Everyone Thought My Fiancé Was A Crippled Monster

The heavy door of the black town car swung open. Cold city air slapped my cheeks.

"Miss Cooper, we have arrived." The driver stood on the curb, holding his hand out.

I ignored his hand and stepped onto the concrete. I tilted my head back, staring up at the towering glass skyscraper that pierced the night sky. The penthouse at the very top was entirely dark.

An older man in a pristine tailored suit waited by the glass double doors of the lobby. He stepped forward, his posture rigid.

"I am Mr. Thorne, the head butler," he announced, his voice carrying no warmth. "Welcome to the private residence of Mr. Rowan Gray."

Rowan Gray.

My stomach twisted into a tight knot.

"Thank you," I managed to say.

"Follow me. The private elevator is this way." Thorne turned sharply on his heel.

I dragged my suitcase behind me. The wheels rumbled against the polished marble floor. The sound echoed in the massive, empty lobby.

"Mr. Gray expects absolute punctuality and quiet," Thorne said as we stepped into the gold-paneled elevator. He pressed the button for the top floor. "You will not play loud music. You will not invite guests."

"I understand," I replied, keeping my eyes on the changing floor numbers.

"He also prefers his meals brought to his private wing. You are not to enter that corridor unless explicitly summoned."

I turned my head to look at the butler. "Does he ever leave his rooms?"

Thorne’s jaw tightened. "The master's condition requires privacy. The Gray family values discretion above all else. I suggest you do the same, Miss Cooper."

Condition.

That was the polite word for it. The high society circles of the city used much harsher words. *Cripple. Monster. Freak.*

Rowan Gray was the sole heir to the Gray empire, a family so powerful they practically owned the mayor and the banks. But three years ago, an accident had left him broken. Rumors claimed he was confined to a wheelchair, his face horribly disfigured, his temper so violent that servants quit after a single day.

That was exactly why my sister, Clara, had thrown a glass vase at the wall two nights ago.

"I am not marrying a monster!" Clara had shrieked, her face red with fury. "He's a cripple, Dad! A freak! I don't care about the stupid contract!"

"Clara, please," Arthur Cooper had begged, pacing the living room. "My father and old Mr. Gray signed this marriage agreement twenty years ago. If we back out now, the Grays will pull their investments. Our company will go bankrupt in a week."

"Then let it burn!" Clara screamed. "I won't let that beast touch me!"

My adoptive mother, Evelyn, had sat on the sofa, weeping into a tissue. Then, she stopped. She lowered the tissue and looked directly at me.

"Lila," Evelyn had said, her voice dropping to a desperate whisper.

I had frozen by the doorway. "Mom, no."

"We took you in ten years ago," Evelyn continued, standing up and closing the distance between us. She grabbed my hands. Her fingernails dug into my skin. "You were an orphan. We fed you. We gave you a home. We gave you our name."

"I know," I whispered, trying to pull my hands away. She held on tighter.

Arthur stopped pacing and rushed over. He grabbed my shoulders. "Just one year, Lila. The contract only stipulates a marriage. It doesn't say which daughter."

"I'm not your biological daughter," I argued, my chest tightening. "They'll know."

"They haven't seen Clara since she was a child," Arthur insisted, his eyes wild with panic. "Rowan is a recluse. He won't care. Marry him. Pretend to be Clara. Save our family."

"And what happens to me?" I asked, tears stinging my eyes.

"One year," Evelyn promised, smoothing my hair. "In twelve months, the business alliance will be permanent. You file for divorce, and we bring you back home. We will set you up for life. Please, Lila. Pay us back for saving you."

I owed them my life. I had no choice.

The elevator chimed, snapping me back to the present.

The doors slid open, revealing a massive, dimly lit penthouse. The floors were dark hardwood, the walls painted in deep, shadowy tones. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a sprawling view of the glittering city, but inside, the space felt like a tomb.

"Your bedroom is down the left hall," Thorne instructed, stepping out and gesturing to the dark corridor. "The master's wing is on the right. Do you remember the rules?"

"Stay out of his wing," I recited, gripping the handle of my suitcase. "Keep quiet."

"Good." Thorne pulled a silver keycard from his pocket and placed it on the entryway console. "The kitchen is fully stocked. A maid comes twice a week while you are out. I will take my leave now."

"You don't live here?" I asked, panic flaring in my chest.

"Mr. Gray tolerates very few people in his space." Thorne gave me a curt nod. "Good luck, Miss Cooper."

The butler stepped back into the elevator. The metal doors slid shut, sealing me inside.

Silence pressed against my ears. The penthouse was freezing.

I stood in the entryway for a long time, listening. Nothing. No television, no footsteps, no breathing. Just the hum of the city wind against the thick glass.

I dragged my suitcase toward the left hallway, desperate to find my room and lock the door. I just needed to survive one year. Keep my head down, avoid the monster across the hall, and go back to my life.

I found the guest room. I pushed the door open and flipped the light switch.

A massive king-sized bed dominated the space. I dropped my suitcase on the rug and sank onto the edge of the mattress. My hands shook. I rubbed my temples, trying to ease the pounding headache forming behind my eyes.

*CRASH.*

The sound shattered the silence.

I jumped up, my heart slamming against my ribs.

The noise came from the right side of the penthouse. Rowan’s wing.

"Get out!" a deep, gravelly voice roared. The sound was raw, filled with absolute fury.

Another crash followed, louder this time. Glass shattering against a wall.

I backed up until my shoulders hit the bedroom doorframe. My instincts screamed at me to lock the door and hide. Thorne had warned me. Stay away.

"Useless!" the voice bellowed again.

A heavy thud shook the floorboards. Then, a low, agonizing groan echoed through the dark hallway.

I swallowed hard. My fingers curled into fists. I stepped out of my room and looked down the long, pitch-black corridor leading to the right wing.

Something was wrong.

I took one step forward, leaving the safety of my room behind.