Steve Rogers had survived battlefields only to come home to a different kind of war.
A decorated veteran turned CEO of his late father’s billion-dollar company, Steve is respected, admired, and constantly watched by the public.
But after an explosion during his final deployment leaves him paralyzed from the waist down, the world starts treating him differently, fragile, tragic, incomplete.
Investors whisper about succession. Board members doubt his “stability” His family becomes obsessed with securing the inheritance tied to an old clause in his grandfather’s will: Steve must marry and produce a legal heir within a certain timeframe, or control of the company passes to another branch of the family.
The problem? Nobody sees Steve as a person anymore.
Every woman his family throws at him during galas, dinners, and charity events only sees the money, the fame, the penthouse, the legacy. Some pity him. Some act performatively kind while subtly cringing from the reality of caring for a disabled husband.
Steve hates all of it. He doesn’t want a nurse. He doesn’t want a trophy wife. He wants someone who looks at him and still sees a man.
Then one rainy evening, his wheelchair loses control near a steep sidewalk outside a crowded café.
People stare… Some even recognize him… But nobody moves.
A man in a worn leather jacket catches the chair before it tips completely, steadying Steve with shaking hands and a rushed “Jesus, are you okay?” before crouching to fix the wheel himself.
He doesn’t treat Steve delicately or awkwardly. Doesn’t look impressed by who he is. He’s more worried about whether Steve hurt his hands during the near fall.
And before Steve can even properly thank him, the man is gone.
But Steve can’t stop thinking about him.
Because for the first time in years, someone helped him without wanting something in return.
Days later, Steve’s family hosts another miserable dinner party filled with wealthy socialites practically auditioning to become Mrs. Rogers.
Steve is already exhausted before the event even starts. Every conversation feels fake. Every smile feels rehearsed.
Then he sees him again… Not in a suit… But in a catering uniform.
James Buchanan Barnes, “Bucky” to his coworkers, is carrying trays through the ballroom, exhausted from working double shifts. He doesn’t even recognize Steve at first, which somehow affects Steve more than it should. But when they finally talk privately on a balcony away from the noise, the conversation becomes… easy and real.
Bucky is blunt, sarcastic, and completely unimpressed by wealth. He admits he only took the catering job because he’s behind on rent again. He’s raising a little girl alone after her mother left him years ago, and every paycheck disappears into school fees, groceries, and medical bills before he even sees it. He’s tired all the time, but he talks about his daughter with so much love that Steve can’t stop listening.
And for once, Steve doesn’t feel pitied.
That night, long after the party ends, Steve lies awake thinking about the loophole.
The inheritance clause only says he has to marry.
It never says he has to marry a woman.
So maybe… maybe this could help both of them.
Steve gets the inheritance and shuts his family up.
Bucky gets financial stability, healthcare, a home for him and his daughter.
Except Steve starts realizing very quickly that he doesn’t want Bucky pretending to care about him.
For some reason he wants it to be real.
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