Married to the Disabled Ceo

The Weak One

Joanne learned at an early age that in the Ogoin family, weakness was not just frowned upon. It was despised.

Her first memories were not of bedtime stories or loving embraces, but of fevers that left her bedridden for days, of medicine that tasted bitter on her tongue, of voices murmuring just outside her door:

"She’s too fragile."

"She’ll never be like her sisters."

"A sick child is a useless child."

She was five the first time she understood that being sick made her less in their eyes.

*****

Spring, Years Ago

The garden was in full bloom, the scent of jasmine and roses thick in the air. The Ogoin estate had always been beautiful, but Joanne had never felt like she belonged in its grandeur.

She was sitting on the swing, watching Celeste and Athena play with their friends, their laughter ringing through the air like wind chimes. She wanted to join them, but she knew better.

Her legs were already trembling from the short walk outside, her chest tight, breaths shallow. She had been sick the week before, and even now, her body still felt too weak.

“Why are you just sitting there?” Celeste’s voice cut through her thoughts.

Joanne looked up to see both her sisters staring at her.

“Come play,” Athena added, but there was no kindness in her voice, only challenge.

“I...I can’t run too much,” Joanne admitted.

Celeste rolled her eyes. “Of course, you can’t.”

“She’s always sick,” Athena muttered, crossing her arms. “She’s no fun.”

The other children snickered.

Joanne felt her cheeks heat up, humiliation creeping up her spine. She hated this, hated that her body never let her do what they could do.

Then came the voice she feared most.

“You girls are wasting your time,” Grandmama Eleanor said, stepping onto the terrace with Grandmama Marguerite beside her. Their gowns were pristine, their gazes sharp.

Joanne tensed.

“She’ll never be strong,” Grandmama Marguerite said, staring directly at her as if she were some kind of defective creature. “Some people are born to thrive. Others…” She waved a dismissive hand. “Are born to be left behind.”

The words hit harder than any slap.

The other children were silent, but Joanne could feel their pity, their amusement.

“Maybe we should leave her inside next time,” Athena whispered, but not quietly enough.

The grandmothers said nothing to scold them.

Joanne lowered her gaze, gripping the chains of the swing tightly.

She wanted to protest, to scream that she was strong, that she could play if they just gave her a chance.

But deep down, a small voice whispered: What if they’re right?

What if she really was just a burden?

*****

Present Day

Joanne sat in her bedroom, staring at the engagement ring on her finger, the memory from years ago clawing at her mind.

All her life, she had been seen as weak.

Now, she was being sent into a marriage with a man who was known for his ruthlessness, his coldness, his ability to crush anything or anyone in his path.

And if her own family had never believed in her, what would Marcus Thompson think of her?

Would he see her the same way?

Would he discard her just as easily?

The thought made her stomach twist.

She didn’t know what was worse, the fear that Marcus would hate her… or the fear that he wouldn’t care about her at all.

There were moments when she had imagined herself somewhere else, where her illness didn’t define her, where she was more than just the weak one. But those moments were fleeting, and reality always came crashing back.

And now, as she faced the inevitable marriage to Marcus Thompson, a man she had heard of but never imagined she would meet, let alone marry, she felt the weight of everything that had led to this moment. She was still that girl, weak, invisible, and unworthy in her family’s eyes. Marcus would never see her as anything more than a tool to be used, a pawn in a game that she had no say in.

Her only hope was that, maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t see her as a burden like everyone else had. But deep down, she knew better than to believe in fairy tales. She was the weak one, and she would always be the weak one.