My Crippled Husband Is a Secret Billionaire

The adrenaline crash hit them as soon as they entered the townhouse.

"Let me check your shoulder," Stella insisted. "That champagne might have been hot. Or sticky."

"It was cold champagne, Stella," Julian snapped. He wheeled himself backward, away from her. "Leave it."

He retreated to his study and locked the door. The click of the lock felt like a slap in the face.

Stella stood in the hallway, feeling the silence of the house wrap around her. She felt shut out. Again.

She wandered the empty rooms. In the back of the first floor, she found a room she hadn't seen before. It was filled with architectural models. Miniature skyscrapers, sleek retail stores with the logo L'Unico etched on the tiny glass fronts.

She touched one of the models. It was exquisite. He must be a fan, she thought. Or maybe he wanted to be an architect before the accident.

Later that night, a storm rolled in over Manhattan.

Thunder crashed directly overhead, shaking the old window panes.

CRACK.

The lights in the townhouse flickered and died. Pitch black.

Stella froze. She hated thunder. It reminded her of the night her parents died. Her breath hitched in her throat.

"Julian?" she called out.

No answer.

She fumbled for her phone, turning on the flashlight. The beam cut through the darkness, illuminating the dust sheets like specters.

She made her way to the study. "Julian?"

Inside the study, Julian was standing.

He was reaching up to a high shelf behind the desk, trying to retrieve a backup battery for his secure server. The wifi had cut out, and he needed to maintain the connection. He heard the doorknob turn.

Shit.

He dropped.

He didn't have time to get back to the chair. He let gravity take him, crumpling to the floor just as the door creaked open. He dragged his legs behind him, contorting his body to look like he had fallen trying to reach something.

The flashlight beam swept the room and landed on him.

"Oh my god!" Stella screamed.

She rushed over, dropping the light. "Julian! Did you fall?"

Julian gritted his teeth, pressing his face against the Persian rug. "The security system... it runs on a separate circuit. I needed the battery from the shelf. I tried to... use the grabber tool."

"You idiot," Stella cried. She wrapped her arms around his torso. "Help me. On three."

She pulled.

He was dead weight. And he was heavy.

"You're... really heavy," Stella panted, straining to lift his chest off the floor. "For someone who doesn't walk, your back is... hard."

Julian stiffened. He had to stay limp. "Dead weight feels heavier, Stella. Physics. And I do pull-ups."

She managed to drag him toward the leather armchair. They were tangled together, limbs awkward, breathing heavy. Her face was inches from his.

A flash of lightning illuminated the room.

Stella saw his eyes. They weren't pained. They were dark, intense, dilated.

She touched his arm. Her fingers grazed his bicep. It was rock solid.

"Don't try to be a hero," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Call me next time. I'm here. I'm your legs, remember?"

Julian looked away. The guilt was a sharp knife in his gut. She was so sincere. So desperate to help him. And he was lying to her with every breath.

"I don't need a babysitter," he growled.

"You need a wife," Stella corrected.

The power came back on with a sudden zzzt. The lights blinded them.

Stella stepped back, realizing she was straddling his lap on the floor. She scrambled up, smoothing her pajamas.

"Are you hurt?" she asked.

"No," Julian said. "Just... leave me."

Stella nodded, hurt flashing in her eyes. She turned and left the room.

Julian sat on the floor for a long time. He looked at his arm where she had touched him. His skin felt like it was burning.