Marry The Billionaire Again

With a heavy metallic clang, the iron gate slammed shut behind Michelle Harris the second she was shoved into the cramped, pitch-black cell. She glanced down at the handcuffs biting into her wrists and tugged out a smile that hurt more than it should. Even her own husband, Logan Harris, hadn’t believed her.

"Are you Michelle Harris?" A voice—unfamiliar, thick with nasty curiosity—called from the shadows behind her. Michelle spun around to find a crew of hard-faced women, every line of their stances screaming they didn’t want her here.

Caught completely off guard, she scrambled two cautious steps back. "What do you want from me?" she snapped, shoulders braced for a fight.

The ringleader chuckled, low and mean. "What do we want? Our boss sent us to teach you a lesson, you little fraud!" At her signal, the women surged forward. They pinned Michelle’s arms before she could move, and a flurry of stinging slaps sent her reeling.

A lesson? A boss? Did Logan hate her that much? Locking her up wasn’t enough—he had to make her hurt inside here too?

Curled into a ball on the ice-cold concrete, Michelle hunched against the storm of fists raining down on her ribs and back. Every physical blow ached… but none hurt half as bad as the gaping wound in her heart.

Down the hall, in the prison warden’s office, Josephine Perkins leaned in to watch the beating on the surveillance feed, a slow smile of satisfaction spreading across her face. Who would’ve thought the once imperious Harris heiress would end up this low? And this was only the beginning. She was dead set on stealing every single thing that belonged to Michelle.

She waved a guard over and pressed a thick wad of cash into his palm. "Make sure she gets exactly the treatment she deserves. There’s plenty more where that came from."

The guard nodded, a slimy, sycophantic grin splitting his face. Josephine smiled back, checked her watch, and headed out of the prison. She had a hospital visit to make—put on a big show of worrying over Logan’s comatose grandmother.

The old woman was already vegetative. Once Josephine had put on enough of a performance as the doting, caring soon-to-be daughter-in-law, she’d speed up the grandmother’s end, paving her own way straight to the top of the Harris empire. But first, she needed Logan to finalize his divorce from Michelle.

"Pathetic. Can’t even take a few hits. Boring," one of the goons muttered.

"Let’s bounce. We’ll come back tomorrow to finish what we started."

When they were gone, Michelle was left beaten, bruised, and barely conscious. She squeezed her eyes shut in despair, hot tears slipping silent down her cold cheeks. Logan’s indifference. Josephine’s betrayal. The destruction of everything she’d ever loved. Each new cut left her soul emptier than the last.

Was she really doomed to rot behind bars for the rest of her life?

Footsteps echoed down the hall, stopping right in front of her crumpled body. "I can help you," a familiar male voice said.

Michelle’s eyes flew open, locking onto his. "It’s you!"

Thomas Cruz smiled down at her, and brushed a strand of messy, matted hair gently off her swollen face. "I’m here to get you out."

"Why should I trust you? Why the hell would you want to help me anyway?"

Michelle flinched back, any ability to trust she’d had left long gone. Thomas saw her hesitation coming, pulled his hand back, and fished out a crumpled photograph, holding it out right in front of her.

"You want to know the real reason your parents died?"

Michelle’s gaze locked solid on the photo. It was a burnt wristwatch—she’d know that watch anywhere, it was her father’s. After the fire that killed her parents, Logan’s family had blocked every single attempt she’d made to recover their things. Out of what she’d thought was gratitude, she’d never questioned it.

But now… Michelle’s brow furrowed, confusion carved deep into her features. Had Logan’s family been acting out of pity… or something far more sinister?

Thomas chuckled softly, yanking her out of her spiraling thoughts. "I can break you out of here, and I’ve got information that’ll blow your mind."

"You really wanna rot in here, never knowing the truth?" he pressed, and Michelle’s gaze hardened to ice.

He was right. She had to dig up the truth about her parents’ murder. She couldn’t keep being someone’s helpless victim anymore.

"Okay. I agree," she nodded. Thomas moved fast, pulled every string he needed to, and broke her out of prison, taking her straight to a private apartment he kept off the books.

He handed her a brass key. "You can lay low here for now." Then he noticed her tattered, blood-stained clothes, and pulled out a black credit card, holding it out to her.

Michelle hesitated, and didn’t take it. Kicked out of the Harris house, she had next to nothing to her name… but she wasn’t about to accept charity. "I’m here to find answers for my parents’ murder, not take handouts."

Thomas looked taken aback, but tucked the card back into his pocket. "So what’s your plan?"

"Get a job while I dig up evidence," she answered. Thomas watched her for a long second, like he wanted to say more, but he just gave her shoulder a supportive pat. "Good luck. If you need anything, call me. Here’s my card."

Michelle took it, frowning a little. Thomas Cruz.

After a short rest at the apartment, Michelle hit the streets looking for work. But after hitting up company after company, she got rejected over and over and over. It didn’t take a genius to figure out someone was blackballing her. And the only person it could be was Logan Harris.

She balled her fists tight, and her determination only burned brighter. She wasn’t that pampered little Harris heiress anymore, the one who got knocked down and stayed down. She ripped a crumpled help-wanted flyer off a lamppost. Big companies didn’t want her? Fine—she’d find work anywhere she could.

She read the ad for a waitress, gritted her teeth, and marched straight into the little diner.

Meanwhile, in the glass executive suite of Harris Corporation, Logan sipped his black coffee and listened to his assistant’s daily report. The second her mouth shaped a familiar name, he froze mid-sip.

"Michelle Harris? She’s looking for a job?"

"Yes, sir. She’s been hitting up companies all over the city this morning."

Logan set his coffee down hard enough to slosh over the edge, his brain flooding with old memories—Michelle begging him to believe her, her cold, furious glares when he wouldn’t.

His mood turned sour. "She got out already? Who pulled strings for her?"

His assistant answered fast, voice tight with nerves. "It was… someone from the Cruz family."

The Cruz family? That prodigal heir that just popped back up? How the hell was he tangled up with Michelle? Logan sneered, a flash of hot, unbidden anger cutting right through his calm, icy facade. Fresh out of prison, and she was already in bed with another man!

They weren’t even divorced yet!

Logan laughed darkly, and slammed his coffee cup down so hard the entire desk rattled. "Put the word out: anyone who hires her might as well declare war on Harris Corp."

He wanted to see how long she could last. Sooner or later, she’d come crawling back, begging at his feet, just like she always did. Did she really think she had the ability to leave him completely?