PART 1: A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL

Chapter 1: The Contract of Sale

Rain poured relentlessly onto the streets of Manhattan, washing away the day’s grime but failing to cleanse the despair clinging to me. My name is Clara Evans, 24 years old, once a promising Juilliard student with dreams of becoming a concert pianist. But tonight, I was just a debtor.

My father, a gentle man all his life, had been swept up in a massive cryptocurrency scam. He didn’t just lose his retirement savings; he borrowed from loan sharks who didn’t know the meaning of a joke. 5 million dollars. That was the price for his life, and mine.

“Ms. Evans,” the lawyer’s cold voice rang out in the luxurious but stifling oak-paneled meeting room. “Mr. Alexander Sterling does not have much patience. This is your only chance.”

I looked down at the contract on the table. The words danced before my eyes like mocking worms.

Marriage Subject: Sir Arthur Sterling. Age: 72. Health Condition: Hemiplegia, Stage 3 heart failure, requires 24/7 special care. Terms: Legal marriage, care for Sir Arthur until his passing. In exchange: The entire debt of the Evans family will be paid immediately.

Arthur Sterling. The name was a legend, and a nightmare of New York. A notoriously ruthless oil tycoon, rumored to have a disfigured face after a mysterious accident ten years ago and living in seclusion at the Blackwood estate upstate. They said he was an old, difficult, and insane monster.

“Why me?” I asked, my voice trembling, hands clutching my cheap dress.

The lawyer adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. “Because Sir Arthur needs a clean wife, with a simple background and most importantly… someone at a dead end. He doesn’t want the usual gold diggers. He wants someone indebted to him.”

I thought of my father lying in the hospital with a broken leg – the creditors’ first warning. I thought of my piano-playing hands, which they threatened to smash tomorrow if there was no money.

I picked up the pen. Tears fell, smudging my signature. I had just sold my soul to a 70-year-old man.

Chapter 2: Wedding in the Shadows

The wedding took place three days later, at the private chapel on the grounds of the Blackwood estate.

No flowers, no guests, no joyous Mendelssohn music. Only the sound of thunder rumbling outside the stained-glass windows and rain lashing against the roof like leather whips.

I wore a pristine white wedding dress prepared by the lawyer. It was beautiful, expensive, but cold as a shroud. I walked down the aisle, toward the altar where the priest was waiting.

And there, sitting in the most modern electric wheelchair, was my husband.

Arthur Sterling.

He was completely covered in a thick black wool blanket, even though the fireplace in the chapel was roaring. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, and his face was obscured by a thick veil – something usually meant for the bride, but here, for the groom. I could only see wrinkled, skeletal hands in leather gloves trembling on the wheelchair armrests.

His breathing sounded wheezy and heavy through the fabric, like the bellows of a dilapidated forge.

“Do you take this man…” The priest’s voice was monotone, emotionless.

“I do,” I whispered, feeling my heart breaking into pieces.

When it was Arthur’s turn, he couldn’t speak. He only gave a weak nod, and the butler standing next to him – a middle-aged man with a face of stone named Marcus – placed the giant diamond ring on my finger on his behalf.

The ring was icy cold, heavy, like a golden handcuff.

Immediately after the ceremony, Marcus wheeled Arthur away, leaving me standing alone in the chapel.

“Madam,” Marcus turned back, bowing but his eyes held no respect. “Sir Arthur needs to rest. Dinner will be served in your private room. Tonight… is the wedding night. Please be prepared. He does not like to wait.”

I shuddered. Wedding night. With a paralyzed 70-year-old man. I dared not imagine what would happen. Would he force me to serve some perverse old man’s fetish? Or did he just want to torment me to satisfy his impotence?

Chapter 3: The Forbidden Room

Night fell, and the Blackwood estate plunged into thick darkness. I was led to the master bedroom in the West Wing of the castle.

The room was vast, decorated in Gothic style with crimson velvet curtains and intricately carved ebony furniture. In the middle of the room was a massive King-sized bed, covered in jet-black silk sheets.

