The Billionaire's forgotten Bride

lia

his glare icy. "I'd rather fall than let you touch me," he spat, his voice laced with venom. The rejection pierced deeper than I cared to admit. He stood there for a moment as if daring me to speak again, before limping toward his room and slamming the door shut behind him. I returned to my room, tears burning in my eyes. My chest felt heavy, the weight of old memories pressing down-my mother's cruel words about my inadequacies, Lisa's mocking laughter ringing in my ears. Rebecca's cruel taunts and now Maxwell's scorn had simply added another layer to wounds I thought had long scarred over. But as much as I tried to push him from my mind, I couldn't. His limp, the bitterness in his eyes, the scar I'd glimpsed on our wedding day-it all lingered, begging to be understood. The next morning, I woke early, determined to maintain some sense of dignity. Knock softly. Be polite, Amelia. Don't intrude. That was my mantra as I rapped on Maxwell's door before stepping inside. What I saw stopped me cold. Maxwell stood by the window, shirtless, the morning light casting a golden glow over his sculpted frame. But it wasn't his physique that caught my attention-it was the long, jagged scar running down his back. Before I could stop myself, I gasped. He turned sharply, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a mix of anger and vulnerability. "What the hell are you doing?" "I-I'm sorry," I stammered, averting my gaze and stepping back. He crossed the room in three strides, his presence overwhelming. His hand gripped my arm, firm but not painful. "I don't need your pity. Do you hear me?" "I wasn't-" "Don't lie," he growled, his face inches from mine. "Stay out of my way, Amelia. This is the last warning I'll give you." I nodded, swallowing hard, and he released me. I fled the room, my heart pounding. But the image of his scar stayed with me, an unspoken story etched into his skin. I couldn't help but wonder about the history behind the scars on his back and left cheek. And also the limping. Later that afternoon, Maxwell returned from wherever he'd been, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he tossed a garment bag onto the bed. "Get dressed," he said curtly. I unzipped the bag to reveal an elegant black dress, the fabric cool and smooth beneath