Stand Up！My Billionaire Husband

Beneath the chandelier of the church, her wedding gown trailing behind her, Jessica turned away at the altar and slipped the ring onto the left ring finger of the man in the wheelchair. "Christopher, I marry you." Silence fell over the crowd. The groom froze at the altar—he was my husband, and also Christopher's elder brother. Christopher looked up at me, his eyes swirling with shock, pain, and a light that had been hidden for ten years. Suddenly, he smiled. Gripping the armrests, he shakily rose to his feet. "I'll take her," he said, his voice tearing through the silence. "From the moment I saw her at fifteen—I should have married her then." Gasps erupted among the guests. The priest stepped back. My husband's face turned ashen. "Aren't you paralyzed?" Christopher didn't answer. He only tightened his grip on my hand, just like he did that stormy night years ago, and step by step, we walked toward the door. Three days later, I returned to the century-old estate as Mrs. Christopher. The butler blocked the entrance, sneering, "How dare a woman who abandoned her fiancé set foot in the Horn family home?" I removed my glove, revealing my wedding band, then gave her a gentle push—she stumbled backward into the fountain. "Now," I stepped onto the stairs, my dress dampened but not looking back, "I am the one who gives the orders in this house." Deep in the attic, beneath the ashes of my husband's burned wedding photograph, lay a yellowed letter: *To Jessica: If you're reading this, Christopher has finally stood up—and I have, at last, lost.*