The Crippled Billionaire's Revenge

Chapter 3

The sound of Sophia's crying jolted me awake.

She clutched a medical report in her hands, her shoulders trembling with each sob.

"Ethan... The doctor said you have a congenital condition. You can't father children."

Her voice cracked, thick with emotion.

"But it doesn’t matter to me. You’ll always be my husband. Nothing will change that."

She wiped her tears, forcing a fragile smile.

"Once you're discharged, we'll adopt. A child will bring joy back into our lives. You’ll heal faster with a little one around."

It was my body that had failed, yet Sophia seemed more devastated than I was.

Her performance was flawless. Too flawless.

I let the silence stretch, then glanced at the report in her hands and nodded slowly, playing my part.

Sophia’s eyes welled up again, and she threw her arms around me, squeezing tight.

"I’ll take care of you. No matter what anyone says, I’m not going anywhere."

She pulled back slightly, her fingers brushing my cheek.

"After we’re married, I’ll transfer all my assets to you. Consider it my promise—my way of making sure you’re secure."

Our bodies were pressed together, but the distance between us felt endless.

After a moment, she hesitated, biting her lip.

"But... the wedding plans are set, and with you still recovering... maybe we should..."

"Find someone to stand in for me," I finished for her. "Wouldn’t want the Montgomerys to lose face."

I knew exactly where this was going.

If I couldn’t stop her, at least I could steer the wreckage.

Sophia blinked, surprised by my compliance, but she didn’t question it. Not when she got what she wanted.

Her phone buzzed. When she read the notification, her face drained of color.

"Ethan—what documents did you cancel?"

I dismissed the alert with a swipe, shrugging.

"Just old paperwork. I’ll renew it later."

She didn’t push, instead pulling me closer, her voice dripping with concern.

"You’re not well. If you need anything, tell me. I’ll handle it."

"Sophia, I want to leave the hospital."

She stiffened, her grip tightening.

"No. You’re not ready."

I cupped her face, softening my voice.

"You said you wanted to adopt with me. We have staff at home. I just... want to visit the orphanage. See the children. Please?"

For the first time in five years, I let myself sound weak.

She hesitated, then sighed, nodding reluctantly.

In the car, she pulled out a box of pastries, arranging them in front of me with a smile.

"Bought these just for you."

The label—"gentle on infant stomachs"—seared into my vision.

I shoved the box into the backseat.

"Not hungry," I muttered, leaning back and shutting my eyes.

The charade was almost over.