Husband in a Wheelchair, Not at Night

My sister and I hit the jackpot when we married into the obscenely wealthy Harrison family.

I got the eldest son, Harrison Hayes—wheelchair-bound, devastatingly handsome, and somehow packing more stamina than a marathon runner.

My sister landed the younger brother, Harrison Cole—allegedly gay, yet completely obsessed with her, clinging to her like she was the last woman on earth.

People pitied us, whispering about our "cursed" marriages.

Little did they know, we were swimming in cash, living like queens.

But seriously—how was my "disabled" husband that energetic? And why was my sister's "gay" husband practically feral for her?

One night at 3 a.m., we limped out of our rooms at the same time, exchanging exhausted glances.

This lifestyle? Not sustainable.

Flashback

"Jess, are you sure about this?" My sister hesitated.

"Absolutely!" I grinned. "Harrison Hayes is paralyzed—supposedly impotent. He's my golden ticket! No responsibilities, endless money. Maybe I'll just... misdirect a few million into my account."

Her eyes lit up. "Fine. You take him, I'll take the other one."

And just like that, we became Harrison wives.

The brothers were perfect—one "broken," the other "gay."

Old Man Harrison was stressed. So when we volunteered? He practically wept with relief.

"Angels!" he declared, tossing us each a Maserati as a wedding gift.

My sister and I shared a look.