The Cure Is You

An Agreement.

°SERENA°

“Who let you in?”

The words hit me like a physical blow, freezing me in place. My heart raced, and each syllable of the voice reverberated through the room, laced with authority and disdain.

I turned slowly, my breath caught in my throat. Standing at the base of the grand staircase was a man, his towering figure shrouded in shadows. His dark suit only amplified his presence, and though his face remained obscured, his voice alone sent a chill down my spine.

"I—I’m Serena Cooper," I stammered, my voice trembling. "Adrian’s..." My words faltered.

Wife? Was I really his wife?

“Ah, the new bride,” he sneered, his voice thick with mockery. “Welcome to your new home.”

Though his words were polite, the ice behind them made my skin crawl. I gripped the folds of my gown tightly, trying to steady my trembling hands.

“Where is Adrian?” I asked, barely above a whisper.

The man’s lips curled into a cruel smirk. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he said, turning on his heel. “That is, if you’re still here by then.”

Without another word, he ascended the staircase, disappearing into the shadows. I was left alone in the vast, cold hall. My hands shook as I wiped away the tears threatening to spill.

Don’t cry, Serena.

You can’t afford to cry again.

My grandmother's words echoed in my mind: “The world can abandon you, Seren, but never abandon yourself.”

Straightening my spine, I drew in a steadying breath. No, I wasn’t going to be the damsel in distress.

If this was my new life, I would face it. Alone.

A woman in maid attire approached, her footsteps barely audible. She led me upstairs, away from where the man had gone. I wanted to ask about him but bit my tongue, opting for silence.

She guided me to a grand bedroom, a vast space dominated by a large bed. It was large enough to accommodate five people. As she closed the door behind her, I stood for a moment, absorbing the luxury of the room.

I walked to the bed and sat down, the softness of the mattress pulling me in. The exhaustion of the day finally caught up to me, and before I knew it, I fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

I was jolted awake by freezing water splashing across my face. My eyes snapped open, my teeth chattering from the sudden cold.

"Why are you here?" The voice rang out from above, deep and commanding. I shot up, my heart racing.

As my vision cleared, I recognized him. Adrian. My husband. The man in the wheelchair, his presence sending a mix of confusion and unease through me.

His dark gaze pierced through me, demanding answers. Had he asked me something? It seemed like he had.

"Why are you here?" He repeated.

"I’m Serena," The wife you stood up at the altar.

I swear I heard him sneer, and his eyes filled with disdain. What was he dissatisfied with now?

"Get out," he ordered, his tone icy.

Sorry, what?

He wanted me to leave?!

Where was I supposed to go? Did he even understand the sacrifices his family had made me do?

This selfish son of a rich man.

"Where should I go?"

"Anywhere but here."

I stared at him in disbelief. No way was I going to beg him. There had to be plenty of guest rooms in this vast house. I could find one and just sleep there.

Even the couch I saw downstairs would do.

With that decision, I stepped forward. But my heels betrayed me. I slipped, falling straight toward him. At the last moment, I managed to shift and landed awkwardly on his knees.

"Ahh!" he shouted, jerking back in his wheelchair.

Wait—did he feel pain?

I was so lost in thought that I didn’t notice he’d moved the wheelchair until it was too late. My face collided with the floor, the impact sending a sharp pain through my forehead, as if it might split in two.

Heartless jerk.

I looked up, and there he was, rubbing his leg. So, he does feel pain...

But if he was truly crippled, how could he still feel it?

I moved closer, bending down to inspect his leg. As my fingers lightly pressed against his skin, he pulled away, glaring at me.

This guy and his attitude.

"Are you trying to seduce me?" he sneered.

I froze, completely speechless. Then I realized—one of the straps of my dress had slipped down, exposing my shoulder. In a panic, I quickly adjusted it, my face burning with embarrassment. This was all his family’s fault, anyway.

"How did you become wheelchair-bound?"

"None of your business," he replied curtly. "Get out."

"Your legs can be healed," I said casually.

He looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. The look he gave me screamed: Are you nuts?

"If you're feeling pain, it means your nerves are still responding. Just a little stimulation could help," I explained. But for some reason, his face darkened at my words.

"I can help you," I volunteered.

"Elaborate."

"My grandma was a healer, so she taught me herbal medicine and the needle techniques passed down by our ancestors."

"Are you sure? I don’t want to be fed blind hopes."

"I swear," I said, raising my fingers in a vow.

Then, with a wry smile, I added, "But what's in it for me, Mr. Royce?"

The question stunned him. He blinked, clearly caught off guard by my demand.