Married to the Tyrant in a Wheelchair

Felton turned on his heel and walked toward the grand staircase. He jerked his head, signaling Augustina to follow.

Augustina pulled the letter opener from the wood and tossed it aside. She followed him up to the second-floor mahogany study.

The heavy oak doors clicked shut behind them, instantly cutting off the chaotic noise from the living room below.

Felton walked over to his humidor. He pulled out a Cuban cigar and clipped the end, but he didn't light it.

He turned around and looked at Augustina. His eyes scanned her cheap, wet hoodie like he was appraising a piece of damaged livestock.

"The Hogan pharmaceutical company is facing bankruptcy," Felton stated bluntly, dropping the facade of a caring father. "The supply chain is broken. We need a hundred million dollars in capital to complete a merger."

He tossed the cigar onto his desk.

"The investor is the master of Blackwood Manor. The condition for the cash injection is a marriage. He wants a daughter from the Hogan family."

Felton walked closer, his tone dripping with cruelty. "The man was caught in a fire. He's disfigured. He's confined to a wheelchair. Rumor has it his temper is so violent he tortures his staff. He is a monster."

Felton sneered. "I am absolutely not sending Kayleigh into that hellhole. She is meant for better things."

He leaned his hands on the desk. "You want out? Fine. You take Kayleigh's place. You marry him, and I will sign the severance papers."

Augustina stood perfectly still.

When she heard the name Blackwood Manor, her heart slammed violently against her ribs.

Charles Moses.

The man who had kissed her dead forehead. The tyrant who had buried her murderers alive.

She dug her fingernails into her palms to stop her hands from shaking. She forced her face to remain completely blank.

She pretended to hesitate, narrowing her eyes. "I want more."

"I want a public statement in the Times," Augustina demanded. "Declaring that we have severed all adoptive and biological ties. And I want the original, untampered copy of the DNA report Felton Hogan used to identify me. And the fifty dollars cash I had in my pocket when your men dragged me out of The Warrens."

Felton let out a sharp, mocking laugh. He thought she was making a desperate, pathetic attempt to salvage her pride.

"Done," he said.

Felton picked up the phone on his desk and dialed his private lawyer. He ordered the documents drafted immediately.

Thirty minutes later, a sweating lawyer rushed into the study, clutching a leather briefcase. He pulled out the freshly printed contracts.

Augustina picked up a heavy Montblanc pen. She read every single line of the liability waiver and the severance agreement.

Satisfied, she pressed the nib to the paper and signed her name with aggressive, sharp strokes.

Felton signed his portion. He opened a drawer, pulled out a thick manila folder containing the falsified DNA documents along with a crisp fifty-dollar bill, and tossed them onto the desk like garbage.

Augustina snatched the file and the money. She squeezed the paper in her fist. The sharp edges of the folder dug into her palm, the slight pain grounding her in reality.

"If this merger fails because you piss off that monster," Felton warned, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, "you will die a very ugly death."

Augustina folded her copy of the contract and shoved it into her hoodie pocket. She turned and walked out without another word.

She went straight to her cramped attic room. She pulled a battered black duffel bag from under the narrow bed.

She didn't pack a single item bought by the Hogan family. She only threw in a few worn-out shirts and jeans she had bought herself.

Ten minutes later, she walked down the grand staircase, the duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

Cindy and Kayleigh stood in the foyer. They watched her leave, their faces twisted into identical, triumphant smiles.

Augustina pushed open the heavy front doors. She stepped out into the freezing Los Angeles rain, not looking back once.