private hall, beneath white roses and crystal lights.

Guests filled the seats, mostly business partners and distant relatives who looked eager for scandal but determined to appear polite.

Then Elena saw Liam.

He sat at the front in a wheelchair, wearing a black suit that fit him perfectly.

His shoulders were straight.

His hands rested calmly on the armrests.

His face was startlingly handsome, not delicate but severe, with dark hair brushed back from his forehead and eyes so deeply blue they seemed almost gray.

He did not look monstrous.

He looked tired.

Elena walked toward him, aware of every whisper.

“Poor thing,” a woman murmured behind a fan.

“I heard the lower half of his body was burned beyond repair.”

“No one has seen him at a public event in years.”

“His first fiancée fainted.”

Liam’s jaw tightened, but he did not turn his head.

When Elena reached him, he looked up at her as though expecting disgust.

She gave him the smallest nod.

Something changed in his face then.

Not trust.

Not hope.

Just surprise.

The vows were brief.

When the officiant asked Elena if she took Liam Hamilton as her husband, she heard her own voice say yes.

Liam’s voice was lower than she expected.

Steady, but rough at the edges.

“I do,” he said.

There was no kiss.

He only took her hand for a moment.

His fingers were warm.

At the reception, people congratulated them with smiles that did not reach their eyes.

Mrs.

Hamilton watched everything from across the room, rigid as a statue.

Liam barely ate.

Elena noticed that whenever someone glanced at his wheelchair, his expression closed like a door.

“You don’t have to sit beside me all night,” he said quietly.

Elena turned to him.

“I’m your wife.”

His mouth curved without humor.

“For now.”

The words stung more than she expected.

“I made a promise,” she said.

“So did others.”

Before she could answer, Mrs.

Hamilton appeared, placing a hand on Liam’s shoulder.

He went still beneath her touch.

“You both must be exhausted,” she said.

“The bridal suite is ready.”

Liam looked away.

“Of course it is.”

Elena noticed the bitterness, but Mrs.

Hamilton ignored it.

That night, the suite was dimly lit by lamps with golden shades.

Rain had started outside, ticking softly against the tall windows.

Elena stood near the dresser, still in her wedding gown, while Liam sat by the bed in his wheelchair.

Neither of them spoke.

Elena could hear the rain.

Her own breathing.

The faint hum of the old mansion settling around them.

Finally, Liam said, “You can ask.”

She turned.

“Ask what?”

“What everyone wants to ask.”

“I don’t know what everyone wants.”

His eyes met hers.

“Do you want to see what you married?”

The cruelty in the question was not aimed at her.

It was aimed inward, sharpened over years.

Elena swallowed.

“You’re not an object to inspect.”

He laughed once, softly and without joy.

“Careful,” he said.

“Kindness makes this worse.”

Then he placed his hands on the arms of the wheelchair and stood.

Elena gasped before she could stop herself.

Liam’s face hardened.

“There it is.”

“No,” she said quickly.

“I thought you couldn’t walk.”

“I can.” He stood straight, though she could see the effort in the