The CEO’s Disabled Wife is no Longer Yours

The stage lights beat down on my skin, warm and blinding.

I held the final pose, my chest heaving as the last note of the orchestra faded into the velvet curtains.

For a split second, the auditorium was completely silent, before the applause hit like a tidal wave.

I smiled, lowering my arms and bowing. My calf muscles burned, and sweat trickled down the back of my neck, but it was the best kind of exhaustion.

Dancing wasn't just my career; it was the only time my mind was truly quiet. Out here on the wood floor, I was completely in control.

Ten minutes later, I was in my dressing room, aggressively scrubbing stage makeup off my face with a damp towel, when the door clicked open, I didn't need to look in the mirror to know who it was.

Julian leaned against the doorframe, holding a massive bouquet of white lilies. He had that easy, familiar smile on his face, the one that reached all the way to his warm hazel eyes.

His sandy-brown hair was slightly messy from the wind outside, and he had loosened the tie of his grey suit. He looked safe and exactly like home.

"You were incredible," he said, walking up behind my chair and pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

"You say that every time," I teased, leaning back into his touch.

"Because it's true every time." He set the flowers on my vanity. "Ready to go home?"

I nodded, grabbing my coat. As we walked out of the theater and into the cool, damp night air, I looped my arm through his.

Looking at Julian, it was still hard to believe I was part of his family. The Morettis were old money, the kind of family that controlled half the shipping ports in the city and carried themselves like royalty.

Six months ago, I was supposed to marry his older brother, Marcus.

Just thinking about Marcus made a cold shiver run down my spine.

Marcus was terrifying, a towering wall of a man with sharp, aristocratic features, jet-black hair, and eyes so dark and cold they felt like they could cut glass.

The marriage had been arranged by our families, a strategic merger disguised as a wedding.

But then I met Julian. The younger brother. The one who actually laughed, who remembered my favorite flowers, who watched my rehearsals from the back row when he thought I couldn't see him.

Choosing Julian over Marcus had caused a massive scandal. My family was furious, and Marcus had looked at me with an unreadable, icy stare on the day I broke the engagement.

But I didn't care. I chose love over duty. I chose the man holding my hand right now.

"You're quiet," Julian noted as he unlocked his car, a sleek black sedan. "Tired?"

"Just happy," I replied, sliding into the passenger seat.

He smiled, shutting the door. Once he got in and started the engine, he reached over, resting his hand on my thigh as he merged onto the main road.

The rain started a few minutes later, a light drizzle that quickly turned into a heavy downpour, drumming against the roof of the car.

The streetlights blurred into golden streaks against the wet windshield.

"The roads are getting bad," I murmured, watching the wipers work frantically to clear the glass.

"Don't worry, I've got it," Julian said softly, his thumb tracing a slow circle on my knee.

We were approaching the main intersection. I could see the solid green of the traffic light ahead of us.

But I didn't see the truck until it was already too late.

It came out of nowhere from the cross street, blowing straight through the red light.

The massive grille of the semi-truck was moving too fast, a wall of metal barreling directly toward my side of the car.

"Julian!" I screamed.

Time seemed to snap in half. The tires shrieked as Julian yanked the steering wheel. The car spun wildly, the back end fishtailing on the slick asphalt. The world outside the windows became a violent, dizzying blur of headlights and rain.

The sound was deafening, the sickening crunch of glass and steel caving in. The passenger side door crumpled inward like crushed paper, slamming into me with the force of a wrecking ball.

The airbags exploded, punching the air from my lungs. Pain, sharper and hotter than anything I had ever felt, erupted from my waist down. The heavy dashboard collapsed, trapping my legs beneath a jagged tangle of metal.

I tried to scream, but only a choked gasp escaped my lips. I couldn't breathe. The smell of burning rubber and leaking fluids filled the tight, crushed space.

"J-Julian..." I gasped, my voice barely a whisper.

I forced my heavy eyelids open. Through the cracked, spider-webbed glass of the windshield, the rain kept falling.

I turned my head slightly, agony shooting up my spine.

Julian was slumped against his steering wheel. He had a cut on his forehead, bleeding down the side of his face, but he was breathing. He was alive.

I tried to pull my leg back, but the twisted metal held it in a vicious grip. The pain spiked, sending a wave of nausea rolling through my stomach. The edges of my vision started to turn black.

My legs.

The thought echoed in the chaos of my fading mind. My legs.

I felt myself slipping away, the darkness pulling me under, swallowing the sound of the rain and the distant wail of sirens.

I woke up to a sterile white ceiling.

The transition from the violent crash to the quiet hospital room made my head spin. I blinked against the harsh lights, a dry, scratchy groan leaving my throat.

Immediately, a chair scraped against the floor.

"You're awake."

Julian leaned over me. He looked terrible. His suit jacket was gone, his white shirt stained with dried blood and dirt.

A white bandage was taped over his temple, and his hazel eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with deep, dark circles.

"Julian," I whispered. My throat felt like sandpaper.

"I'm here. I'm right here," he said, his voice cracking as he took my hand. His grip was tight and desperate. "You're safe."

I tried to shift my weight in the bed, and that was when the reality hit me.

There was a heavy, suffocating numbness from my hips down, underscored by a deep, pulsing ache. I couldn't move my feet. I couldn't flex my calves. Panic, cold and sharp, flooded my chest.

"Julian," I breathed, my heart rate spiking on the monitor beside the bed. "Julian, I can't feel my legs. What's wrong with my legs?"

He closed his eyes, a single tear escaping and tracking down his cheek. He pressed my hand against his mouth, taking a long, shaky breath before he looked at me again.

"The crash," he started, his voice trembling. "The impact crushed the passenger side. The doctors... they were in surgery with you for eight hours."

"Tell me," I demanded, though my voice broke on the words.

"They saved your legs," he whispered, looking utterly defeated. "But the nerve and muscle damage... it's severe. They don't think you'll ever be able to dance again."

The room went completely silent. Even the beeping of the monitor seemed to fade away.

Never dance again.

The words didn't make sense. They didn't belong in my life. I had just been on stage. I had just felt the wood floor under my feet. It was my entire identity, the only thing that had ever truly belonged to me.

A sob tore out of my throat, violent and ugly. I tried to curl in on myself, but the heavy casts on my legs kept me pinned to the bed. I was trapped.

"No," I cried, the tears spilling over. "No, please."

Julian stood up and carefully leaned over the bed, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. He buried his face in my neck, holding me tightly as I fell apart.

"I am so sorry," he murmured against my skin, his own tears wet against my shoulder. "I am so sorry. But you have me. I will take care of you. I'll take care of everything. I swear to you, I'm never leaving your side."

I gripped the fabric of his ruined shirt, sobbing into his chest until I couldn't breathe. My career was over. My body was broken.

But as Julian held me, stroking my hair and acting like a man who had almost lost his entire world, I held on to him like a lifeline. I believed his tears. I believed his devotion.

I haven’t lost everything, I have him.