I never felt like the eldest son of the Gardner family. If anything, I was more like the housekeeper’s kid.
It wasn’t until my parents arranged a business marriage for me that I learned the truth: the cold, elegant heiress who had always been by Connor’s side had been in a terrible car accident. They said her leg would never fully recover—she’d walk with a permanent limp.
For a woman, that kind of injury was devastating. It wasn’t just the physical pain; it meant losing her poise, her grace—and the freedom to wear beautiful skirts again.
Connor had cried and screamed that he’d never marry a cripple.
So the duty fell to me.
I could have refused.
But when I thought of that aloof yet stunning face—one I hadn’t seen in over a year—I somehow found myself agreeing.
I was twenty then, about to start my sophomore year of college. My parents arranged a leave of absence for me, and at an age where most people were still figuring out life, I got married. To be precise, I was married into the Barnes family.
The first time I went to see her, she completely lost it.
She hurled a vase that shattered at my feet and screamed for Connor to come.
But Connor had already flown abroad, using the family’s black card to start a new life as an international student.
The Gardner family’s business relied heavily on the Barnes family. Since Connor refused to marry a woman with a disability, they needed someone to maintain the alliance. And so, they chose me.
For the first time, my mother—Alia Gardner—offered me a shred of kindness. She cried, saying how difficult things were at home, how pitiful Connor was, how my father’s hair had started turning white from all the stress.
I felt nothing.
I said, "Why tell me all this? I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for Hallie."
Back when I was a freshman, she was a senior—already a legendary beauty and academic prodigy. Her name dominated the confession walls, and countless heirs of powerful families tried to win her favor. But at the time, she was always with Connor.
Because of her, he became the envy of the entire school. He bragged about his special status in her heart, basked in it like a crown he alone could wear.
I admired beauty, yes—but what truly captivated me was her intellect.
Her obsession with mathematics, her relentless pursuit of academic excellence—she’d published multiple SCI papers. I’d read every one of them. Some even helped me resolve problems I’d been stuck on for months.
It wasn’t hard for admiration to turn into love.
On our wedding day, Hallie never smiled once. I was so nervous I kept wiping the sweat off my hands, my palms slick no matter how many times I dried them.
When I took her hand, I nearly tripped.
The guests laughed. I looked like someone completely out of place, a joke. I heard them mention Connor, and Hallie’s face darkened further.
I figured... she must still be in love with him.
Why else would she look at me with such resentment?
At that moment, I regretted it—both the marriage and the silent crush I had carried all this time.
On our wedding night, she was the one who took control.
She straddled me without a word and forbade me from moving or doing anything she didn’t like.
But her leg wasn’t strong, and she struggled. I wanted to flip her over, to ease the pressure, but the look in her bloodshot eyes stopped me.
She was hurting—and used this as a way to let it out.
Soon our breathing grew heavy. Her face flushed with color, and despite everything, I too felt... pleasure.
There wasn’t much internal conflict in the Barnes household. Compared to life with the Gardner family, I was surprisingly more at ease here.
I still loved reading. I continued exploring academic problems, even though I was no longer enrolled.
And Hallie... from not coming home for days at a time, she eventually began returning every evening without fail.
Even when she was swamped at work, she’d still send a message to let me know where she was.
I started learning massage therapy from a traditional medicine practitioner. I wondered... maybe, just maybe, with consistent care, her leg might get better.
