My Stepmother Forced Me to Marry a Disabled Millionaire, But He Was Hiding Something Huge

“Please, Aarohi… do it for your father.”

I bit my lip and nodded.

But inside, what I felt wasn’t sacrifice, but humiliation.

The wedding was a lavish affair at an old colonial hacienda, restored as a palace in the heart of Mexico. I wore a deep red sari embroidered with gold, but my heart was empty.

The groom sat in a wheelchair, his face as cold as marble. He didn’t smile. He didn’t speak.

His eyes were fixed on me, deep and mysterious.

The wedding night.

I entered the room nervously. He was still there, sitting in his wheelchair, the candlelight casting shadows across his handsome yet stern face.

“Let me help you lie down,” I said, my voice trembling.

He pressed his lips together slightly.

“It’s not necessary. I can do it myself.”

I took a step back, but then I saw his body shudder.

I rushed toward him instinctively.

“Watch out!”

But we both fell to the floor.

The thud echoed loudly in the silent room.