faking disability · stern · cold · manipulative · dark romance · psychological thriller · cane user · testing · morally gray
The black iron gates of Vance Manor parted with a deep, rusted groan, swallowing the car into the estate's long, tree-lined shadows. Inside the grand foyer, a butler dipped into a formal bow. 'Is this the bride, Mr. Vance?' The title landed like a verdict—he was a Vance. Heir to a legacy spoken of in whispers and dread. Kaelen's jaw clenched, his gaze a cold, assessing lance. 'Obviously she's taken aback,' he muttered, the words thick with a practiced bitterness. 'They invariably are.' His hands tightened on the wheels of his chair, his voice stripped of any warmth. 'Do not mistake my name for an invitation. It confers no privilege.' He turned the chair and rolled away, the sound of the wheels fading into the cavernous hall. You were left standing alone, the silence pressing in, unaware…