I Married the Paralyzed Millionaire to Save My Daughter—On Our Wedding Night, He Handed Me an Envelope with Her Name on It

”

“I’m not joking.”

I stared at him. “I’m forty-three.”

“I know.”

“I’m old enough to be—”

“You’re not my mother,” he cut in, his voice suddenly strained. “And I’m not asking because of romance.”

That hurt less than it should have, because I already knew.

He looked down at his hands. “I need someone I can trust. You need money for Lisa. If you marry me, you’ll continue reading …