Bought By The Paralyzed Billionaire

Chapter 2

ADAM'S POV

Riley Monroe. Daughter of Mr. Andrew, one of the most narcissistic tech CEOs I’ve ever crossed paths with.

“What was that?” Conrad’s voice cut through my thoughts as he gripped the handles of my wheelchair.

My bodyguards skidded to a halt in front of us, apologies already tumbling from their lips. I held up a single hand, silencing them instantly. My gaze was still tracking the space where she’d vanished.

“It’s fine,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended. The usual sharp reprimand died on my tongue.

I’d been moments from unleashing hell over the phone for a delayed report when she appeared. A whirlwind of golden hair and startling defiance, looking at me not with the pity or greed I was accustomed to, but with pure, unadulterated annoyance. And then, beneath that, a concern so authentic it had momentarily short-circuited my cynicism.

It’s been a decade since anyone looked at me and saw a man first, a wallet second, and a wheelchair a distant third. That kind of sincerity is a currency that can’t be bought. And I am a man who recognizes valuable assets.

"Take me to the car," I ordered.

"No, no. I've got him. You two, make yourselves useful elsewhere," Conrad said, waving the guards away before they could move.

He began wheeling me toward the exit.

"Who was the lady?" he asked, unable to help himself. "She looked familiar."

I almost smiled. "A rare breed."

"Please tell me you're not planning to add another paid companion to your roster, Adam." His tone was laced with that familiar, weary disapproval.

I let out a short, humorless laugh. "And if I am? Would it be worse than you wasting your fortune on another vintage sports car you'll never drive faster than the speed limit?"

"Don't deflect. My cars don't have feelings. Your money could build hospitals. Instead, you use it to rent affection."

"Ah, but rented affection is predictable, clean, and comes with a detailed contract," I countered, my voice smooth. "It’s infinitely safer than the real thing, which has a nasty habit of driving sports cars off cliffs." The old ache in my spine throbbed in time with the memory.

The carelessness that had claimed my leg. I immediately shake away the sour thought.

He dragged a hand down his face. "I'm talking about finding a real wife. You're almost thirty-five."

"And you're thirty-six and unmarried," I pointed out, not for the first time.

"At least I have a girlfriend who isn't on a retainer!"

"Get me into the car, Conrad, or find someone who will."

He complied, heaving me into the passenger seat before sliding in beside me. As the engine purred to life, I stared out at the city. Who would willingly chain themselves to a man whose own body was a gilded cage?

The doctors had given me false hope that I’d be normal again, but it’s been ten years since the accident, ten years since everything fell apart. Yet here I am, still the same.

I tapped my knuckles against the window. "Conrad?"

"Are you finally ready to listen to reason?"

"That dinner party at Andrew Monroe's tonight. Do you still need a plus-one?"

He raised a brow, studying the cunning smile I couldn't suppress. "What's going on in that diabolical mind of yours?"

I looked away, a low chuckle escaping me. "Count me in."

"And the investor prep meeting?"

"It can wait."

There was something about Riley Monroe—a fire behind the tears, a strength in her defiance—that was a puzzle I desperately wanted to solve.

Maybe it was the sincerity. Or maybe it was the desperate secret she was trying so hard to hide.

________

RILEY'S POV

It’s the third time I’m calling Ray, yet his phone is still switched off.

I guess I’ll have to enter in unannounced. Adjusting my bag on my shoulder, I step into the elevator that leads to his apartment on the top floor of the condominium.

I shut my eyes briefly, grazing the pendant around my neck—the one Mother gave me before she died.

I wonder how he’ll react to this news. Maybe he’ll finally propose to me. I’ve always longed to bear his name.

My cheeks ache as blush spreads across them. Soon enough, the elevator doors slide open and I walk toward his apartment.

Black flats.

My gaze narrows at the shoes in front of his door. They look exactly like Diana’s—my stepsister’s flats.

But then again, there must be thousands of the same kind in the world. Maybe his sister is visiting.

I shrug lightly and press the doorbell. Instantly, I hear hurried, disoriented movements inside, followed by hushed whispers.

"I thought you said no one would disturb us?"

My heart races at the sound of Diana’s voice.

"I’m not expecting anyone. Dang! I’m sorry, baby," Ray replies softly.

I stumble back, the world fading into a deadly silence. No. No, it can’t be what I’m thinking.

Ray opens the door, dressed only in his briefs. The moment he sees me, his eyes widen. He looks down at his briefs, his jaw tightening as he looks back at me.

"Ri… Riley?"

My eyes blur with sorrow as my fears come true.

Diana pushes the door further open, wearing nothing but a towel. She folds her arms across her chest and smirks cruelly.

" Why, look who we have here."