From Tragedy To Triumph: The Bride Who Defied Fate

"My legs don't work, so there won't be any sex between us."

The wedding night unfolded in icy silence as Connor Reed sat rigidly in his wheelchair, his voice flat and detached in the cavernous, cold-lit master bedroom.

Perched on the edge of the bed, Nicole Perry twisted her fingers together, teeth pressing into her pale lower lip as her nerves showed. "That's fine," she said quietly after a beat, forcing steadiness into her tone. "I don't have those kinds of needs."

A low, humorless laugh slipped from Connor at her answer, sharp enough to sting.

"You really don't get it?" Turning his head away, he left her staring at his hard profile—high nose, clean lines, all severity—as his words landed without mercy. "I don't need a bargain-bin bride. Get out of my sight."

Heat rushed to Nicole's face, embarrassment flooding in as her eyes glassed over, tears trembling but refusing to fall.

Long before she married Connor, she had known this arranged marriage was a reckless throw of the dice—but it was the only escape she had left.

The man she loved had lost his memories in a brutal car crash and, in that blank space, fallen into her cousin's arms instead. For three exhausting years, she had chased fragments of his past, throwing away her pride and even her body—letting herself grow heavy, dull, unrecognizable—only to be cast as the villain sabotaging their love and despised for it.

Her father had been murdered by his own brother, while her mother collapsed under illness soon after. Through it all, Nicole had swallowed her grief and endured everything for the sake of her fragile mother.

Then, only days ago, her mother died at their hands as well, and something inside Nicole finally broke beyond repair. The illegitimate son of the Reed family standing before her—cold-blooded, merciless—was nothing more than a weapon she had secured through marriage.

Dropping her gaze, Nicole forced the tremor from her voice, pressed her emotions back down, and said in a low voice, "If you throw me out, the Reed family will just send someone else to your bed. So tell me—what difference does it really make?"

A crooked smile tugged at Connor's lips. "So you're that eager to play the obedient little servant?"

Keeping her voice even, Nicole answered, "The Reed family already gave my family money. The deal is sealed—there's no walking away from the arrangement."

Beneath the weak spill of lamplight, Connor's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. A sudden, idle curiosity stirred in him, and he turned his wheelchair, angling himself toward her.

Until that moment, Nicole had never actually seen Connor. After hearing endless rumors that he was grotesque, demon-like, she reflexively squeezed her eyes shut the instant he turned to face her. It didn't matter anyway—he was blind, and there was no way he could notice.

Connor studied the woman standing before him with unsettling focus. Her figure was full, her face softly rounded, yet her features were unexpectedly fine, her skin smooth as polished porcelain. From his perspective, she was acceptable at best. Among all the women pushed in his direction over the years, Nicole was the only one who had latched on and stubbornly refused to disappear. That persistence stirred a faint, unwelcome curiosity in him.

"Since you've decided," he said flatly, gesturing toward the bed, "go lie down."

The sudden shift in his tone caught Nicole off guard, leaving her rooted to the spot. "Didn't you say you were… impotent?" she asked, eyes still closed.

Cool detachment colored his response. "Does lying in a bed automatically mean we're having sex?"

The blunt question sent heat rushing to Nicole's face. She didn't dare press him further, afraid one wrong word might cost her everything. Peeking through her lashes, she moved stiffly and lowered herself onto the mattress with obvious unease.

Connor flicked a glance her way. Frankly speaking, even a corpse would've looked more relaxed than she did.

With her lashes pressed tight, Nicole focused on the faint whir of the wheelchair drawing nearer, every nerve stretched thin.

At last, his low, resonant voice brushed her ear. "Take off your clothes."

Nicole sucked in a sharp breath. "Didn't you say you weren't going to..." The words having sex burned her throat, sending a tremor through her fingers, and after a strained pause, she forced out, "Do that?"

With effortless calm, Connor answered, "I need to confirm whether you're still a virgin."

Panic sharpened her resolve as Nicole forced her eyes open, bracing herself to strike him.

Instead, the sight before her stole the breath from her chest—far from the grotesque monster whispered about. Connor's features were sharp and devastatingly handsome, his presence overwhelming up close.

Shock froze her for a heartbeat before she recovered. "I'm sorry," she said hoarsely, scrambling for composure. "I think I walked into the wrong room. Are you… Are you really Connor Reed?"

With cool detachment, he replied, "And why do you ask that?"

"Because you look nothing like the stories," she replied, voice unsteady. "You look more like the other scions of the Reed family."

With lazy menace, Connor lifted a hand to his face. "That's because I'm wearing a mask stitched together from a child's skin, peeled off while they were still alive."

Terror shot through Nicole's fingers, and her grip failed. The weapon hidden beneath her skirt slipped free and struck the mattress with a dull thud.

Connor's eyes shifted almost imperceptibly, settling on the fallen object and registering, with cool clarity, that it was a gun.