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Her Castoff Blind Date, My Road to Riches Novel Cover

Her Castoff Blind Date, My Road to Riches

When Myra Walsh insults her blind date and forces her cousin Sam to take her place, she has no idea she is throwing away a fortune. While the family views Henry Quinton as a penniless ex-convict, Sam recently witnessed his VIP status at a bank vault. Disguising herself as an innocent girl, Sam approaches the mysterious man. Henry warns her of a difficult life ahead, but Sam commits to the ruse, choosing his hidden millions over her family's superficial judgment.
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Chapter 4

"It's impossible… Mr. Quinton is not that kind of person!" I insisted.

Myra let out a cold laugh. "Even with solid proof, you're still refusing to admit it? Then tell me, why would he go to a hotel? To fix a Maybach there?"

I suddenly shoved Myra's phone away.

"He was delivering food! That car… It just happened to pass by!" I retorted loudly.

Tears streamed down my cheeks, making me look both pitiful and stubborn. "I won't let you slander him!"

Ignoring Myra's mocking laughter, I stormed out of the dormitory.

That evening, Henry came as usual in that old, beaten-up Geely to pick me up from work.

He had changed back into his shabby clothes, and there was even a faint sour smell on him.

The moment I got into the car, I didn't even bother fastening my seatbelt. Instead, I lunged at him, grabbed his collar, and buried my face against the side of his neck, taking in a deep inhale.

Henry stiffened at once. "What are you doing? Are you getting horny or something?"

I ignored him and continued checking for any trace of perfume.

Fortunately, I only picked up the scent of smoke and sweat.

I released him, choosing not to ask about the Maybach or bring up the hotel. Instead, I took an envelope out of my bag. It was thick and packed tightly.

It was my first internship salary, totaling two thousand dollars.

I placed it into his hands.

"Mr. Quinton, this is for you," I said.

Henry frowned as he pinched the envelope. "What do you mean by this?"

I kept my head down, nervously fidgeting with my fingers.

"Stop taking those exhausting part-time jobs. They don't pay much, but at least it's clean money. I can eat less. I don't need makeup, and I can wear old clothes."

I looked up at him earnestly and continued, "I can support you. Really."

Henry stared at the two thousand dollars in his hand.

For him, it wasn't even enough to buy a single cigar. Yet as he looked at me, there was, for the first time, a flicker of hesitation.

"Sam, what exactly are you after?" he asked.

He grabbed my chin and forced me to meet his gaze.

"I've got no money, no house, and I'm an ex-convict. I've also got a terrible temper. With your looks, you could easily end up with a rich heir. Why are you staying with me and putting yourself through this?"

I didn't answer him immediately. Instead, I leaned my face into his rough palm like a kitten clinging to its owner.

After a long moment, I finally mumbled, "I like that you're a little rough around the edges. I like that you don't always bother to shower, and I like the way you still shield me from the wind, even when you're scolding me. Those rich guys look at me like I'm an object, but you look at me like I'm a person."

In truth, Henry looked at me like I was an idiot, but my words still managed to move him. In that instant, I had completely hooked him, tugging at both his pride and his protective instincts.

He released me, said nothing, and lit a cigarette in silence. In the haze of smoke, he pulled me into his arms. His movements were a little stiff, but firm.

"You idiot," he muttered.

I rested against his chest, listening to his strong heartbeat.

From an angle he could not see, my gaze turned cold as I caught a glimpse of his wristwatch—a Celestara collection piece from Galaxia, worth over two million dollars.

I knew that Henry's real birthday was next week, and that it was also the day he would officially take over the family business and become the CEO of Quinton Group.

I took leave from work, telling them that I was going back to my hometown to visit relatives. In reality, I went to the black market in Solderton, wearing a cap and a mask.

I sold the only valuable thing I owned, which was the gold bracelet my grandmother had left me. It was the most expensive item I had.

With the money, I also took out several online loans using my ID, scraping together five thousand dollars.

I ran through the city's high-end boutiques and bought a ready-made suit. It wasn't custom-tailored, but it was the best I could afford. To pay for it, I would be living on instant Mac and Cheese for the next year while repaying my debt.

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