chin, and began hobbling away.  

“Come back here.” Tardrain’s sharp voice froze him mid-step. Paulo turned, glancing fearfully. “Clean up this mess,” Tardrain said, gesturing to the shattered flower vase on the floor.  

“Okay, sir,” Paulo began hopping back toward the broken glass.  

Tardrain watched him through the mirror. “And if I find a single shred left behind,” he added, his voice dropping to a whisper, “you’ll lick the floor clean with your tongue.”  

Tardrain’s gaze traced his reflection from head to toe. He still couldn’t believe he’d been reduced to this—a cripple. The past six months have been hell.  

He didn’t know who tampered with his car’s brakes. After his father’s burial, he’d left the family company under his stepmother and sister’s care, intending to return to Mexico to manage his own established company. But as he drove to the airport, he discovered the sabotaged brakes and fuel tank filled with salt and sand. By the time he noticed, it was too late—his car careened off a bridge, crushing both legs.  

And Ivana had mocked him for it. Dared to rub his condition in his face. No, firing her would be too merciful.  

Not like he hired her, myself. But, He’d make her life a living hell in his house. Vent every ounce of rage on her for thinking she could defy him in his own domain. 

She’d learn he wasn’t someone to cross. She should’ve asked questions before strutting into his mansion. He’d force her to choke on her words.  

“Tardrain, my son,” Mrs. Gladdis’s soft voice called. He stiffened, refusing to turn.  

“Get out,” Tardrain snapped, tilting his head just enough to cast her a sidelong glare.  

“Why did you fire Mary? She’s done everything you asked. She’s competent, yet you’re never satisfied. You can’t keep dismissing everyone who—”  

Tardrain scoffed, cutting her off with a dry chuckle. He wheeled around to face her. “Competent?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Is that why you sent that bitch to mock me? To remind me I’m trapped in this chair?”  

Mrs. Gladdis gulped and looked away. She’d thought it right to tell him. “She’s your wife,” she muttered, avoiding his gaze.  

Tardrain froze. ‘Wife?’  The word echoed in his skull like a knife twisting into his brain.  

They’d all insisted he had dissociative amnesia—even the doctors treating his legs claimed he couldn’t recall the past. But he remembered every second of the crash: the stench of gasoline and blood, the severed brake line, the shattering glass.  

He remembered his father’s funeral, their crocodile tears, their exaggerated wailing—as if they hadn’t wanted this.  

And now this? A wife? Were they gaslighting him, or was this amnesia real? But marriage was something he’d never forget, given his contempt for it.  

‘And of all people—that bitch? Unacceptable!’ He glared at his stepmother. 

Their relationship had never been smooth. Tardrain had loathed her from day one for her scheming, her manipulation. She’d nearly bankrupted his father’s company by pushing reckless collaborations. If not for Tardrain’s intervention, Brooklyn Enterprises would have fallen from its global pedestal. Seeing her now, spewing lies, disgusted him.  

“So you planted your pawn to kill me, just like you did my father?”  

“What are you talking about, Tardrain?” she simpered, fake tears glistening.  

She stepped closer. “Have you forgotten this too? You married her before your father’s death.” She thrust a document at him. “Look. You signed the marriage certificate.”  

Tardrain snatched it, scanning the page.  

There it was, a marriage certificate binding him to Ivana Santomi. His signature, and hers stared back at him. But he didn't remember signing any certificate with anyone. 

“Bullshit!” He shredded the paper and hurled the pieces at her face. “I’m not married to anyone!”  

She leaned over his wheelchair, her manicured nails digging into the armrest. “You do have amnesia. You’ve forgotten your courthouse wedding. Your father, Lilico, and I were witnesses—”  

“Get the hell out of my room!” he roared, veins bulging in his neck.  

“She’s your wife. Deal with it!” she retorted before storming out, slamming the door.  

Tardrain chuckled darkly, processing the whole thing. ‘Marriage, huh? Watch me ruin your life until you’re begging to leave. Let the games begin.’