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My Crippled Husband Is a Secret Billionaire Novel Cover

My Crippled Husband Is a Secret Billionaire

The silence in St. Patrick's Cathedral wasn't peaceful; it was a physical weight on Stella's shoulders, heavier than her wedding dress. She stood alone at the altar, ready for her perfect life, when her phone vibrated with a text that shattered everything. Her fiancé, Bryce, messaged just moments before the vows: "I can't do this. Monica needs me. I'm sorry." Monica, her maid of honor, was the reason he fled. Bryce's mother then publicly shamed Stella, implying her career ambition drove him away. The betrayal of her sacrifices, her future, and her dignity ignited a white-hot rage. Stella ripped off her veil, grabbed the microphone, and exposed the groom and maid of honor's affair to the stunned guests before storming out. A furious wreck in her ruined gown, she stumbled on the cathedral steps, meeting Julian Sterling, the "Cursed Son" in a wheelchair. He offered no pity, only a detached assessment. In a defiant, adrenaline-fueled moment, Stella crouched and asked, "Are you single?" Julian, needing a strategic alliance against his family, agreed to a cold, transactional marriage of convenience. With the City Clerk's office hours ticking down, Stella tore her dress, determined to forge a new path of vengeance and desperate necessity.
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Chapter 7

Stella avoided Julian all day. She cleaned the kitchen furiously, scrubbing the grout until her fingers were raw.

Julian stayed in his study. He felt like a jerk.

He was typing a message on his secure phone to Nate Rivera, the public CEO of L'Unico.

Julian: Transfer the funds to the Cayman account. Use Protocol 10-M.

Nate: Done. By the way, I heard you got married. To that runaway bride? The Dalton reject?

Julian: She's my cover. And watch your mouth.

Nate: The board is restless, Julian. They want the Founder to appear. They think the 'Silent Partner' is a myth.

Julian: Not yet. My uncle is still tracking my accounts. If I show my face, he'll know I built L'Unico with the money I hid from him.

Nate: You lost the bet. You said you'd never marry.

Julian: Business only.

Nate: Is it? Henderson texted me. Said you were shouting in the bathroom. Trouble in paradise?

Julian glared at the screen. "Henderson talks too much."

Nate: We have a problem with the Spring Collection. The lead designer quit. We need fresh blood.

Julian: Find a new one. Flag any submissions that focus on adaptive wear. I want something different.

Outside the door, Stella walked by with a tray of food. She heard the clicking of keys and a low murmur, but couldn't make out the words.

She knocked hesitantly. "Julian?"

Julian locked the phone instantly. He spun his chair away from the desk, slumping his posture to look smaller.

"Come in."

Stella entered. "I brought dinner. Since you didn't eat lunch."

She placed the tray on a side table. She kept her distance, like he was a wild animal that might bite.

"About earlier..." Stella started, looking at the floor. "I'm sorry. I know it must be hard for you. To be... helped. To feel vulnerable."

Julian looked at her. She was apologizing to him. After he had screamed at her.

"You're too kind for this city, Stella," he murmured.

"Kindness is free. Rent isn't," Stella smiled sadly. "I need a job. I can't just live off your... stipend."

Julian's eyes lit up. An idea formed.

"What are you looking for?"

"Design," Stella said. "Fashion. I'm actually... I'm applying to L'Unico. They have an opening."

Julian kept his face impassive. "L'Unico? The luxury brand?"

"Yeah. It's a long shot. But I have a portfolio."

"Show me," Julian demanded.

Stella hesitated, then ran to get her sketchbook.

Julian flipped through the pages. He expected amateur work. He expected fluff.

What he saw was brilliance. Structural, edgy, yet wearable.

He stopped at a sketch of a suit.

"This lapel," he said. "It's cut high."

"It's designed for someone seated," Stella explained shyly. "So the fabric doesn't bunch at the waist. For... wheelchair users."

Julian froze.

She had designed it for him.

A strange warmth spread in his chest, melting the ice he kept there. He looked at the sketch, then at her hopeful face.

"It's good," he said roughly. "Submit it."

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