The Disabled Tycoon's Lethal Substitute Bride

Eleonora slid into the car. The spacious interior smelled of sandalwood and antiseptic.

Damien Kemp didn't turn around. He kept his gaze fixed on the scenery rushing past the window. His voice was as cold as ice. "Sign it."

Chase, from the front seat, handed her a file and a pen. The title read: "Prenuptial Agreement."

Eleonora took it and scanned the pages. The terms were brutal. During the marriage, she was forbidden from interfering in any Kemp family business, could not publicly claim her relationship with Damien, would receive nothing upon divorce, and was required to fulfill certain "wifely" duties, such as caring for his "condition."

She didn't sign. She placed the document aside and looked directly at Damien's silhouette. "Mr. Kemp, before you have me sign this contract of indentured servitude, shouldn't we first discuss your 'illness'?"

Damien finally turned his head, looking at her properly for the first time. His eyes were a deep gray, like the sea before a storm, sharp enough to pierce through a person's soul. He was the picture of a frail invalid, but his gaze held a dangerous intensity.

Eleonora met his stare without fear. "The rumors say you injured your legs and nervous system in the accident, leaving you extremely weak. But I see your breathing is steady, your eyes are sharp, and there are no signs of atrophy in your finger joints."

In the front, Chase's eyes widened in the rearview mirror.

A mocking smile touched Damien's lips. "Oh? So, my new bride is also a doctor?"

"I know a thing or two," Eleonora said flatly. "Your symptoms don't look like post-accident trauma. They look more like the result of long-term exposure to a chronic neurotoxin."

The air in the car turned to ice.

The mockery in Damien's eyes vanished, replaced by a genuine, dangerous scrutiny. His heart gave a hard thump against his ribs, and his eyes narrowed.

Eleonora continued, "This type of toxin slowly degrades your motor neurons, but it has little effect on cognitive function in the early stages. That's why you can still manage the affairs of the Kemp Group, but only by pretending to be a cripple."

Damien didn't admit or deny it. He just watched her, evaluating an unknown threat.

The car swept through the gates of the Kemp estate and stopped before a magnificent Gothic-style mansion.

After they got out, on the way to the study, Eleonora made her offer. "I can cure you. Three months. I can completely clear the toxins from your body and restore your ability to walk normally."

Inside the study, Damien gestured for Chase to leave. Seated in his wheelchair before the massive floor-to-ceiling window, he looked like a king of darkness.

"Your conditions?" he finally asked, his voice low.

Eleonora held up three fingers. "First, a thirty-million-dollar treatment fee, half upfront."

"Second, the prenuptial agreement will be rewritten. We are equal partners. The marriage will last for one year, during which we will not interfere in each other's private lives, but you must provide me with all the access I need to enter New York's high-society circles."

"Third," she paused, a sharp glint in her eyes, "I want you to investigate someone for me, using whatever means necessary."

Damien looked at the young woman before him. She wore a cheap wedding dress and had a slender frame, but every word she spoke carried an undeniable force. Who was she? How could the Rush family have produced someone like this? Their contract was supposed to be a simple business transaction.

He was silent for a long time.

"How can I trust your medical skills?" he challenged.

Eleonora took a small vial from her purse and tipped a single black pill into her palm. "A welcome gift. It will temporarily relieve the nightly nerve pain you experience. You'll be able to verify its effects tonight."

She placed the pill on the desk and pushed it toward him.

Damien stared at the pill, then at her confident face. For the first time, he felt a strong sense of curiosity-and alarm-toward a woman.

He let out a low, dangerous laugh. "Interesting. Aren't you afraid I'll take your formula and then make you disappear?"

Eleonora smiled, bright and fearless. "You won't. Because only I have the complete antidote. Besides, Mr. Kemp, you need an ally more than I do, don't you?" She glanced meaningfully toward the hallway outside the study.

Damien knew she was referring to his ambitious uncle, Marcus Kemp.

"Deal." He picked up the pill from the desk and swallowed it without hesitation, his eyes glinting with calculation and inquiry.