My stepmother married me to a rich young master but his legs were crippled. On our wedding night, I timidly carried him onto the bed. Unfortunately, I slipped and we both fell to the ground. At that moment, I was startled when I saw something bulging…

That night, he said nothing else. I stayed awake until morning, tears falling silently onto my pillow.

The next day, he asked the maid to wheel him out.

I whispered, “If you wanted revenge on my mother, you’ve had it. But please, don’t hate me. I never asked to be part of this.”

He didn’t reply, just paused briefly before leaving.

Days turned into weeks. The mansion felt like a frozen palace. He buried himself in work, speaking to no one. Strangely, he still acted crippled in front of others.

One evening, I overheard a phone call.

“Doctor, please keep this a secret,” he said. “If my family finds out I’ve recovered, they’ll force me to sign everything over to them.”

That’s when I finally understood.

He wasn’t just testing me that he was hiding from those who wanted to destroy him. His father had passed away young, leaving behind a greedy stepmother and stepbrother hungry for his inheritance.

After that, I started quietly helping him. I cooked small meals and left them outside his room every night. Once, I found the plates empty which he’d eaten. Another time, I caught him practicing walking under the moonlight. I pretended not to see.

Then one morning, I overheard his stepmother whispering on the phone: “If he regains his health, we lose everything. We must make sure he stays paralyzed forever.”

That night, I slipped a letter under his pillow:

‘If you trust me, don’t come home tomorrow. Someone’s planning something.’

The next morning, he left for a “business trip.” That very night, the villa caught fire starting from his room. The maid screamed, “The master’s room is burning!”

If he had been there, he would’ve di:ed.

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