On the bed, a figure lay motionless under the thick duvet.

I stood at the door, my heart pounding as if it wanted to jump out of my chest. I had showered, wearing the thin silk nightgown they prepared. I felt like a sacrificial offering stepping onto the altar.

“Come here…” A voice spoke from the bed.

The voice wasn’t wheezy like in the chapel. It was deep, raspy, and carried a strange timbre, like an echo from an abyss. Perhaps due to a hearing aid or some voice assist device.

I swallowed hard, taking heavy steps toward the bed.

“Mr. Sterling,” I stammered. “I… I have arrived.”

The person on the bed didn’t move. Only the steady hiss of the oxygen machine.

“Turn off the lights. Leave only the night lamp,” the voice spoke again.

I obeyed. The weak yellow light from the bedside lamp was just enough to illuminate the shape of the mass under the blanket.

I approached the edge of the bed. The smell of antiseptic and faint sandalwood filled the air.

“Are you afraid of me?”

“I… no,” I lied.

“Liar,” the voice seemed mocking. “You think I’m an old monster, don’t you? You married me only for money.”

“I married you to save my father,” I replied, a bit of courage creeping into my voice. “It was a fair transaction.”

“Fair…” The man chuckled softly, a bitter laugh. “Alright, Clara. Fulfill your duty. Get in bed.”

I bit my lip until it bled. I slowly climbed onto the vast bed, lying down next to him. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for wrinkled hands to touch my skin.

But nothing happened.

One minute. Two minutes. Five minutes passed.

The silence became suffocating. I opened my eyes a crack. The man still lay still, his back to me.

“Pull the blanket off,” he ordered. “I’m hot.”

I hesitated. I was afraid to see his aged, diseased body, perhaps ulcerated or deformed. But I dared not disobey.

I reached out, grabbing the edge of the thick black velvet duvet.

“God help me,” I prayed silently.

I threw the blanket back.

And my world stopped turning.

Meeting my eyes was not the emaciated, skin-and-bones body of a 70-year-old man.

Under the dim night light, I saw a broad, toned back with rippling muscles. Healthy bronze skin, though marred by jagged scars running down the spine, but it was the body of a young man, in his prime.

My jaw dropped, unable to believe my eyes. I recoiled, nearly falling off the bed.

The man slowly turned around.

The oxygen mask had been removed, revealing an angular face, breathtakingly masculine. Deep ocean-blue eyes, a high straight nose, and arrogant thin lips. He looked at me, his gaze sharp and full of life.

He was not 72-year-old Arthur Sterling.

This man was only about 28, 30 at most.

“You… you…” I stammered, pointing at him. “Who are you? Where is Mr. Arthur?”

The man smirked, a dangerous smile. He pushed himself up to sit. I glanced down. His legs… they were atrophied and immobile, lying lifeless on the sheets. At least the “paralyzed” part was true.

“I am Arthur Sterling,” he said, his deep voice full of authority. “More precisely, I am Arthur Sterling the Third. Grandson of the man you think you married.”

“What?” I panicked. “But the contract… the wedding…”

“My grandfather, Arthur Sterling the First, passed away three months ago,” he said casually as if discussing the weather. “But that news hasn’t been announced. If the shareholders know he’s dead, the corporation will collapse. And more importantly, the people who caused the accident for me and my grandfather will return to ‘finish the job’.”

He looked straight into my eyes, his gaze boring deep into my soul.

“Therefore, I needed a stand-in. A wife in name only for ‘Grandfather’ to distract the public, while I run everything from the shadows. Welcome to hell, wifey.”

I was stunned. I didn’t marry a dying old man. I married a young ghost, full of power and danger. And worse, I knew his biggest secret.

“Are… are you going to kill me?” I asked, voice trembling.

Arthur – or young Arthur – laughed. He reached out, suddenly grabbing my wrist, pulling me hard towards him. Our faces were only centimeters apart. I could feel his hot breath.

