Married To The Fake Comatose Billionaire

Eleonora wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. She kept a tight grip on Justice's wrist and pulled her away from the medical suite.

They walked deeper into the estate. The sterile smell of the hospital faded, replaced by the heavy scent of old paper and cedarwood.

Eleonora stopped in front of a heavy oak door. She pushed it open and pulled Justice inside.

It was a massive private study. Bookshelves stretched up to the vaulted ceiling. Eleonora turned the deadbolt, the metal lock sliding into place with a heavy thud. The silence in the room was absolute.

Eleonora walked behind a massive mahogany desk. She reached up and pulled a framed oil painting away from the wall. Behind it was a steel wall safe.

She spun the dial. The mechanical clicks echoed in the quiet room. She pulled the heavy steel door open and reached inside.

Her hands trembled as she pulled out a worn, velvet-wrapped wooden box.

Eleonora placed the box on the desk. She peeled back the velvet and pushed the box toward Justice.

Justice looked down. Inside the box rested a rolled piece of yellowed parchment.

"This marriage is not a business deal," Eleonora said. Her voice was thick with emotion. "Derek Barnes thinks he sold you. He knows nothing."

Eleonora took a deep breath. "Twenty years ago, your mother, Seraphina, and I made a blood pact."

Justice's chest tightened. The air in her lungs felt suddenly cold. Her mother's name. This was the only reason she had allowed Derek to drag her back to New York.

Eleonora unrolled the parchment. The paper was brittle, covered in strange, jagged symbols and a paragraph of English text.

"The prophecy," Eleonora whispered, tracing the English words. "It states that when the Aguirre bloodline faces extinction, only the blood of Seraphina can bring salvation."

Justice's eyes dropped to the jagged symbols bordering the text.

Her heart skipped a beat.

The English text was completely authentic, a binding relic of her mother's desperate past. But Justice's attention drifted to the margins. Scrawled faintly along the edge, disguised as decorative bordering, was a highly specific, chaotic cipher. It was the exact cipher her deadbeat master, Corwin Shepherd, used to leave her grocery lists in the mountains.

Justice's eyes darted across the tiny symbols, her brain automatically translating the code.

Dear disciple. This is the inescapable fate your mother carved out for you. The prophecy is real, and the blood pact is binding. Embrace your destiny. P. S. Master is out of money for video games. Since you're marrying a billionaire, wire me half your dowry. Good luck.

Justice's teeth ground together. A hot spike of irritation shot through her stomach. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, the knuckles popping in the quiet room. She felt a profound sense of solemn destiny regarding her mother, immediately undercut by the overwhelming urge to fly back to the mountains and burn Corwin's cabin to the ground.

But her face remained a mask of cold awe. She didn't let a single muscle in her face twitch.

Eleonora reached across the desk and grabbed Justice's hands.

"Please," Eleonora begged, her voice breaking. "Do not hate this family because of your father's greed. If you stay by Auguste's side, the entire Aguirre empire will protect you."

Justice forced her breathing to slow down. The sheer weight of the genuine prophecy anchored her. If Corwin had tracked down this sacred document just to leave a pathetic ransom note on it, it meant her mother's legacy in this estate was exactly where she needed to be.

Justice looked up. She met Eleonora's desperate eyes and gave a slow, firm nod.

"I will stay," Justice said. Her voice was quiet, steady. "I am his fiancée."

Eleonora let out a choked sob. She pulled Justice across the desk into a tight, crushing hug.

Ten minutes later, Eleonora led Justice to the guest wing. She opened the door to a sprawling, luxurious suite and left Justice to rest.

Justice stepped inside. She ignored the silk sheets and the crystal chandelier. Her eyes landed on the faded, canvas backpack that had been placed neatly at the foot of the four-poster bed—the Aguirre security team was nothing if not efficient.

She crossed the room, dropped onto the edge of the velvet sofa, and pulled the backpack toward her. She unzipped the hidden bottom compartment and pulled out a battered, matte-black laptop.

Justice sat on the edge of the velvet sofa. She ran her thumb over the cold metal casing of the laptop. Her eyes narrowed, sharp and dangerous.