Married To The Crippled Billionaire

CHAPTER SIX: FAR FROM HOME

Dario's words, "You are not permitted to return home," were like a whip”. He must be joking. I thought to myself as I waited on the civil office step, expecting him to tell me he was joking.

The cold evening breeze made me feverish, my breath clouding in the sharp spring air, my heart hammering against my chest.

"You're not allowed to go back home." He repeated it as if he could hear my thoughts. When I thought he was kidding, he looked me in the eye and made it clear that he wasn't.

Dario's icy, unforgiving eyes held me in place, his wheelchair a quiet anchor against the streetlamp's light.

The nightly pulse of the city, with its distant shouting and automobile horns, made me feel as though I was no longer a part of it.

His command reverberated in my head as I gripped my coat with shaking fingers. Not allowed? I nodded my head in agreement, my voice rougher than I had intended and cracking beneath the weight of resistance as I murmured, "No." "I must return. My belongings—books, clothes, laptop, and work equipment—he can't simply say "not permitted" because I need to carry a lot of things. Even though he hurt me, I wanted to go back and read those love letters again.

The name was a wound torn open, burning. Up until the day of the wedding, when the words smashed into me like a tidal wave, he had been my future and my ideal of love. It's accurate.

He uttered... As if our years together were inconsequential, I must wed her. Our recollections of the betrayal were still raw, a terrible link to a deceitful love.

A glimmer of irritation appeared on Dario's face as his jaw tightened. With his hands steady on the armrests of the wheelchair, he made a little, intentional movement.

"Those things don't matter," he said quietly, confidently sheathing his blade. "Now you begin anew."

Another incredulous one. I stepped closer, my rage erupting, and yelled, "My past isn't yours to erase." "You settled our debts and covered my father's surgery, but that doesn't make me your property." With the weight of Matthew's treachery and my father's weak breaths, my words faltered; I wasn't anyone's to order, not after losing so much.

His eyes were like a chess master evaluating a move as he scrutinized me. I briefly believed he would dispute, but instead, he swiveled his wheelchair in the direction of a sleek black SUV that was parked close by, its driver standing there like a shadow.

Without turning around, he said in a definitive tone, "Get in." I stumbled, my feet planted firmly. A voice murmured, "Run, but where?"

Dario's wealth was crucial to my father's survival, and I had nowhere else to turn because of Matthew's brutality. I followed, slipping into the leather cabin of the SUV with a trembling breath.

With experienced ease, the driver assisted Dario as he moved into the front. We were encased in a cocoon of quiet when the door closed.

As we travel through various locations, I lean my head against the window and gaze. I was feeling anxious and imprisoned, but I was also standing by what I said. I'm going home, but I have to talk to myself first. I was trying to find the right words to say, but I was still saying them in my brain. I was eventually relieved to say

"I'm going home first," but I avoided making eye contact and instead gazed out the window at the city's fading lights. "I have to pack. I can't be stopped.

A glimmer of revolt fuelled my voice as it steadied. I thought about my flat, with its worn-out mugs, the cozy armchair, and the photo of my dad and me on my first promotion at work. I had many memories there that I wouldn't let Dario take away. I assumed he hadn't heard me because he didn't respond right away.

The buzz of the SUV's engine was a quiet contrast to my pounding heartbeat.

At last, he spoke in a calm but authoritative tone. "Take us to the Velluto Hotel, driver.

My gut twisted as I turned. "Velluto”? My address is not there. "I need," I said.

With his gaze fixed forward, he interrupted, "I heard you." "There, you'll find what you need."

Despite being a haven of luxury that I had only seen in glitzy advertisements, the Velluto Hotel was distant from me and my home.

My claws dug into my palms as my hands clenched. "Why do we intend to go there? I'm not your doll to dress up, Dario. I must have my belongings.

In a rare display of anxiety, his fingers drummed the armrest. "Layla, your previous life is over. Embrace it.

When we arrived at the Velluto Hotel, I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I was unaware of it. Gleaming like a beacon of opulence, the Velluto Hotel loomed ahead, its facade a waterfall of glass and gold.

As Dario pushed his wheelchair onto the sidewalk, someone opened the door to my right. His movements were smooth and authoritative, as though everything were bending to him.

The lavender aroma of well-kept gardens filled the air as I went outside, a sharp contrast to my everyday surroundings. It was pleasant to look around when Dario's words interrupted.

Dario pointed to the gilded doors of the hotel and added, "Inside." His sharp, unfathomable eyes greeted mine, revealing a maelstrom that lurked beneath the stillness.

With a surge of defiance, I crossed my arms. "This is useless. I don't require lodging. Despite the pain, I need Matthew's letters and my parents' house. Why won't you give it to me?

His voice was a faint murmur as he leaned forward. "Because your house is no longer secure." You'll get it soon.

He turned towards the doors, expecting me to follow, before I could press. I did so with heavy steps and a jumble of questions and fear in my head.

With its polished marble, glittering chandeliers, and a magnificent staircase that spiraled upward, the foyer was a picture of luxury.

A well-dressed concierge walked up, her iPad glowing with notes, her smile perfected.

She looked at Dario and said, "Your suite is ready, Ms Layla." "Everything you'll need is set up, including a complete wardrobe and toiletries.”

My breath caught as I gazed. "A wardrobe? I didn't request this. I want my belongings.

With a flash of something darker, control, or a secret he hadn't revealed. Dario spun closer, his eyes penetrating and unwavering. “Buy everything. You’re not going back.”