“Kill you?” He whispered. “No, Clara. You cost me 5 million dollars. I don’t squander money like that. You will have to work to pay off the debt. From now on, you are my legs, my shield, and the only person in this world who knows I am alive.”

He let go of my hand, lay back on the pillow, pulling the blanket up to his chest.

“Now sleep. Don’t think about running away. Marcus is guarding outside, and these woods have wolves.”

I sat there, curled up in the dark, watching the stranger husband drifting into sleep. Outside, thunder rumbled again. My life had just turned in a direction I never expected.

PART 2: THE GILDED CAGE AND THE SECRETS

Chapter 4: Under the Mask

My life at the Blackwood estate quickly fell into a strange and tense trajectory. By day, I played the devoted wife of 72-year-old “Sir Arthur Sterling.” I pushed the empty wheelchair (disguised with pillows and blankets) for walks around the garden to fool the paparazzi hiding behind the cypress hedges. I answered calls from partners, relaying instructions that “young” Arthur had pre-written.

By night, I returned to the vast bedroom, where my real husband was running an entire empire from the shadows.

Arthur Sterling III was not a pleasant person. He was arrogant, grumpy, and suspicious. The car accident three months ago not only took his legs but also his faith in humanity. He turned the bedroom into a command center with dozens of computer screens, tracking every fluctuation of the stock market and the enemies waiting to tear the corporation apart.

“Ms. Evans, where is my coffee?” Arthur snapped when I entered the room.

“My name is Clara,” I retorted, placing the cup of black, sugar-free coffee on his desk. “And please say ‘please’.”

Arthur looked up, his deep blue eyes staring at me. “Are you lecturing me?”

“I am teaching you how to behave like a human being, instead of a money-making machine,” I said, unflinching. Over the past week, I realized Arthur only blustered on the outside. He was actually very lonely.

Arthur smirked, picking up the coffee cup. “Fine, Clara. Thank you. Now come here, I need you to change my dressing.”

It was the only moment he revealed weakness. The wound on his spine still frequently ached. Every time I gently cleaned and applied medicine to that scar-ridden back, I felt his muscles tense up from pain.

“Why don’t you take painkillers?” I asked softly.

“Drugs dull the mind,” Arthur gritted his teeth. “I need to be alert. Thomas – my biological uncle – is getting suspicious. He has people checking Grandfather’s medical records.”

Thomas Sterling. The name Arthur mentioned with extreme hatred. He was the one who cut the brake lines of Arthur and his grandfather’s car. He wanted to seize the position of Chairman of Sterling Energy Group.

“What will we do?”

“We will wait,” Arthur said, turning to look at me. The distance between us was very close. I saw the fatigue hidden behind his tough exterior. “And while we wait… would you like to play a piece?”

I was surprised. “How did you know?”

Arthur pointed to a dark corner of the room. There, covered under a velvet cloth, was a shiny black Steinway & Sons grand piano.

“I had it brought from the old concert hall. The sound of rain here is too sad. I need a different sound.”

I walked to the piano, stroking the cold ivory keys. How long had it been since I played? Since my father went bankrupt.

I sat down. My fingers glided over the keys, Chopin’s Nocturne rang out, melancholic but beautiful, filling the void between two lonely souls in the vast room.

When I finished, I turned around. Arthur had his eyes closed, head resting on the chair, his face strangely peaceful.

“Don’t stop,” he whispered. “Please.”

And just like that, music became the bridge between us.

Chapter 5: The Uninvited Guest

That fragile peace was shattered on a stormy afternoon.

Marcus rushed into the room. “Young master, Mr. Thomas is here. He came with two lawyers and… the local sheriff.”

Arthur’s face hardened. “He came sooner than I thought. He wants to confirm Grandfather’s death.”

“What do we do?” I panicked. “You can’t show your face.”

“No,” Arthur said, his eyes cold. “He wants to meet 72-year-old Arthur Sterling? He will get his wish. Clara, prepare the makeup.”

