Right after college graduation, my mom sold me off to a rich guy for a bride price in the tens of millions.
Word on the street was, he was a total trust fund baby—old money through and through.
A freak accident left him with crippled legs, costing him his shot at inheriting the family fortune.
Now he's loaded with cash and time to kill, but—
Mom fretted, "Rumor has it, it's not just his legs. He can't... perform."
My eyes lit up.
Perfect!
Wealth, status, a crippled husband who can't get it up? Does life get any better?
So Mom and I split that bride price and I waltzed down the aisle, grinning like an idiot.
Why marry a cripple?
For the money, duh.
Crass? Sure. But effective.
Wedding day jitters still hit, though.
He needed a no-background trophy wife; Mom and I needed cash. Deal sealed so fast we didn't meet until the actual ceremony.
Before walking down the aisle, Mom shoved me into his dressing room, calling it "bonding time."
...With ten minutes till showtime? Bonding my ass.
I hiked up my wedding dress, debating how to greet him, when I froze.
This was supposed to be a poor disabled guy who couldn't get it up?
Who the hell was this in the wheelchair?
Tailored black suit, but even at his own wedding, he'd left two shirt buttons undone.
Wheelchair-bound or not, his spine stayed ramrod straight—aristocratic, icy.
And that face.
Breathtaking doesn't cut it. Like moonlight carved from marble.
My grip slackened, dress tripped me, and I landed in the most awkward half-kneel before him.
I peeked up, stammering:
"I... I can say I got the wrong room... would you believe that?"
He'd been studying me since I walked in.
Now here I was, awkwardly on the floor, him lounging in that chair, gaze drifting over me to the wedding dress his people had sent.
"Guess."
I guess...
He's crippled, not stupid.
Desperate to break the embarrassment,I scrambled up and blurted—
"Mom said we should bond."
He chuckled low.
Glancing at his watch, "Five minutes oughta be enough to fake it through the ceremony."
Remembering who signs the checks, I leaned in cautiously, "Any tips for the wedding? Anything I should do?"
Inside I was screaming—
Give me demands! Add clauses! Throw in extra cash!
But no.
He glanced up, loosening his tie casually, "Nope. Just stand there and look pretty."
"Uh, sure."
I shut up, but my eyes kept drifting back.
Guilty as charged—I'm shallow.
Kinda regretted celebrating his "condition" now.
What a waste of that face.
The wedding went off without a hitch.
Being a trophy wife? Piece of cake.
All I had to do was stand tall, suck in my stomach, push out my hips, and paste on a smile under the spotlight until the ceremony ended. Mission accomplished.
Kyler seemed pleased with my performance. Afterward, slightly tipsy, he stuffed a bank card into my arms.
No explanation of its purpose, no mention of the amount.
But judging by his demeanor, it was clearly a reward.
A rich heir like him wouldn't be stingy, right? I tucked it away carefully, only remembering to ask for the PIN later.
Along with the card, he tossed me a set of keys and a slip of paper with an address and phone number.
He left in his private car, telling me to take a taxi back to "our place."
Who cared about his fancy villa?
With the bank card in hand, I headed straight to the nearest bank. My hands trembled with excitement as I inserted it into the ATM to check the balance.
But—
Account balance: $100.
Dollars, not thousands.
I stared at the screen for ages until the guy behind me grumbled:
"Lady, if you're gonna agonize over a hundred bucks, should I light some incense for it before you withdraw?"
I blushed, took back the card, and marched to the teller to double-check.
Yep, exactly $100.
Real classy move.
Sure, we had no feelings, but I did marry him in that heavy-duty wedding dress.
A hundred bucks? Was he tipping a beggar?
Seething, I withdrew the whole hundred and used his money to hail three taxis.
One for me, the other two following empty.
But—
Mistake number one: I didn't realize Kyler's villa was this far. The three cabs cost over $400 total.
The hundred was gone, and I was out over $300 of my own.
What bad luck.
Night fell, our wedding night.
I sat on the couch, glaring at Kyler's handsome face—couldn't look at him without getting annoyed.
Just as I was mentally bashing him, Kyler suddenly glanced over:
"Lila?"
Me: "Uh, yeah, that's me."
...Instantly cowed at the sight of my sugar daddy. Classic.
Kyler's gaze lingered on my face, light yet unsettling.
Our eyes met, and he curved his lips slightly, voice cool.
"Time for bed."
My cheeks heated involuntarily.
But Mom's words crashed in like a cold shower.
"Um..." I eyed his long legs in the wheelchair, hesitantly asking, "Need me to carry you to bed?"
Pausing two seconds, I licked my lips and added, "I'm pretty strong."
Kyler, still in his wheelchair, loosened two shirt buttons, smiling casually. "Be my guest."
I walked over, turned my back, and squatted in front of him.
Two seconds later, Kyler leaned forward slightly, his hands naturally resting on my shoulders.
His arms were long too, loosely across my collarbone. He smelled amazing—fresh, like pine trees.
My intention was simple: suck up to the sugar daddy. But with him actually lean on my shoulders, this close, my face flamed instantly.
He'd shed his suit jacket, left in just a white shirt. I'd changed out of the wedding dress into a thin toast-gown.
The second I lifted him, I could feel his body heat.
That thought made my heart race.
My feet tangled, catching the trailing hem—
With Kyler on my back, we both crashed to the floor.
...I lay there, too scared to move.
I swear I'm not usually this clumsy. Spent twenty-odd years being reasonably competent.
No idea what's wrong today—striking out twice, dragging the sugar daddy down with me.
After ages of silence, panic set in. Did I... knock him out?
Just as I started to look up, Kyler's voice came from below.
Rougher, deeper.
"Come here."
I scrambled up, inched over, and knelt.
"About that..."
Tried to explain, but before I could find the words, my wrist was suddenly grabbed.
Kyler's grip tightened, yanking me into his arms.
The floor was cold. Kyler lay on his back, one hand clamped around mine, staring up at me as I sprawled over him.
Up close, he was still devastatingly good-looking.
"Lila."
He held my gaze, teeth gritted. "Help me to the wheelchair. I can get to bed myself."