My Crippled Husband Is a Secret Billionaire

Morning light hit Stella's face like a physical blow. She woke up disoriented, blinking against the sun. For a split second, she thought she was in her old apartment, and that Bryce was making coffee in the kitchen.

Then she saw the dark paneling of the antechamber.

Memory crashed over her. The church. The dress. The wheelchair. Julian.

She sat up abruptly. The double doors to the main bedroom were open now. The hospital bed was empty. The sheets were made with military precision, corners tucked in tight.

She scrambled out of the daybed and went downstairs. The house was silent, the dust sheets she hadn't removed yet looking like ghosts in the daylight.

She found Henderson in the kitchen. He was placing a plate of burnt toast on the table.

"Good morning, Madam," Henderson said. "My apologies. The toaster is malfunctioning and the budget does not allow for a replacement currently."

It was a lie. Henderson was a gourmet cook, but Julian had ordered the "poverty protocol."

Stella sat down and took a bite of the charcoal toast. It scratched the roof of her mouth. "It's fine, Henderson. I can cook. We'll save money on groceries."

"Master Julian is in the library," Henderson said.

Stella nodded. "I need to go out. I need to get my things from the apartment. Before..." She trailed off. Before Bryce threw them out.

She walked into the library. Julian was sitting behind a massive mahogany desk, reading a newspaper. He looked up as she entered.

"Do you want Henderson to drive you?" he asked. His tone was polite, distant.

"No," Stella said, grabbing her purse. "I need to do this alone. It's... closure."

The doorman at her old building looked at her with pity when she arrived. She ignored him and took the elevator up. Her key still worked.

She opened the door.

The apartment was a mess. Boxes were everywhere. Bryce had evidently started packing her things for her.

She grabbed a suitcase and started throwing books into it. Her hands were shaking. Just get in, get out.

The front door unlocked.

Stella froze.

Bryce walked in. He looked disheveled. His tie was loose, his eyes bloodshot. In his hand, he clutched a crumpled tabloid newspaper.

He stopped when he saw her.

"Stella," he breathed. He dropped his keys. "Baby. I knew you'd come back."

Stella didn't look at him. She zipped up the suitcase. "I'm here for my clothes, Bryce. Not you."

He crossed the room in three strides and grabbed her arm. He shoved the newspaper into her face. "What is this? Explain this!"

Stella looked. It was a grainy photo of her and Julian leaving the City Clerk's office, taken from across the street. The headline screamed: RUNAWAY BRIDE WEDS CURSED SON IN SHOTGUN CEREMONY.

"Monica... she threatened to pull the investment," Bryce rambled, ignoring the paper now. "But this? You married him? To spite me?"

Stella looked at his hand on her arm. Then she looked at his face. The face she had loved for three years.

"I didn't do it for you," she said, her voice terrifyingly calm. "I did it for me."

"You're being dramatic," Bryce scoffed, his grip tightening. "You can't survive in this city without me. I heard you went off with that cripple, Sterling. What are you going to do? Change his diapers?"

Rage, cold and sharp, flooded Stella's veins.

"He is twice the man you are," she spat.

"He's a reject!" Bryce yelled. "He's broke! You'll be begging on the street in a month!"

He tried to pull her into a hug, a possessive, suffocating embrace.

Stella saw a heavy glass vase on the entry table. It was a gift from his mother.

She didn't think. She reacted. She twisted her arm, using the leverage point she had learned in a self-defense video on YouTube, and shoved him back.

Bryce stumbled, tripping over a box. He looked shocked. Stella had never fought back before.

"I married him, Bryce," Stella said. The words hung in the air. "Legally. I am Mrs. Sterling now."

Bryce's face turned pale. "You married the Sterling reject?"

"Get out of my way."

Stella grabbed her suitcase. She marched past him, her heart hammering in her throat.

"He's got nothing!" Bryce screamed after her as she reached the door. "He's a cripple and a failure!"

Stella slammed the door. The sound echoed with finality.

She leaned against the wood in the hallway, her legs trembling so hard she almost slid to the floor. She took a deep breath. In. Out.

She wasn't Stella Quinn, the victim, anymore. She was Stella Sterling. And she had a war to fight.