Fifteen minutes later, Thomas Sterling – a portly man with crafty slit eyes – burst into the grand living room.

“Sister-in-law!” He called me with a sarcastic tone. “Heard my older brother is very sick. As a younger brother, I have a responsibility to visit, don’t I? Or… is he already dead and you’re hiding it?”

“He is resting,” I stood blocking the bedroom door, trying to keep my voice calm. “The doctor said no disturbances.”

“Move!” Thomas shoved me aside hard. He signaled to the sheriff. “Go in and check. I suspect foul play here.”

The bedroom door burst open.

The room was pitch black, curtains drawn tight. Only the sound of the oxygen machine hissing and the strong smell of medicine.

On the bed, an old figure lay there. Sparse white hair, wrinkled skin full of age spots (thanks to the exquisite silicone makeup Arthur had prepared beforehand).

“Arthur?” Thomas stepped closer, shining a flashlight on the face of the person on the bed.

The person on the bed slowly opened his eyes. A pair of cloudy, listless eyes. A trembling hand raised, pointing straight at Thomas’s face.

“Get out…” A hoarse, weak but authoritative voice rang out (thanks to a voice modulation device attached under the neck). “Get out of my house… you traitor…”

Thomas flinched and stepped back. He went pale. That was exactly his brother’s tone and gaze.

“But… but…” Thomas stammered. He was certain his brother died in the accident.

“You heard him,” I stepped forward, voice steely. “My husband is still alive. And he doesn’t want to see you. Please leave.”

The sheriff looked at Thomas, shrugging. “Mr. Sterling, it seems you were mistaken. Sir Arthur is still very much alive there.”

Thomas ground his teeth, staring at the person on the bed one more time with suspicion and fear. But he dared not do anything more in front of the police.

“Fine,” he hissed. “Just wait. Let’s see how long you live.”

He turned and left with his entourage.

When the sound of their cars faded completely, I hurriedly closed the door and turned on the lights.

Arthur ripped off the silicone mask, gasping for air. Sweat drenched his forehead. Having to fake the voice and control facial muscles through the thick makeup exhausted him.

“Are you okay?” I anxiously wiped his sweat.

Arthur grabbed my wrist. His hand was burning hot.

“He won’t stop,” Arthur said, eyes blazing. “He saw the fear in my eyes just now. Not fear of him, but fear of losing control of my body. He knows that ‘old man’ can’t live long. He will attack the weakest point.”

“What weakest point?”

Arthur looked at me, his gaze softening, containing a worry I had never seen.

“It’s you, Clara. He will target you.”

Chapter 6: Palpitations

Arthur’s warning came true in the cruelest way.

Three days later, I received news from the hospital. My father “fell” in the hospital restroom, suffered a traumatic brain injury, and was in a deep coma. At the same time, a new debt of 2 million dollars fell from the sky onto my head, with my forged signature.

Thomas was tightening the noose. He wanted me to betray Arthur, or he would kill my father.

I sat by Arthur’s bed, sobbing.

“What do I do? My father…”

Arthur said nothing. He silently pulled me into his arms. For the first time, he hugged me. His embrace was solid and warm, my only shelter in this storm.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered into my hair. “I promised to protect your family. I won’t go back on my word.”

“But you are paralyzed, you are in hiding…”

“My legs are paralyzed, Clara. Not my brain.” Arthur lifted my chin, looking deep into my eyes. “Trust me. Give me 24 hours. I will make Thomas regret touching what is mine.”

That night, Arthur worked all night. The sound of keyboard typing mingled with the rain. I sat beside him, making coffee for him, occasionally massaging his shoulders.

Near morning, Arthur turned to me.

“Come here.”

I stepped closer. He pulled me to sit on his lap (even though his legs had no sensation, his hips and upper body were still very strong). He wrapped his arms around my waist.

“Clara,” he said, voice hoarse from fatigue but full of emotion. “When this is all over… do you want to stay? Or will you take the money and leave?”

