The CEO Couldn't Walk, But I Made Him Fall For Me

The surgery

DAMIAN

She was on her knees.

Crying. Begging me.

“Let me help you walk again. For you. For me.”

My chest caved in.

She was taking up too much space.

In my office. At my house. In my head. And soon... In my heart

The fake marriage... it wasn’t fake anymore.

The way she laid her head on my chest. The way she massaged my feet. The way she looked at me was like I wasn’t broken.

I couldn’t handle it.

If I let her stay, I’d fall. And if I fell, I’d lose her too. Like I lost them.

“No.”

The word cut through the air.

“Damian, please—”

“I SAID NO!” I slammed my hand on the armrest. The pain grounded me. “Don’t you ever bring that up to me again!”

She flinched. God, she flinched.

“Get up,” I said, my voice dead. “You’re pathetic.”

I rolled away. Because if I stayed one more second, I’d kiss her.

And that would ruin everything.

For 2 days, I iced her out.

Ate in my office. Slept in the other room.

I needed distance. Before this became real.

On day 3, I booked the flight.

“I’m leaving,” I told her. Didn’t meet her eyes. “Europe. 5 days. Business.”

“Damian—”

“Just act like my wife,” I cut her off. “For Elias.”

I left. Because if I stayed, I’d tell her the truth:

That I was terrified of how much I needed her.

---

DAY 2. LONDON. 11:47 PM.

My phone buzzed. Security.

“Mr. Harrison, we lost Ms. Harrison. Her car is at the grocery store. Groceries in the trunk. She’s gone.”

My blood turned to ice.

“Find her. Now.”

2 hours later. My phone lit up.

Unknown number.

Video.

I pressed play.

Arabella.

Tied to a chair. Duct tape over her mouth. A purple bruise on her cheek. Blood.

She was crying. Her eyes were begging me.

Text: $2M. 24h. Or she dies. -R

RACHEL.

The room tilted.

I threw my phone across the suite. It exploded against the wall.

“GET ME A FLIGHT!” I roared. “NOW!”

“Sir, the earliest flight—”

“8 HOURS!”

“8 HOURS!” I screamed. I slammed my fists on my useless legs. “I’M IN A GODDAMN WHEELCHAIR! I CAN’T EVEN GO TO HER!”

For 8 hours I sat there.

Watching her 10-second video on repeat.

Her muffled cries. Her tears.

This was my fault.

I pushed her away. I left her alone because I was scared of how real this was getting.

The team found her in 14 hours. In a warehouse.

Alive.

When I landed, I didn’t go home. I went straight to the hospital.

---

HOSPITAL ROOM. 3 AM.

She was asleep. Bandaged. Bruised.

So small.

I pulled my chair to her bed and took her hand.

12 hours. I didn’t let go.

When she woke up, she whispered my name.

“Damian?”

It broke me.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. My voice was raw. “I’m so sorry. I didn't protect you like I promised. I'm sorry if you were like that because of me..."

Tears fell onto our joined hands. She gently cupped my face in her small hands and pressed her forehead against mine.

“And when you needed me... I couldn’t come,” I said. I looked down at my legs. “Because of this. I’m useless, Arabella. I can’t protect you.”

She shook her head. “No—”

“Yes,” I said. And for the first time in 5 years, I meant it.

“Book the surgery,” I said. “Switzerland. Next week.”

Her breath caught.

“I’m done running,” I said. “I’m done hiding in this chair.”

She suddenly threw herself into my arms, and I caught her against my chest, holding her as tightly as I dared. I buried my face in her hair, breathing in her familiar scent—the soft, delicate fragrance that was uniquely hers. I closed my eyes, letting it fill my lungs, letting myself savor the simple comfort of having her this close again. God only knew how much I had missed this. How much I had missed her.

These past few days had felt unbearably long without her. Every hour without her had dragged on, leaving an emptiness I couldn't seem to fill. But now she was here, wrapped in my arms, her warmth pressed against me, and for the first time in days, I felt like I could finally breathe again.

I tightened my arms around her and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

I didn't want to let go. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“Thank you so much, Damian…” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “I’ll be there for your surgery. I promise I won’t let go of your hand. Not even for a second.”

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, her emotions threatening to spill over. She gave me a small, trembling smile before tightening her fingers around mine, as if she were already making that promise.

I’m going to walk to you, Arabella. I’m going to be the man you deserve.