Blood Bank

The Silent Heiress's Million Dollar Gambit

Maui

My stepmother’s bodyguards were seconds away from dragging me back to a life that was essentially a prison cell wrapped in silk. I couldn't even scream for help because the words always died in my throat—a clinical condition called selective mutism that felt like drowning on dry land. I had just discovered the sickening truth: my father was planning to sell me to a sleazy investor named Sterling to cover his company’s bankruptcy. They were going to drug me, ship me off to a private island, and strip away the only thing I had left—my late mother’s multimillion-dollar art trust. When I arrived at the manor, my stepmother Lydia handed me a glass of wine laced with bitter sedatives, her smile sharp as a razor. "Drink up, darling. It’ll make the transition to Mr. Sterling much easier." My stepsister Harper stood in the corner, wearing a dress bought with my mother’s stolen money, mocking my inability to speak. My father didn't even look me in the eye as he calculated my price tag, treating his own daughter like a piece of damaged, mute inventory. They thought because I didn't speak, I didn't hear them laughing about the "accident" that killed my mother or how they planned to burn her final restoration work. They assumed my silence was a sign of surrender, a white flag waved by a broken girl who would never fight back. How could the people who were supposed to be my family treat me like a commodity to be traded? Did they really think my silence meant I was weak, or that I didn't know every dirty secret they were hiding in their ledgers? I didn't drink the wine. Instead, I burst into the VIP suite of Carlisle Pierce, the most cold-blooded billionaire in New York, and slammed a crumpled napkin on his table with a desperate, last-second gambit. "MARRY ME. NOW. $1 MILLION."

Romance Revenge Contract marriage Billionaire Girl Power

Download the Book on the App

Emilia Lancaster gently traced the rim of her wine glass. In the silent restaurant, the Wellington beef and the Romanée-Conti remained untouched.

This perfect dinner was staged solely for a perfect lie of a marriage.

She glanced at the Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet on her wrist—the only personal gift Delano had given her in their three years of marriage, offered with the coldness of a business transaction.

This marriage was nothing more than a deal she had struck to salvage her family's decline. For three years, she had played the flawless wife, yet had never managed to thaw his icy heart.

The antique clock on the wall chimed eight. He was an hour late.

Her phone buzzed on the silk tablecloth. "Delano."

A knot of anticipation tightened in her stomach. She answered, her voice betraying a hope she couldn't quite suppress.

"Are you on your way?"

"I have an emergency meeting at the office. I won't be back tonight." His voice was cold, distant. "You should get some sleep."

No explanation. No reference to the wedding anniversary.

Emilia's fingers whitened around her phone. She heard a faint cough from a woman in the background, which instantly shattered the last shred of hope she had clung to in her heart. She forced herself to ignore the suffocating doubt, yet could not stop the cold despair that surged up from deep within.

"Delano, today is our—"

"I know," he cut her off, his tone flat. "I had Arthur bring your gift to you."

The line went dead.

She stood frozen, the hope in her chest collapsing into a cold, empty cavern. Three years of trying, shattered in a single, careless sentence.

Her phone lit up again. A text from an unknown number.

She almost deleted it, assuming it was spam. But the preview text made her hand freeze.

"Mrs. Gates, want to know who your husband is really with tonight?"

Her thumb trembled as she opened the message. It contained a series of screenshots. A conversation between Fanny, Delano's ex‑girlfriend, and Delano.

Read Now