My heart pounded. I looked into those deep blue eyes, looked at the scars on his handsome face, and I realized I had fallen in love with this man in the shadows without knowing when.

“I signed a lifetime contract,” I smiled, placing my hand on his chest. “I don’t have a habit of breaking contracts.”

Arthur laughed. He leaned down, and this time, our kiss was no longer coercion or a deal. It was an affirmation, a vow between two accomplices.

But happiness was short-lived. The next morning, the security system’s red alarm screamed.

Thomas had returned. And this time, he didn’t come with lawyers. He came with a team of armed mercenaries.

He didn’t need evidence anymore. He decided to use brute force to seize Blackwood.

PART 3: THE TABLE TURNED

Chapter 7: The Siege

Gunshots rang out sharply at the main gate, tearing apart the silence of the misty morning. Marcus rushed into the room, holding a handgun, a bloodstain on the shoulder of his suit jacket.

“Young master! They breached security gate number 1. The phone and internet systems are cut. We are isolated.”

Arthur did not panic. He calmly wheeled his chair to the control desk, typing a sequence of commands.

“Activate protocol ‘Fortress’,” he ordered. “Marcus, take Clara to the shelter.”

“No!” I screamed, gripping his wheelchair armrest tight. “I’m not going anywhere. I am your legs. I will stay here.”

Arthur looked at me, his gaze torn. “Clara, this is not a joke. Thomas will kill us all to silence witnesses.”

“Then we will die together,” I said resolutely, taking out the pistol from the drawer that Arthur had taught me to use last week.

Arthur looked at the gun in my hand, then laughed. An arrogant laugh of an alpha wolf.

“Very well, wifey. If you want to play, we will play big.”

He turned to Marcus. “Marcus, you know what to do. Lure them into the main hall. Don’t let them get to the second floor.”

Thomas and his mercenaries – about 10 of them – quickly flooded into the castle. They smashed furniture, shot up precious paintings. Thomas walked in the middle, holding a megaphone shouting:

“Arthur! I know you’re dead! And your fake wife is hiding your body! Come out and surrender, and I’ll spare that girl’s life!”

He still thought the person hiding in the room was a 72-year-old man.

Arthur cut the power to the entire building. Only the dim light from the lightning outside remained.

We watched via infrared cameras. Thomas’s soldiers were groping their way up the grand staircase.

“Now,” Arthur whispered. He pressed a red button on the control panel.

Bam! Bam!

The old castle’s mechanical trap system was activated. Steel nets dropped from the main hall ceiling, trapping the 5 leading soldiers. Tear gas sprayed from decorative statues.

Coughing and cursing erupted in chaos.

“What the hell is this?” Thomas screamed, backing behind the remaining soldiers. “Cut the nets! Find and kill them!”

The remaining 5 soldiers, wearing gas masks, continued up to the second floor. They shot out the lock of the master bedroom door.

Arthur and I were waiting.

But not in the bedroom. We were hiding behind a secret wall connecting the bedroom and the library.

When the soldiers burst into the empty bedroom and began spraying bullets at the bed (where Arthur had placed body pillows), Arthur activated his wheelchair.

Not an ordinary wheelchair. Arthur had modified it. From the two armrests, two mini machine gun barrels rose up.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Arthur said over the loudspeaker.

And he opened fire.

Rubber-coated steel bullets (Arthur didn’t want to kill people in his house if not necessary, but enough to break bones) rained down. The soldiers were caught off guard, falling like dominos.

I stood behind him, assisting with reloading and watching his back. We coordinated seamlessly like a pair of professional assassins.

Thomas, hearing the gunfire and the agonized screams of his soldiers, was terrified. He intended to turn and run.

But Marcus had blocked his retreat at the stairs.

Chapter 8: The Truth Revealed

Ten minutes later, the smoke cleared.

Thomas was tied up, kneeling in the middle of the ruined living room. His mercenaries lay groaning everywhere.

