Secrets Of The Broken Genius Bride

The heavy, rhythmic thud of rubber tires rolling over the thick Persian rug sent a violent tremor straight up Allie's spine.

She sat rigidly on the edge of the massive king-sized bed, her fingers digging so hard into the tulle skirt of her wedding dress that her knuckles ached. The master bedroom of the Manhattan penthouse was suffocatingly large, lit only by dim wall sconces that cast long, distorted shadows.

The double mahogany doors were shoved open with a brutal force.

Curtis steered his electric wheelchair into the doorway. The hallway light spilled in behind him, projecting his broad, stiff silhouette directly at Allie's feet.

His cold, sharp gaze swept over her trembling shoulders. A mocking smirk twisted the corner of his mouth. He didn't say a word. He simply pushed the joystick, steering the wheelchair right past her toward the crystal liquor cabinet.

The silence in the room was a physical weight pressing against Allie's chest. She had to say something. She had to break the ice.

"G-good evening," Allie stammered, forcing herself to stand up.

But her legs were numb from sitting too long, and the hem of the heavy wedding dress caught under her heel. She lost her balance instantly.

"Ah!"

Allie pitched forward. Her hands flew out instinctively to catch her fall. Her palms slammed down hard onto something solid.

It was Curtis's thigh.

The clinking sound of crystal stopped. Curtis froze, the decanter hovering over his glass. The air in the room seemed to drop below freezing in a fraction of a second.

Allie stared at her hands. The muscle beneath the expensive fabric of his trousers didn't flinch. There was no reflex. No life.

A wave of pure terror washed over her. She snapped her head up and met Curtis's eyes.

They were filled with a murderous, humiliating rage.

Before she could pull back, Curtis's massive hand shot out. His fingers clamped around her jaw like a steel vice, forcing her head up to face his wrath.

"Don't ever use your cheap tricks to test a cripple," he grounded out, his voice a low, vibrating growl that threatened to shatter her eardrums. "Do you understand me?"

"No, please," Allie whimpered, shaking her head frantically against his grip. Tears welled in her eyes from the sheer pain in her jaw. "It was an accident. I tripped-"

Curtis let out a sound of pure disgust. He shoved her face away, releasing her jaw so violently she stumbled back.

He reached into his suit pocket, pulled out a silk handkerchief, and began scrubbing the exact spot on his thigh where her hands had rested. He wiped it with a frantic, aggressive motion, as if she were a highly contagious virus.

"Article three of the prenuptial agreement," Curtis recited, his voice devoid of any human warmth. "Remember your actual function. You are an insurance policy bought with a five-million-dollar bridge loan. Aside from fulfilling your core medical obligations for my sister when the time comes, you have no