Married To The Fake Comatose Billionaire

Justice walked out of the air-conditioned lobby and onto the sweltering Manhattan pavement.

The black stretched Lincoln idled at the curb. A driver in a dark suit pulled the heavy rear door open. Justice slid into the back seat. The leather was cold against the back of her thighs.

A moment later, the suspension dipped. Derek and Meredith climbed in after her. The heavy door slammed shut, sealing them inside.

The driver pressed a button. The thick, soundproof partition glided up, locking into place with a solid click. The cabin became a pressurized vault.

The Lincoln pulled away from the curb, merging seamlessly into the chaotic city traffic, heading east toward Long Island.

Derek immediately reached for his collar, yanking his tie loose. He turned his body toward Justice.

"Listen to me," Derek snapped, pointing a thick finger at her face. "The Aguirre family is old money. They don't tolerate mistakes. You speak only when spoken to. You keep your head down. You act like you belong there, even though we both know you don't."

Justice propped her elbow on the armrest. She rested her chin in her palm and turned her head to look out the tinted window. The towering glass buildings blurred past.

Meredith reached into her designer tote bag. She pulled out a thick, leather-bound directory and shoved it toward Justice's chest.

"Memorize this," Meredith ordered. "It's the Aguirre family tree. All the extended relatives, the board members, the trust managers. If you call someone by the wrong title, I will personally make you regret it."

Justice didn't move her hands. The heavy book hit her collarbone and slid off her lap, thudding onto the floor mats.

Derek's face turned purple. The veins in his neck bulged against his skin.

"Pick that up!" Derek roared. His spit flew across the narrow space. "What exactly did they teach you in that garbage public school in the Rust Belt? Did you learn any manners at all?"

Justice slowly turned her head. Her eyes locked onto Derek's. The air in the car seemed to drop ten degrees.

"I wouldn't know," Justice said. Her voice was completely flat. "I dropped out six months ago."

The silence in the cabin was absolute. The only sound was the low hum of the tires chewing up the asphalt.

Derek's eyes widened until the whites showed all the way around his irises. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Meredith sucked in a sharp, loud breath. Her hands flew to her mouth.

"You what?" Derek finally choked out. His chest heaved. He lunged forward, grabbing the edge of Justice's seat. "You dropped out? You're a high school dropout?"

Panic seized Derek's features. His breathing turned ragged. If the Aguirre family found out they were marrying their heir to a girl without a high school diploma, they would cancel the contract. The three-hundred-million-dollar lifeline would vanish.

Justice watched the sweat bead on his forehead. It was pathetic.

"What does it matter?" Justice asked, tilting her head slightly. "Did the Aguirre family buy me to tutor their vegetable in calculus?"

Derek gagged on his own breath. The sheer disrespect in her words hit him like a physical blow.

Meredith grabbed Derek's arm, pulling him back against the seat. She rubbed his chest frantically.

"Calm down, Derek, your blood pressure," Meredith hissed. She shot a venomous glare at Justice. "When we get to the estate, you keep your mouth shut. You act mute. Do you understand me?"

Derek pointed a shaking finger at Justice. "If you ruin this deal," he whispered, his voice trembling with raw fury, "I will throw you back into the gutter. You will starve on the streets."

Justice let out a short, breathy laugh. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated mockery.

She turned her face back to the window. She didn't look at them for the rest of the ride.

Derek's chest continued to heave, his fists clenched tight on his knees, but he didn't say another word.

The concrete jungle of the city gradually gave way to sprawling, manicured forests. The road smoothed out.

In the distance, massive wrought-iron gates appeared, towering over the tree line.

The Lincoln slowed to a halt. High-definition security cameras mounted on the stone pillars instantly swept over the vehicle, scanning the license plates and running thermal imaging on the cabin. An armed guard in tactical gear stepped forward, holding a biometric tablet. He didn't just take the driver's laminated pass; he visually confirmed the identities of every passenger against the pre-approved digital manifest, his eyes cold and methodical behind dark sunglasses, before finally giving a curt nod.

The heavy iron gates groaned, slowly swinging inward.

The car rolled forward onto the pristine gravel of the Aguirre estate. Justice stared at the endless expanse of green lawns, her index finger tapping a slow, silent rhythm against her knee.