Chapter 1: My ‘Crippled’ Husband

Stella’s POV

"Sign the contract, Stella." Anna Winston tapped her blood-red nails against the desk. "You should be grateful. At least you'll finally be useful."

Grateful. What a cruel joke.

My hands trembled as I stared at the marriage contract. The Lancaster family crest shimmered through my unshed tears. Eight years ago, I found my world shattered by a single piece of DNA test paper. Now another document would seal my fate.

"But Lucy is his fiancée," I said quietly.

"Lucy?" John Winston barked out a laugh. "My daughter will be a star. You?" He smiled coldly. "You're just trash we picked up from the roadside."

Trash. Roadside.  Old wounds ripped open. I'd spent years perfecting my mask, the polite smile, the graceful manner. All for moments like this. Don't let them see how much it hurts.

Anna's smile was cruel. "You should pay back every penny we wasted."

My phone lit up. A message from the nursing home about Grandma Winston. My throat tightened. She was the only one who truly cared me.

I'm sorry, Grandma. I'm so sorry.

"That fancy nursing home costs a fortune." John's eyes glittered with malice. "One call from me, and your precious grandma goes to the worst facility I can find. They don't even change the sheets there."

The image hit me like a punch to the gut. Grandma lying there, alone, calling for help. No one coming. My fingers curled into fists, nails biting into palms. The pain helped me focus. Stay calm. Don't show weakness.

"Make your choice." Anna leaned forward. "Marry the cripple, or watch your grandmother rot. And trust me, I'll make sure she suffers. Every. Single. Day."

Eight years of playing the perfect daughter. Of swallowing my pride. Of planning my escape. All meaningless now.

I'll protect you, Grandma. Whatever it takes.

"Where do I sign?"My voice didn't shake. Years of practice. Hide the rage. Hide the helplessness threatening to drown me.

"Smart girl." John slid the papers across. "See? Even worthless things can be useful sometimes."

Worthless. The word echoed in my mind. But I saw Grandma's smile in my thoughts. Her gentle hands. Her warm hugs. For her, I could endure anything. Even becoming Mrs. Lancaster, wife to a man I'd never met.

I am not worthless. And I will survive this too.

Thunder rumbled outside, heralding the approaching storm. Now, hours later, I sat alone in Lancaster Manor's bridal suite. My wedding dress felt like armor, protecting what little dignity I had left.

The woman in the mirror looked foreign to me. No longer New York's darling socialite. Just a replacement. A stand-in bride for the mighty Lancaster family.

I peeled off the designer dress, carefully hanging it on a nearby mannequin. Even in my current state, some habits died hard – I won't mistreat a well-designed wedding dress, no matter how much I despise what it represents.

The suite was oppressively quiet despite the storm's symphony. My "husband" – Adam Lancaster, a man supposedly bound to a wheelchair – hadn't bothered to show up for his own wedding. Not that I expected differently.

Exhaustion crept through my bones as I changed into a silk nightgown. The bed, with its impossibly high thread count sheets, beckoned. Just a few hours , I told myself. A brief escape from this nightmare .

---

The soft click of the door jolted me awake.

Lightning flashed. A tall silhouette appeared at the door. The figure moved with deadly grace. My pulse quickened at his scent - expensive cologne, subtle yet unmistakable.

My Jiu-Jitsu training kicked in. I rolled. Too late. Strong hands caught my wrists. My back hit the mattress. His weight pinned me down.

The silk of my nightgown offered no barrier. His body radiated heat. Every muscle pressed against mine.

"Who are you?" Deep voice. Dangerous. His breath hot on my neck.

A shiver ran through me. Not from fear. Something else.

I twisted. Tried to break free. He countered effortlessly. His leg slid between mine. Chest pressed harder.

Then it hit me. He was standing. The supposed cripple, Adam Lancaster, was standing. And I was trapped beneath him, completely at his mercy.

"Damn." The curse was soft, almost appreciative, as I managed to slip free.

"I'm Mrs. Lancaster," I shot back, putting distance between us. "If you don't leave now, I'll call security—"

A dark chuckle cut through the room. "Call who?"

The lights suddenly blazed on, and I found myself staring into the most striking pair of green eyes I'd ever seen. Adam Lancaster was nothing like the reclusive invalid the media portrayed. He was tall, imposing, and very much in control of his legs.

"You're... Adam Lancaster?" The words caught in my throat as his hand found it again, pushing me against the wall.

"Weren't you going to call security?" His tone was lazy, amused, but his grip remained steel.

I clawed at his hand, struggling to breathe. "I won't... tell anyone about your legs!"

"Miss Winston." He spat my family name like a curse. "A woman with a mysterious background dares to dream of being my wife?"

He released me abruptly, leaving me to slide down the wall, gasping. With deliberate slowness, he pulled out a Dunhill cigarette and lit it, the flame briefly illuminating features that belonged on a Renaissance statue.

"I'll give you a chance," he said, exhaling smoke. "Choose how you want to disappear."

"Mr. Lancaster," I managed, fighting to keep my voice steady. "I'm your legally wedded wife. You can't treat me like this!"

His laugh was devoid of warmth. "Miss Winston, if you survive tonight, I might let you keep the title of Mrs. Lancaster."

He reached for the intercom, presumably to summon security. I stood, straightening my nightgown with as much dignity as I could muster.

"No need to throw me out. I'll get out on my own." Pride kept my spine straight, even as my legs threatened to buckle. "After all, I am Mrs. Lancaster on paper. Your men shouldn't touch their master's wife, right?"

Something flickered in those green eyes – surprise, perhaps? Or amusement? But his face remained impassive as he watched me gather my things. The storm seemed to mock my situation, its wind howling through the manor's ancient corridors.

From New York socialite to discarded bride in one day .