Arthur slowly wheeled his chair out of the shadows. This time, he wore no mask. He appeared with his real face – Arthur Sterling III.

Thomas looked up, and his eyes opened wide, as if his eyeballs were about to pop out.

“You… you…” He stammered, face drained of blood. “Arthur? You… you’re alive? But… your legs…”

“Surprised, Uncle Thomas?” Arthur said, his voice cold as ice. He stopped the wheelchair right in front of him. “Did you think you killed both my grandfather and me in that accident? You only killed Grandfather. As for me… I survived to wait for this day.”

“Impossible… I saw the autopsy report…”

“Money can buy many things, including a fake autopsy report,” Arthur smirked. “I let you believe I was dead, and Grandfather was only severely injured. I let you get complacent, so you would reveal all your dirty deals, the embezzled funds, and the proof you hired someone to cut the brake lines.”

Arthur threw a thick file down in front of Thomas.

“It’s all here. Copies were sent to the FBI and the press 5 minutes ago, as soon as the network was restored.”

Thomas trembled. He knew he had lost. Lost everything.

“You… you bastard…” He roared, intending to lunge and bite Arthur in final desperation.

But I stepped forward, pointing the gun barrel straight at his forehead.

“Don’t. Move,” I said, my hand not shaking at all. “You hurt my father. You destroyed my family. One more move, and I won’t be shooting rubber bullets.”

Thomas looked into my eyes – the eyes of a woman cornered who had risen up strong. He slowly slumped to the floor, crying like a child.

Police sirens wailed in the distance, getting closer.

Arthur reached out and took my hand, lowering the gun.

“Enough, Clara. He’s not worth dirtying your hands.”

I dropped the gun, burst into tears, and hugged his neck. Arthur held me tight, kissing my hair. Amidst the ruins of the battle, we had won.

Chapter 9: A New Dawn

Six months later.

Spring had returned to the Blackwood estate. The old oak trees sprouted lush green leaves, and the garden was planted full of roses – my favorite flower.

Thomas Sterling was sentenced to life imprisonment for murder and a series of economic crimes. My father woke up from his coma, and thanks to the care of the best doctors Arthur hired, he was gradually recovering. My family’s debt, of course, had vanished.

I was sitting at the Steinway, playing Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. The afternoon sun shone through the window, dyeing the room gold.

The door opened. Arthur wheeled in. He looked healthier and more radiant than ever. His eyes were no longer gloomy, but sparkling with joy.

“You played beautifully,” he said, handing me a bouquet of crimson roses.

“Thank you,” I smiled, accepting the flowers.

Arthur took my hand, kissing the finger wearing the ring.

“Clara, I have good news and bad news.”

“Bad news first,” I said nervously.

“The bad news is… our marriage contract has expired. Because ‘Mr. Arthur’ has been announced dead from old age, and I – Arthur the Third – have officially taken over the corporation. Legally, you are my grandfather’s widow.”

I bowed my head, feeling a sadness creep in. So… it’s over? I have to leave?

“And the good news?” I asked softly.

Arthur smiled mysteriously. He took a small velvet box from his pocket.

“The good news is… new medical technology in Switzerland can help me recover 70% of my walking ability with a support frame. And more importantly…”

Arthur placed his hands on the wheelchair armrests. He gritted his teeth, using all the strength of his arm and hip muscles. His body trembled, but slowly, bit by bit… he stood up.

I covered my mouth with my hand, tears welling up. He was standing. Tall and towering in front of me.

Arthur wobbled a bit, but he steadied himself. He opened the velvet box. Inside was a new ring. Simple, modern, but sparkling.

“More importantly… I want to sign a new contract. With Clara Evans. Terms: Be the wife of Arthur Sterling III. Duration: Forever. Benefit: My heart.”

“Will you marry me, Clara? For real this time?”

I dropped the roses, rushing into his arms. We fell onto the thick carpet, but laughter filled the room.

“I agree! I agree!”

Outside the window, birds sang. The gloomy winter of Blackwood had passed. A warm summer was beginning.