Is there really a chance?

ADRIAN

"What's in it for me, Mr. Royce?" she asked, her voice laced with audacity.

I should have expected this. What else could a gold digger care about if not money?

Looking at her only fueled my disgust. Red lipstick smeared into a garish alarm, eyeliner smudged like a child’s careless doodle—she looked utterly ridiculous, like a raccoon.

"You're Mrs. Royce. Isn't that enough to satisfy you?"

"No," she replied, her tone unwavering.

Unbelievable. This woman’s greed knew no bounds.

"Name your price," I said, suppressing a sigh. If this arrangement could heal my legs, I’d consider it a necessary evil, no matter the cost.

"I want to be admitted to medical school."

What?

I stared at her. "Aren't you too old to be attending school?"

"I'm 18!"

Eighteen.

The absurdity of it hit me like a slap.

Evelyn. I clenched my fists, wanting to wring her neck desperately.

"Fine. Get your documents ready," I said flatly.

Her face lit up as if I’d handed her the keys to heaven. "Really? Thank you so much, Adrian!"

I held up a hand, cutting her off. "You’re working for me. That’s all. Once your job is done, we’re through. I’ll divorce you immediately."

Her grin faltered, but she didn’t argue. "What are you waiting for?" I snapped.

"Nothing," she murmured, and with a flurry of motion, she disappeared through the door.

I reached for my phone and dialed Timothy, my former assistant. He picked up after the second ring.

"Sir?" His voice was cautious, tinged with confusion at the late-night call.

"Get me a medical seat at the best university. No delays."

A brief pause, then a subdued, "Yes, sir."

Good. Timothy always knew better than to ask questions.

As I disconnected, doubt began to creep in.

What if she was lying?

What if she was sent by them?

Can I really walk again?

My thoughts churned as exhaustion dragged me to sleep.

The next morning, my attendant dressed me for the day. Shirts and slacks—simple, functional.

I hated the monotony of it, hated the dependence on others. I have always been a man wearing suits with a commanding presence and now I am wheelchair bound.

If not for the accident, I would still have been the CEO. There wouldn’t have been any need for this drama—no gold-diggers to deal with, no humiliating dependence on others.

My company would still be thriving, my reputation unscathed. Maybe… maybe even she would have stayed.

I looked down at my legs, the useless, lifeless things that had become my prison. A sharp, bitter pain clawed at my chest, a pain I had learned to swallow daily. Every time I tried to stand, to move, to feel normal, reality reminded me—brutally—that I was trapped in this body.

The once-powerful man who strode through boardrooms, commanding respect with every step, was gone. Now, I couldn’t even climb the stairs in my own house without someone hovering nearby, treating me like a fragile relic.

I hate this. I hate what I’ve become.

The man in the mirror wasn’t me. He was a broken, pathetic shadow of someone I used to be. A man bound to a chair, stripped of dignity, stripped of power.

Do they pity me now?

Do they laugh behind my back?

My voice trembled as I spoke, though there was no one to hear. “I wasn’t meant for this. I was meant to lead, to rule. Not to rot away like this.”

The ones who used to bow before me were gone. Friends, allies, even her. They’d all disappeared when the weight of my failures became too much to carry. And now, I was alone in this suffocating emptiness, reduced to this shell of a man.

But not for long.

This isn’t the time to think about what I’ve lost. It’s time to make them pay. Every single one of them.

The ones who abandoned me. The ones who betrayed me. The ones who looked at me like I was less than human. And the ones who caused this accident—the ones who tore away everything I held dear.

They would all pay for what they’d done. I would claw my way back. My legs might be useless, but my mind was sharp, my will unbroken.

I am still the Adrian Royce. And they will regret ever crossing me.

Timothy arrived with the admission letter just as I began my breakfast.

"Call that girl," I instructed one of the maids.

Minutes later, she returned, flustered. "Sir, madam refused to come."

What does she want now?

I clenched my jaw. "Where is she?"

"She... she’s in the third guest room, left wing."

Timothy and I walked to the door, irritation simmering beneath my skin. He knocked, but her voice, shrill and defiant, answered from within.

"I said I can’t come out!"

"If you want your admission letter, come out now!" I growled.

The door clicked open. She emerged, swaddled in quilts like some deranged cocoon.

"What are you doing?" I asked, disbelief coloring my tone.

Her cheeks flushed. "I... I don’t have any clothes to wear."

How careless could one person be? I motioned to Timothy, who nodded and left to handle it.

When she finally reappeared, her makeup wiped clean, she looked really young—sharp futures hidden by a baby face.

Was she truly desperate enough to sell herself?

Timothy handed her the letter. She squealed like a child unwrapping a present.

"This card has your monthly allowance," I said, holding it out.

Her eyes sparkled with greed as she took it. Typical.

"I’ll have Timothy draft an agreement. You’ll sign it this evening."

"Perfect!" she chirped, then hesitated. "Can I ask something?"

I stared at her, saying nothing.

She averted her gaze. "I.. I saw a man when I arrived... who is he?"

Him. How dare he enter my house.

As if summoned by my thoughts, the evil himself strolled down the stairs, a smirk plastered across his face.

"Victor Royce," I said, my tone sharp. "What are you doing here?"

"Relax, Adrian. Just dropping by to meet your new wife." His eyes flicked to her.

"Hello, sweetheart. You look better in daylight. Call me if you ever need anything—anything at all."

"Get out."

He chuckled, his eyes glinting.

"Don’t worry, Adrian. I won’t steal her from you... yet." With a final wink, he sauntered out.

She turned to me, curiosity etched across her face. "Who was that?"

"None of your concern," I snapped.

“Fine, then I will go shopping,” she exclaimed and went. As soon as she got money she couldn't wait to spend it.

Evelyn, my stepmother, did a perfect job in finding her replica.

Later that evening, just as I was settling down, my phone buzzed.

"Are you Adrian Royce?" a curt voice asked.

"Yes."

"This is the city police. We have Serena Cooper in custody. Can you come down?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose. A headache forming, What had she done now?