The Ultimate Cure: A New Husband

To settle a debt of gratitude, Adriana Adler left her first love and married Chris Slater—a man who, by all appearances, was paralyzed from the waist down.

For five years of marriage, he had been her husband. Before that, he'd been the protector she'd known since they were kids. She played her part as his devoted wife—the quiet shadow behind his wheelchair.

Chris was certain that no matter how openly he doted on his ex-fiancée—who had just returned from overseas with a child—Adriana would never leave him. What he didn't know was that in Adriana's heart, only obligation remained. The love had died years ago.

The day the truth came out, she set the divorce papers calmly in front of him.

He panicked. His eyes burned as he grabbed for her, desperate, clinging like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Adriana looked down at his legs—standing firm and strong—and felt a deep, icy quiet fill her chest.

Five years of lies. Five years stolen from the man she truly loved. There would be no forgiveness.

The once-untouchable Chris dropped to one knee, his eyes red-rimmed and raw. "Adriana… you're all I have left."

Her expression didn't waver. Not a flicker of softness crossed her face. She stepped back toward the man she'd never stopped loving, her voice steady.

"But you're not all I have, Chris."

He was the power player all of high society scrambled to please—the one who'd lit up her younger years. He'd always assumed she would love him forever; it never crossed his mind she might walk away.

But the poised, mixed-heritage gentleman who'd loved her all along said nothing. He simply slid a priceless diamond ring onto her finger.

This was the day he had waited five years for. This was the happiness Adriana should have had all along.

"If you want to reconcile with her and start over, I can step aside and make it happen."

Adriana Adler clenched her fists tightly, long lashes lowered as she looked at the man in the wheelchair.

At her words, the gloom in Chris Slater's eyes instantly froze over, a thin layer of ice forming—cold enough to chill the air.

"Do you regret marrying me?" he asked.

She answered without hesitation. "No. Grandma Rosie raised me. I owed her my life."

"So you married me out of gratitude? Out of pity?"

Chris lifted his gaze, sharp and piercing, his handsome face dark with suppressed anger. Though he was seated in a wheelchair, the pressure radiating from him was overwhelming.

Under his stare, Adriana's heart fluttered uneasily. She bit her lip and lowered her head.

Five years ago, a car accident had left Chris paralyzed in both legs. At the time, he had a fiancée. She had a boyfriend of her own.

After Chris's fiancée annulled the engagement, Grandma Rosie—terminally ill—knelt before Adriana and begged her to marry him.

Adriana had no choice. When she was eight, both her parents died. It was Grandma Rosie—her parents' mentor—who found her wandering the streets and took her in, giving her a home.

After the wedding, Grandma Rosie passed away in peace.

Agreeing to the marriage had indeed been an act of repayment. But over five years of living together, Adriana had grown used to Chris's presence—so used to it that dependence quietly took root.

He was her only family in this world. Her only tie.

She had once thought that spending her life this way wouldn't be so bad… until a week ago.

Chris's former fiancée, Joan Hill, returned to the country—bringing with her a little boy just over four years old.

The boy had the Slater family's unmistakable traits: pale skin, deep-set eyes, and rosy, thin lips. Chubby as he was, his bearing was uncannily similar to the Slater brothers'.

Dean Slater, Chris's eldest brother, had been married for eight years and shared a loving relationship with his wife. There was no chance he had cheated with his younger brother's fiancée.

That meant only one thing.

The child had to be Chris's.

"What about that child?" Adriana asked.

"I'll handle it," Chris replied.

Clearly unwilling to continue the discussion, he turned toward the housekeeper, Heidi Ebanks, who stood at the entryway.

"What is it?"

"Miss Hill and the child are here."

Heidi had already been inside for half a minute. Sensing the tense atmosphere, she hadn't dared interrupt.

Chris's brows relaxed, his expression softening.

"Chris!"

As soon as Heidi finished speaking, a small figure darted in from outside and flung himself into Chris's arms, nearly knocking Heidi over.

"Edward, mind your manners," Joan said as she followed in, smiling indulgently. Her gaze clung to Chris, brimming with tenderness. "Chris, thank you for taking us in."

Jimmy Barton, the Slater family driver, carried in two large suitcases. Chris instructed him to take them to the room on the left on the third floor.

Adriana frowned slightly. No one had told her that Joan and her son were coming.

So this was Chris's "arrangement"—moving them into the house without even discussing it with her?

She opened her mouth to speak. The third floor was where she and Chris lived; guests always stayed on the second.

In the end, she said nothing.

Chris was already deep in conversation with Joan and the boy, as if Adriana didn't exist.

The three of them looked more like a family. Standing there, she seemed like the outsider.

She turned to leave. After just two steps, Chris called out to her.

"Adriana, go prepare the room and make sure Joanie and Edward are comfortable."

Joanie. They must be really close.

Adriana stopped short. "I'm tired. I'm going to shower and sleep."

She took care of Chris because of her promise to Grandma Rosie. But serving Joan and her son—how was that any different from being a maid?

