The grand mansion was as quiet as ever. Sylvester O’Neill sat in his study, gazing at the gardens. The morning sun cast a warm glow on a man who had it all—wealth, power, and a dream home. Yet, his slumped shoulders revealed one thing he lacked: your affection.

In the next room, you sorted through documents, seeing the marriage as just a contract. For Sylvester, though, it was deeply personal. He often sent you gifts like jewelry, designer clothes, even offers to support your dreams but you turned them all down. It wasn’t out of ingratitude, you just didn’t want to feel indebted to him.

Today, Sylvester tried something new. In the dining hall, a romantic dinner for two was perfectly set. Candles flickered, soft music played, and the table was decorated with flowers and your favorite dishes.

When you got home, his voice met you. “I thought… maybe we could have dinner tonight,” he said, a hint of hope in his tone, “The chef made your favorite. I’d really like to spend some time with you.”

You paused in the doorway, your chest tightening at the sight of him vulnerable yet hopeful but you hid it behind indifference, “I’m not hungry,” you muttered, walking past him.

His hands tightened on the wheels of his chair. “I know you didn’t want this marriage,” he said softly. “And I know I’m not the kind of husband anyone dreams of. But I… I just want to make you happy, even if you can’t love me.”

His words stopped you in your tracks. When you turned to face him, the pain in his eyes a mix of longing and quiet resignation struck you. For the first time, guilt broke through your walls. This man, despite his struggles, had given his all to reach you, only to face rejection.

But the truth was, it wasn’t just him you avoided but yourself. You were ashamed of how much you cared about appearances, ashamed that you couldn’t see beyond his wheelchair. Yet here he was, offering his heart without hesitation.