He Faked Paralysis—So I Married His Billionaire Enemy

Morning light exposed every stain in the apartment.

Winston’s staff had taken my suitcase to the car, but I stayed long enough to sign the property manager’s inventory form. The lease belonged to a Hayes Group holding company. Sean had never noticed because he had never asked who subsidized the rent.

“Change the locks at noon,” I told the manager. “Anything that belongs to him can be collected from storage.”

“Understood, Ms. Hayes.”

I was putting on my coat when Sean rolled through the front door.

He had returned alone. His shirt was wrinkled. There was lipstick at the edge of his collar.

His gaze moved from the open drawers to Winston standing near the kitchen.

“Who is this?”

“Someone who works for my family.”

Sean laughed, but the sound held no confidence. “Your family cut you off.”

“No. I left.”

Winston handed him a formal notice. “Your access to the premises ends at noon. Building management will arrange a supervised collection of your property.”

Sean stared at the Hayes letterhead. “This is a joke.”

“The lease has been paid by Hayes Residential Holdings since the day you moved in,” Winston said. “Ms. Hayes was the authorized resident. You were listed as her guest.”

Sean looked at me as though I had broken an unspoken rule by possessing facts he could not control.

“You’re still angry about last night.” He rolled closer and lowered his voice. “I brought breakfast.”

A paper bag hung from one handle of the chair. Burned coffee had leaked through the bottom.

“I saw the video.”

His face went blank.

“What video?”

“Both of them.”

He recovered quickly. “Josie sent you something edited. She’s jealous of us.”

“I watched you stand.”

“My therapist has been testing assisted mobility.”

“You ran.”

His jaw tightened. “You don’t understand my condition.”

“I understand enough.”

He looked toward Winston, then back at me. “Let’s discuss this privately. We’re getting married in two months.”

“No, we’re not.”

Sean reached for my hand. I stepped away.

“Wendy, don’t be stupid. You have nowhere else to go.”

Winston cleared his throat. “The car is waiting, Miss Hayes.”

That title struck Sean harder than any accusation.

“Miss Hayes?” he repeated.

I walked past him.

He followed us to the elevator, pushing the wheels hard enough to leave black marks on the carpet. “Where are you going?”

“To take back my life.”

The elevator doors opened onto the lobby. Josie was waiting beside the security desk, wearing sunglasses and a yellow dress. She looked between Winston, the suited guards, and me.

“Sean said we were going shopping,” she said.

“We are,” Sean replied quickly. “Wendy needs time to calm down.”

I should have left then. Instead, I noticed the bracelet on Josie’s wrist.

A thick silver chain. A chipped sapphire charm.

Sean had given it to me three years earlier, the day before a car crash nearly killed me. I had clutched it while rescue workers cut through the driver’s side door. Afterward, it became the one object I could not bear to lose.

I had kept it in a locked jewelry box.

“Take that off,” I said.

Josie glanced at the bracelet. “This?”

“It belongs to me.”

“Sean gave it to me.”

He shifted in the chair. “You never wore it.”

“That does not make it yours.”

Josie crossed her arms. “You’re making a scene over a cheap bracelet.”

“It isn’t about the price.”

“Everything is about price with you now,” Sean said. “You find one rich man’s profile and suddenly think you’re too good for us.”

A scream cut through the lobby.

People rushed away from the mall entrance connected to the building. A man in a gray hoodie charged through the doors, waving a butcher knife. Security shouted for everyone to get down.

The attacker’s gaze locked on Josie’s yellow dress.

She stumbled backward and fell.

“Sean!”

He moved before anyone else.

The footrests flew aside. He planted both feet on the marble and rose in one smooth motion. Then he grabbed Josie around the waist and ran.

Not limped. Not staggered.

Ran.

He carried her across the lobby and through the revolving doors, leaving the wheelchair spinning behind him.

He never looked back at me.

The attacker tripped over the abandoned chair. Three guards tackled him before he could recover. The knife skidded across the floor and stopped near my shoe.

Winston pulled me behind a stone pillar. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

Through the glass, I watched Sean set Josie down beneath an awning. He checked her face, her hands, and her knees. He did not turn to see whether I had survived.

Whatever remained of my love died there.

Sean returned three minutes later with Josie clinging to his arm. The danger had passed, and the lobby had filled with police. He stopped when he saw me standing beside the abandoned chair.

“Adrenaline,” he said at once. “The doctors warned that extreme stress could trigger involuntary movement.”

“You carried her across a lobby.”

“I do not know how.”

Josie pressed a hand to her chest. “He saved my life. Can you really make this about yourself?”

Sean lowered himself into the wheelchair with exaggerated care. “We can discuss the medical details at home.”

“No,” I said. “You can explain them to a fraud investigator.”

His expression cracked. “Wendy, do not threaten me.”

“I am not threatening you. I am giving you notice.”

Winston handed a business card to the nearest officer and quietly requested the incident footage. Sean watched him, finally understanding that the strangers around me were not drivers or hired escorts. They were employees. Mine.

I stepped over the wheelchair and walked out the opposite entrance.

Six black Maybachs waited at the curb.

Drivers opened the doors in unison. Winston handed me a leather folder sealed with the Hayes crest.

“Your mother has restored your voting rights and access to the family trust,” he said. “She also confirmed your dinner tonight with Alexander Sterling.”

I broke the seal.

Inside was the formal match agreement, a preliminary term sheet, and a photograph of Alexander standing outside the Sterling Group tower.

At the bottom of the first page, a handwritten note appeared in dark ink.

Eight o’clock. Do not be late again.

The handwriting stirred something at the edge of my memory.

I looked up at Winston. “Again?”

He opened the car door.

“Mr. Sterling will explain.”