The Heart of A Disabled Billionaire

Isabella Monroe While everyone’s stories started at dates and engagement parties, mine started off right away at the altar. The only difference here was that mine felt more like a funeral, a joke, a forced façade than a wedding, with me drowning in an overwhelming flowing white laced bridal gown that didn’t belong to me. Never belonged to me. The ballroom sparkled with crystal chandeliers, marbled floors that stretched across the estate, the clinking of expensive glasses, and the echoing of laughter as slow music began playing in the background. Any external party would think this was a dream come true, given the ridiculous amount of money invested into this and the number of prominent figures showing up for this event, but really, it was quite the opposite; it was a nightmare come true. Like their two-faced selves, they did their best to cover the bitter reality behind the façade with tonight’s performance, but as a pawn in both sides of their worlds, I already knew the game and how it was played. I could smell the scornful murmurs behind each raised glass, their amused, taunting glances—watching, waiting. My heart pounded, the sound ringing in my ears as my cheeks flushed with embarrassment and anger. In reality, the ballroom was filled with filthy, greedy socialites, nosy royals, and possible rivals who had come from empires around the world for this event. With jaws clenched, I took a deep breath and walked down the golden stairs into their full view, the smile on my face barely reaching my eyes as I approached the rows of elites. Don’t listen to them, Isabella. Don’t look up. Just keep your head low and maybe they’ll stop. But the whispers and laughter grew louder as my fingers trembled around the bouquet held tightly in my grip, my gaze glued firmly to the marbled floors—away from the eyes waiting for me to bolt out the doors in tears. However, that wasn’t going to happen. Not that I had a chance or a plan or place to run to anyway. The last place I wanted to go to was my family’s—not after everything they’ve done. To them, my older sister was more suitable for a heiress than me. She was the impeccable child, the golden child, the beautiful one. I doubt they wanted me back. They made that pretty clear when they didn’t hesitate to accept the Harts’ proposals. The rules were simple; no questions asked, and no is not an option. All I needed to do was get married to this Nathaniel of a guy, forge an alliance between my family and his, and try not to get targeted by the swarm of rivals on their backs. The music slowly became distant to my hearing as I dragged my feet across the floor, resisting the urge to run away through the doors behind me as the grand table appeared before my view. Nervously, I bit the insides of my cheeks before taking a deep breath, gathering the courage to scan the familiar faces seated, their darkened gazes moving between me and the man at my side—the man who had barely looked at me once or said a thing throughout the night. Nathaniel Hart. My supposed husband. He’d been so quiet that I forgot for a moment I’d not been alone. According to reports, he once stood as an heir to wealth and power beyond any elite’s imagination and control—a shining beacon of the Hart family legacy. He had been untouchable. Ruthless. Untamed. Charismatic, especially with his sinful Greek god sculpture of a body. He was the Golden Heir. But once was a long time ago. Now, he sat motionless in a wheelchair, his charisma gone and his aura an insufferable one. His once vibrant blue eyes were now replaced with a cold glaze as he stared off in the distance, obviously uninterested in our marriage, as he was just like me, a pawn in the hand of his family, unable to break free from their cruel, little games. This was not the wedding I had imagined as a little girl. I had fantasized it as a fairytale—a romantic getaway from life—one filled with nervous glances and giggles, stares filled with love and admiration, a hopeful future—our future—brought to life, not from the will of society or our families, but from our control. Our decisions. I snapped back to reality, blinking rapidly as the officiant cleared his throat, an indication that the ceremony was finally about to begin. I watched as Nathaniel’s jaw tightened, his hands gripping the wheels of his chair as the music slowed to a halt. He’d refused assistance from everyone tonight, including me, wheeling himself at a painfully slow pace. And unlike the early hours of the night, the room became silent, the hushed whispers reducing to small gasps as they eyed Nathaniel’s movements with different emotions: pity, amusement, disgust, mockery….you name it. Then suddenly, it all clicked. They’d been more interested in Nathaniel’s case than mine. The whispers started again, and this time, they were clearer. “Poor Isabella…she was already living a miserable life and got thrown into more misery...” “Thrown to a man who can’t even stand? How will he be able to protect her if he can’t even protect himself?” “Ha, they’re the perfect match if I do say so myself. Misfits meant for each other.” “The Monroes must have been really desperate to stoop this low. What future could the Harts possibly have when their heir is literally a cripple?” The venomous murmurs sliced through the air without mercy, as it was done for a drama already worse than this to play out, to feed their cruel amusement as though we were puppets strung up for their entertainment. And as if fate heard their wishes, a woman in an emerald gown stood up from the table, the dim glow of the chandelier highlighting the model-like features of her face and her grey eyes swirling with mischief as she threw a smirk towards us. Great. Just great. Another figure to be added to the list of who not to cross paths with. Evelyn Hart. Nathaniel’s aunt. His self-appointed executioner. She tilted her head and watched with twitching lips as I glared towards her direction. “Smile dear. This is meant to be the happiest day of your life. Remember that even a green ogre got a happily-ever-after!” She ‘whispered’ behind my passing figure, drawing out a loud ripple of laughter across the room. Breathe, Isabella. Breathe. Remember, Father’s watching…the last thing you want is to end up on the streets. The voice at the back of my head cautioned as I turned to Nathaniel, who was already staring in her direction. Evelyn must have seen this because she gently placed her fingers on her lips and made another comment, but this time directed towards Nathaniel, “I wonder how the Harts will survive with no grandchildren if the groom in question can’t even walk himself to the altar. What a tragedy. He was once a rising star.” I gasped in disbelief and my eyes widened at the audacious comment. I knew she was petty, but not this petty. However, Nathaniel didn’t react. His face remained unreadable and stoic, too cold to have a glimpse into his mind. It was as if the words didn’t mean anything to him like he was used to hearing things like these already. But then I saw it. The faint tension from the clenching of his jaw, and the way his fingers secretly curled underneath the armrest of his wheelchair, as if he was one inch into letting out all his suppressed emotions. Evelyn wasn’t just throwing insults to his face. She was reminding everyone—his alliances, his partners, his friends, family, and even his rivals, that he was no longer a threat, a competition, a legacy, in their world. He was now a liability. And that I, Isabella Monroe, was just a trophy for him to pat his back for his efforts in making it this far. “Do you, Isabella Monroe, take Nathaniel Hart as your lawfully wedded husband?” An uncomfortable silence fell across the room as the officiant asked the big question. Now, I should have said no. Any normal person in my situation would have done so. But I already knew what was at stake. I knew what saying no would mean and do to my reputation, his reputation, and my family’s. So, with a forced smile, I lifted my chin, ignoring the probing ears leaning in too comfortably to hear my response, and whispered the only option provided for me. “I do.”