He Faked Paralysis—So I Married His Billionaire Enemy

“Stop staring at your phone and make Josie an espresso,” Sean said. “Two shots. Use the good beans.”

I locked the screen and slid the phone into my pocket.

“No.”

His hand fell to his lap. “Excuse me?”

“Make it yourself.”

Josie leaned against the back of his wheelchair and gave me a pitying smile. “She really doesn’t respect you, does she? I would never speak to my man that way.”

“Wendy is having one of her episodes,” Sean said. “She’ll calm down when she realizes no one else will put up with her.”

I almost laughed. For years, I had mistaken his contempt for the bitterness of a man trapped in a damaged body. I had excused every insult because I thought pain had changed him.

Now I knew pain had only given him a costume.

“I’m tired,” I said. “You should leave.”

Sean’s eyes narrowed. “This is my apartment.”

“The lease is held by a Hayes Group subsidiary.”

He blinked, then scoffed. “Your imaginary family company again? You walked away from them. They cut you off.”

“That is what I let you believe.”

For the first time that night, uncertainty crossed his face.

Josie squeezed his shoulder. “Come on, baby. Let’s get some air. She wants attention.”

Sean pointed at me as she turned the chair toward the door. “When I come back, dinner had better be ready.”

The lock clicked behind them.

I went straight to the bedroom.

My silver suitcase sat on the top shelf of the closet. I pulled it down, opened it on the bed, and packed only what belonged to me: jeans, sweaters, sketchbooks, my fabric shears, the sewing kit my grandmother had given me, and the portfolio I had not shown anyone in years.

Then I took a black trash bag from the kitchen.

The framed beach photograph went in first. So did the cologne I had bought him, the spare razor he never replaced, and the pharmacy receipts I had filed in careful order. I found three overdue notices from clinics he claimed to visit every week. The dates did not match the nights he spent with Josie.

I added them to the bag.

The apartment door opened again before I finished.

Sean appeared in the bedroom doorway alone. He looked at the suitcase and smiled.

“Packing to scare me?”

“I’m leaving.”

“Where?” He rolled closer. “Your freelance jobs barely cover groceries. You need me.”

“I paid for this apartment.”

“You paid because you wanted to feel important.” His smile sharpened. “You’ll be unpacking by morning.”

I folded another sweater and placed it beside my sketchbooks. Beneath them lay a sealed portfolio from the Whitmore Fashion Prize. Two years earlier, I had reached the final round, then withdrawn because Sean claimed he could not manage a week without me. The judging panel had written three times asking me to reconsider. I had never answered.

I slid the portfolio into the suitcase.

“What is that?” Sean asked.

“My work.”

“You are not dragging those ridiculous designs into this.” He reached for the folder, but I moved it out of reach. “You know how the industry works. They will laugh at you.”

“You said the same thing when I got the finalist letter.”

“I was protecting you.”

“No. You were afraid I might discover I could build a life that did not revolve around your chair.”

His face tightened, and the old reflex urged me to soften the accusation. I let the silence stand instead.

His gaze moved to the yellow baby onesie near the pillow.

I had found it at the back of the closet the day before. Six months had passed since the miscarriage, but I still could not bring myself to throw it away.

Sean lifted it gently. His voice softened with practiced precision. “We can try again.”

I snatched it from his hand.

“Don’t touch that.”

“We’ll have another baby. A healthy one this time.”

The words turned my stomach.

Outside the maternity clinic six months earlier, a cyclist had raced onto the sidewalk. Josie had screamed and stumbled toward the curb. Sean had lunged to protect her. His shoulder struck my abdomen, and I went down the concrete steps.

The doctors saved my life. They could not save the pregnancy.

Worse, the damage had made another pregnancy unlikely.

“You chose her over our child,” I said.

“It was an accident.”

“You didn’t even ride with me in the ambulance.”

“Josie was in shock.”

“I was bleeding.”

His face hardened. “How long are you going to punish me for something I couldn’t control?”

I zipped the suitcase closed. “As long as it takes me to stop hating myself for staying.”

He rolled sideways and blocked the doorway. “You are not leaving.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“I forbid it.”

I pulled the trash bag across the floor. It snagged on the metal strike plate and tore open.

A cheap silver-plated necklace spilled onto the hardwood.

Sean stared at it. “Is that the necklace from the pier?”

“It’s rusting.”

“I gave you that on our second anniversary.”

“You bought it from a street vendor for ten dollars and promised to replace it when you got promoted.”

“That was before the accident.”

“You got promoted a year before the accident.”

His mouth tightened.

I lifted the necklace. Brown flakes stained my fingers.

“You bought yourself a gaming console with the bonus,” I said. “When I asked about the ring, you called me materialistic.”

“It had sentimental value.”

“Not to you.”

I pulled the chain until it snapped.

Sean surged forward.

He forgot to stay weak.

Both feet planted hard against the floor. His knees locked. His body rose several inches from the wheelchair as he caught my wrist.

The movement lasted less than a second, but I felt the strength in his grip and saw the muscles tighten beneath his trousers.

His eyes met mine.

We both knew what had happened.

Then he dropped back into the chair.

“My leg spasmed,” he said too quickly.

I looked at his hand around my wrist. “Let go.”

“If you walk out, don’t ever come back begging.”

I twisted free, picked up my suitcase, and stepped around him.

He caught the handle before I reached the hall. “Think about what people will say. You abandoned a disabled fiancé because you got bored. You will look heartless.”

The threat was clever. He knew shame had kept me obedient longer than love.

I faced him. “Then tell everyone. Tell them I left. Tell them I was selfish. Just make sure you tell the story while sitting down.”

His fingers loosened.

“I won’t come back,” I said.

For the first time in five years, I meant it.