Besides, since when did the lady of the house make the bed for an intruder?

"It's fine. Heidi can handle it," Joan said lightly.

She took out a jewelry box and generously handed it to Heidi.

"Heidi, this is a niche brand I brought back from overseas. It's for you."

Heidi recoiled as if she'd seen a ghost, waving her hands repeatedly. "No, no, no—this is my job."

Before Joan could say another word, Heidi took the stairs three at a time toward the third floor, forgetting entirely that there was an elevator.

Joan awkwardly withdrew her hand. "Chris, it seems Edward and I aren't very welcome."

Chris replied gently, "Nonsense! Adriana has always cared about you and Edward."

Adriana pretended not to hear and walked toward the elevator.

It wasn't her who cared. It was Chris.

Ever since Joan and her son returned, the usually cold and distant Chris seemed like a different person.

He took Joan everywhere, personally selecting gifts for her and Edward. One entire wall was filled with her handbags and jewelry; one whole room overflowed with the boy's toys.

He had never been this attentive to anyone before.

That was when Adriana knew—everything had changed.

"Ms. Adler, Chris said you've always wanted a child. You'll like Edward," Joan's voice came from behind.

Adriana didn't turn around.

"As long as Chris likes him," she said.

Then she stepped into the elevator.

So Chris had always known she wanted a child. She had never mentioned it, afraid it would burden him psychologically. He knew—and simply pretended not to.

As the glass elevator slowly ascended, under the bright lights, a softness and tenderness appeared in Chris's eyes—something Adriana had never once seen directed at her.

For five years, she had cared for him in every possible way, personally handling everything. Yet, he had never shown her even a trace of such concern.

Somewhere along the way, she had forgotten that she didn't have to live like this.

The elevator stopped on the third floor. Joan's voice drifted to her ears.

"Five years ago, my parents forced me to break off our engagement and sent me abroad. After I left, I found out I was pregnant with your child. He's our flesh and blood. I couldn't give him up."

Her voice choked with emotion. She crouched down, burying her head against Chris's knees, her body trembling.

Chris slowly raised a hand and rested it on her shoulder.

Joan looked up, tears filling her eyes, fragile and pitiful.

"I thought once Edward was older, my parents would accept him. But the moment I returned, they cut off my cards and threw us out. Chris, I wouldn't have come to trouble you if I had any other choice. I'm not afraid of hardship, but Edward is still so young…"

Chris brushed her cheek with his thumb, wiping away her tears.

"I'm here. Don't be afraid."

Standing by the third-floor railing, Adriana watched the scene, a chill spreading through her chest.

Her nails scraped unconsciously against the railing, nearly snapping.

"Madam, don't worry. I'll stand on your side," Heidi said softly, appearing beside her at some point, her eyes full of sympathy.

She had worked for the Slater family for over twenty years, first serving Madam Rosie. Before passing away, Rosie had instructed her to continue looking after Chris and Adriana.

Heidi had watched Adriana grow up and knew she was a kind, sensible child.

Adriana pressed her lips together and smiled faintly.

Chris wasn't an object. He was a living person.

If she had to compete with Joan for "ownership," that meant Chris had never truly belonged to her in the first place.

She had never had much sense of security.

If something wasn't entirely hers, she wouldn't want it. Better than clinging and worrying, only to suffer more in the end.

…

Late at night, just as Adriana was drifting into sleep, Chris pushed the door open.

He sat in his wheelchair, freshly showered and changed into pajamas.

The house had a bathroom specially designed for him, along with a deaf-mute male caregiver who attended to him.

Out of habit, Adriana got up and helped Chris onto the bed.

The wheelchair was a custom-made, high-tech model that could meet all his needs, but he preferred her care.

She lay down beside him, her chest heavy.

With no family of her own, she had always longed for deeper bonds. That was why she wanted one or two children.

Chris's injury affected only his legs; it didn't prevent him from being intimate as a husband.

She had hinted more than once, only to be turned down each time.

Eventually, she told herself it was his pride—that he couldn't accept losing control—and never brought it up again.

Tonight, from Joan's words, she finally learned the truth.

He had always known.

Just like now—he was watching coldly from the darkness as her unspoken longing burned, choosing to ignore it.

Lost in thought, she suddenly felt a hand grip her waist and pull her backward, drawing her into a warm, broad chest.

Chris held her tightly, his chin resting atop her head, gently rubbing against it.

"When Joan was pregnant, she was still my fiancée. I didn't cheat. She isn't a homewrecker. This situation put all of us in a difficult position.

"Edward is my son. As a man, I can't turn a blind eye. That's my responsibility.

"Come on, now. Don't be angry. They're only staying here. That's all."

On the eve of marrying Joan, there had been one night when he drank until he lost consciousness.

When he woke up, Joan was in his bed.

Just that once, and Edward was conceived.

Even now, he couldn't tell whether the emotion lodged in his chest was regret or guilt.

Adriana pushed his hand away and sat up in the darkness.

"Either we divorce," she said calmly, "or you give me a child."