What the world did not know was that the paralysis was an illusion. A dangerous performance born from instinct. Gregory had seen something change in his wife’s eyes during his recovery, a cold calculation that replaced concern. He chose to pretend helplessness, to see how deep her loyalty truly ran.
Now he lay in silence, breathing evenly, eyes half open, absorbing every sound.
Bianca Kensington stood by the vanity mirror, swirling amber liquor in a crystal glass. Her elegant dress shimmered under warm light, and her lips curved into a smile that held no kindness. She had always been beautiful, always ambitious, but never had Gregory seen her as clearly as he did now.
“So here we are,” Bianca said, her voice rich with amusement. “The mighty Gregory Kensington, unable to lift a finger, unable to stop what comes next.”
She walked closer, heels clicking against the hardwood floor, and leaned over him as though admiring a broken sculpture.