I didn’t learn the real reason behind the arranged marriage until my parents called me in.
Only then did they tell me: the handsome boy Callie had been chasing had gotten into a serious car accident. The doctors said his legs would never fully recover—he’d walk with a limp for the rest of his life.
Callie had cried and screamed that she would never marry a cripple.
So, the task fell to me.
I could’ve refused. But when I thought of that sun-kissed face I hadn’t seen in over a year, I agreed—without knowing why.
I was twenty then, just about to start my sophomore year. My parents arranged a leave of absence from school, and I got married far earlier than most.
When I went to see him, Damien was furious. He smashed a vase at my feet and shouted for Callie.
But she was already gone—studying abroad, courtesy of the black card my parents gave her.
The Sutton family’s business depended heavily on the Hale family. Callie didn’t want to marry a disabled man, but they still needed someone to maintain the alliance. So, they pushed me forward instead.
It was the first time my mother, Abigaile Sutton, showed me any warmth. She cried, said the family was struggling, said Callie was pitiful, and that my father’s hair had turned white from stress.
But I wasn’t moved.
Why say all that? I wasn’t marrying for them. I was doing it for Damien.
When I was a freshman, he was a senior—the most talked-about boy on campus. A campus heartthrob and a school bully rolled into one. The confession wall was full of declarations for him, and elite families sent their daughters his way. But only Callie stood by his side.
Because of that, she became the envy of everyone.
She flaunted her exclusivity with pride, claiming a place in Damien’s heart no one could shake.
Yes, I admired his looks—but I admired his mind even more.
He was brilliant. His dedication to mathematics led him to publish several peer-reviewed journals. I read every one of them, and a few even helped me solve problems I’d been stuck on.
It was easy for admiration to turn into love.
On our wedding day, Damien didn’t smile once. I was nervous, palms sweaty and trembling. When he took my hand, I nearly tripped.
Laughter rippled around us, and I felt small, out of place. When someone whispered Callie’s name, I saw Damien’s expression turn even colder.
He must love her, I thought. Why else would he hate me so much?
In that moment, I regretted everything—the marriage, and my one-sided love.
That night, he treated me like an outlet for his anger. But his legs weren't steady, and the pain became too much. I pushed him down and stopped him, straddling him instead. Slowly, carefully, I took control. Our breathing grew heavy. His face flushed with red, and for the first time, I felt myself sinking—not just into him, but into the moment.
There were no power struggles in the Hale family. Oddly enough, I was more comfortable there than I’d ever been in the Sutton household.
I loved books and continued studying, even though I’d left school. My curiosity for academic questions never left me.
At first, Damien barely came home. Days would go by before I saw him.
But slowly, that changed. He began coming back every evening. Even when work kept him late, he’d message me to explain where he was.
I started learning massage techniques from an old doctor, hoping I might be able to help with his recovery.
The first time I offered, I was shy and hesitant.
But over time, I became more confident, learning every massage point by heart. After six months, my hands grew strong and practiced.
