All Chapters of Billionaire In Disguise: My Gardeners Are Tycoons: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The wheel of the titanium wheelchair squeaked softly against the Italian marble floor of the penthouse.Lyra gripped the handles, balancing a freshly pressed, bespoke charcoal tuxedo across her paralyzed lap. Tomorrow morning was their wedding—the day she had dreamed of through three grueling years of spinal surgeries, endless nerve pain, and wheelchair-bound isolation.Three years ago, she threw herself onto the steering wheel to pull Julian out of a burning sports car. The explosion shattered her spine, leaving her permanently paralyzed from the waist down.She had lost her legs, but she thought she had saved her soulmate.To protect Julian’s fragile pride and avoid intimidating his modest family, Lyra had even asked her own family to stay out of the spotlight. Her father and brothers, amusement lingering behind their unconditional love, had agreed to play along, living quietly on the outskirts as humble gardeners and caretakers.“A fresh start for my little girl,” her father had sa

The Grand Ballroom of the St. Regis was draped in white silk, crystal chandeliers, and imported French lilies.Over three hundred members of the high-society press, Wall Street investors, and city elites packed the hall. Camera shutters clicked like rapid gunfire, while massive livestream screens broadcasted the scene across national networks:[HEIRESS IN A WHEELCHAIR: JULIAN CARTER’S DEVOTION TO HIS TRAGIC BRIDE TOUCHES THE WORLD]Standing near the floral archway, Chloe preened in a custom champagne-colored silk gown. With its plunging neckline and thigh-high slit, her dress looked far more like a bridal gown than a maid-of-honor's dress. A cluster of socialite reporters instantly surrounded her with microphones."Miss Chloe! As the bride’s closest friend, what are your thoughts on today’s miracle wedding?"Chloe pressed a manicured hand over her chest, feigning tearful emotion."Julian is a saint," she choked out with practiced perfection. "Ever since poor Lyra lost her legs in that

The flashing red and blue lights of the federal convoys dissolved into the pouring rain as the grand doors of the St. Regis finally closed.Inside, the silence was absolute.Three hundred members of the press stood rooted to the carpet, holding their breath. Not a single camera operator dared to turn off their equipment. Across global streaming platforms, the viewer counter cracked eighty million and kept climbing.Alexander Vance turned slowly toward the crowd. The weathered, humble aura he had maintained for three long years was gone without a trace. In its place stood the sovereign patriarch whose single signature could manipulate sovereign currency reserves."Gentlemen of the press," Alexander's deep baritone reverberated through the hall without the aid of a microphone. "Today’s spectacle was a private matter handled under public scrutiny. The Vance Consortium will hold an international press conference at our Manhattan headquarters next Monday."He gestured slightly with his han

The silence in the grand library stretched taut, thick with the scent of burning cedar and unsheathed claws.Alexander Vance took a slow sip of his Scotch, a faint, calculating glint in his weathered eyes as he observed the two young predators facing each other. He didn't intervene. Neither did Thomas. In the Vance household, respect was never granted through courtesy; it was seized through strength.Lyra didn't retreat. Standing just inside the threshold, her emerald silk dress shimmered under the chandelier light, framing a silhouette of deceptive delicacy."Stop you, Mr. Blackwood?" Her lips parted in a cool, dismissive smile. "You cross the Atlantic on a private jet within minutes of my broadcast, break into my father's estate before the ink on my broken engagement is dry, and talk about stopping you as if you're an inevitability."She took three slow, unhurried steps forward, the emerald silk swirling around her ankles. Her eyes locked onto his, dark and bottomless."A three-year

The twin-engine tactical transport carved through a blinding blizzard over the Arctic Circle.Inside the uninsulated cargo hold, the temperature hovered just above freezing. Julian Carter was curled into a shivering ball on the steel-ribbed floor, his expensive Italian suit soaked in mud, jet fuel, and icy condensation. The heavy steel handcuffs chafed his wrists raw, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the suffocating dread freezing his chest.Two black-clad operators of the Northern Guard stood sentinel at the hydraulic ramp, their assault rifles held across their plate carriers with relaxed, terrifying discipline. They didn't speak. They didn't move. They were living gargoyles forged from iron and frost.Clank.The pressurized forward door hissed open, venting a blast of dry, warmed air into the bay.Julian flinched, squinting through bloodshot eyes.Lyra walked into the hold.She wore a long, charcoal-gray arctic parka lined with silver fox fur, the hood resting loosely