Vanessa most of all.

She came toward me through the crowd in a liquid silver gown that fit like armor, the diamond I’d bought her flashing under the chandeliers. Trailing behind her were the rest of them — my ambitious cousins, my business partners, a cluster of social climbers watching me with barely disguised curiosity.

“Just look at you,” Vanessa said.

She bent down until her face was inches from mine, and I could smell expensive gin under her perfume.

“Now you’re nothing,” she said, pitched loud enough for the inner circle. “Just a useless cripple.”

A few of the older guests produced a gasp for the occasion. Nobody stepped forward. Not one person in that room raised a voice for me.

My uncle Martin, who had built his fortune on my father’s coattails, discovered a fascinating abstract painting on the far wall. Daniel — my closest friend since university — studied his loafers.

Vanessa’s mother allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.

I kept my face slack, playing medicated and numb.

Vanessa tapped the blanket over my knees with one crimson fingernail. “I was promised a powerful man, Adrian. I was supposed to marry a titan. Not a medical burden with a nursemaid.”

“Vanessa,” I said, keeping my voice hollow. “We’re still engaged. The wedding is in six months.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “For now, darling. Let’s see how long that lasts once your board realizes their CEO can’t walk into a shareholder meeting without a ramp.”