Married To The Fake Comatose Billionaire

The heavy mahogany double doors swung open.

The butler stood to the side, his eyes dropping to the scuffed canvas shoes on Justice's feet. His upper lip curled, just a fraction, before he looked away.

Justice stepped over the threshold. Her cheap rubber soles sank into the thick Persian rug. She didn't look at the butler. She didn't look at the multi-million dollar view of the Manhattan skyline stretching beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Her gaze locked onto the man sitting behind the massive glass desk.

Derek Barnes tapped his index finger against the glass. The sound was sharp, rhythmic, and impatient.

Meredith sat on the white leather sofa to his right. She held a bone china teacup suspended in the air. Her lips were stretched into a smile that didn't reach her cold, assessing eyes. Her fingers absentmindedly stroked the heavy pearl necklace resting against her collarbone.

Leaning against the towering bookshelves was Emery. She held the newest smartphone up, angling her face for a selfie. As Justice walked in, Emery's eyes flicked to the screen, catching Justice's reflection. Emery let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-snort.

Derek stopped tapping. He placed his hand flat on a thick, leather-bound folder resting on his desk. He shoved it forward.

The folder slid across the smooth glass and stopped exactly one inch from the edge, right in front of Justice's stomach.

"Sign it," Derek said. His voice was a flat command. "The Aguirre family expects the paperwork finalized by noon."

Justice looked down. The gold-foil crest of the Aguirre family gleamed against the dark leather.

"It really is for your own good, Justice," Meredith said. Her voice was dripping with artificial sweetness. She set the teacup down with a soft clink. "This marriage will pull you out of the Rust Belt. You won't have to worry about your next meal."

Emery lowered her phone. "Honestly, you should be on your knees thanking Dad. A high school student from the slums marrying a billionaire? Even if he is a vegetable, it's a miracle your trashy bloodline is getting anywhere near the Aguirre estate."

Justice felt nothing. Her heart rate didn't spike. Her palms didn't sweat. She looked at the three of them, and her stomach felt completely hollow. It was like watching a poorly acted play.

She lifted her eyes from the folder and met Derek's stare.

"What is the exact dollar amount of the capital injection?" Justice asked. Her voice was quiet, completely devoid of emotion.

Derek's jaw tightened. The skin around his eyes twitched. He hadn't expected the uneducated girl he'd dumped in the countryside to understand the mechanics of a corporate buyout.

He slammed his palm against the glass desk. The impact rattled the pen holder.

"You don't get to ask questions," Derek spat, his face flushing a dull red. He tugged violently at his silk tie. "You sign the paper. You go to the estate. You do what you are told."

Justice's facial muscles remained entirely slack. Her lips didn't curve, and her eyes didn't hold a single ripple of emotion. She looked at the red-faced man with absolute, chilling apathy, as if watching a remarkably dull insect thrashing against a windowpane.

She reached out. Her long, pale fingers flipped the heavy leather cover open.

She didn't read the fluff. Her eyes scanned the dense legal text, jumping straight to the financial clauses on page fourteen. There it was. A three-hundred-million-dollar liquidity line extended to Barnes Holdings upon the legal binding of the marriage.

Meredith stood up. She unclasped her designer handbag and pulled out a sleek black credit card. She tossed it onto the glass desk. It landed with a plastic clatter next to the contract.

"Consider this your allowance," Meredith said, her chin lifting. "Buy yourself something decent. You smell like a bus station."

Justice didn't look at the card. She reached past it and picked up the Montblanc fountain pen resting in its silver cradle.

Emery stared at Justice's hand. Her teeth dug into her lower lip. Even wearing a faded, oversized t-shirt, Justice's hands were elegant-the fingers impossibly long and graceful. It made Emery's stomach twist with sudden, hot jealousy.

Justice flipped to the final page. She pressed the gold nib to the thick paper.

She didn't hesitate. She signed her name in a fluid, sharp script.

Derek exhaled. His shoulders dropped an inch. The greed in his eyes flared so bright it was almost physical.

Justice tossed the pen. It hit the glass desk and rolled off, clattering onto the Persian rug.

She looked at Derek. Her eyes were dead.

"Done," Justice said.

She turned her back to the desk. She didn't look at the credit card. She didn't look at Meredith or Emery.

"Go change your clothes," Meredith called out, her voice rising in pitch. "There are bags in the guest room. Do not embarrass the Barnes name when you walk into that estate!"

Justice didn't break her stride. She walked straight through the mahogany doors.

She moved down the silent, carpeted hallway. She pressed the elevator button. The metal doors slid open, and she stepped inside, watching the numbers tick down toward the lobby where the stretched Lincoln waited.