Marrying The Crippled Billionaire For Revenge

The car blocked her path. The sleek silver metal gleamed under the threatening sky.

"I said get in," Preston repeated. "It's going to pour in about thirty seconds."

A drop of rain hit Aurelia's cheek. It was freezing. She did the math instantly. Getting sick meant buying medicine. Medicine cost money. She had forty-two dollars.

She opened the passenger door and got in.

The interior smelled of expensive leather and the sandalwood cologne Preston had worn for five years. It made her stomach turn. It smelled like memories she wanted to burn.

Preston accelerated. The car purred down the long, tree-lined driveway.

"I'm sorry," he said after a moment. His hands gripped the steering wheel tight. "I didn't know she was capable of that."

"You didn't want to know," Aurelia said, looking out the window at the blurred trees. "There's a difference."

"The merger..." Preston started, then sighed. "My father is pushing hard. The board is nervous. We need the Blanchard assets to stabilize our stock."

"So you're marrying a sociopath for a quarterly earnings report," Aurelia said.

"It's not that simple," Preston said defensively. "And... I thought you had moved on. You disappeared after the hospital incident."

"I was fired, Preston. And stripped of my license. And dumped by my fiancé via text message." She turned to look at him. "Or did you forget that part?"

Preston flinched. "My father sent that text. He took my phone."

"And you let him."

He didn't answer. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

Aurelia reached into her pocket. She pulled out a small, velvet box. She had been carrying it for months, waiting for the right moment to throw it in a river. But this was better.

She placed the box on the dashboard.

"Here," she said. "The real ring. The one you gave me."

Preston glanced at the box. "Keep it. You can sell it. It's worth a lot."

"I don't want your money," Aurelia said. "And I don't want anything that ties me to you or your family."

"Aurelia, please," Preston said, his voice cracking. "I still care about you. If I could... if things were different..."

"But they aren't," she cut him off. "You chose the name. You chose the money. You chose Dominique."

"She's pregnant," Preston blurted out.

Aurelia froze. The air left the car.

"What?"

"She told me this morning," Preston said, staring straight ahead. "That's why she was so emotional. Hormones."

Aurelia let out a short, bitter laugh. "Preston, think. This morning, when I passed her in the hall, she was drinking that green juice she loves. The one with the high-dose parsley and ginger extract. It's a potent emmenagogue. No doctor on earth would let a woman in her first trimester go near it."

"You don't know that," Preston said, but his voice wavered.

"I'm a doctor," Aurelia said. "Or I was. She's lying, Preston. She's locking you down because she knows the trust fund has a clause about heirs. But it's not my problem anymore."

They reached the transit station at the edge of the estate grounds. It was a desolate concrete shelter under a flickering streetlamp.

Aurelia unbuckled her seatbelt. "Unlock the door."

Preston hit the central lock button. The click echoed in the cabin.

"Where will you go?" he asked. "Let me set you up in a hotel. Just for a few nights."

"Unlock the door, Preston, or I will scream."

He looked at her, searching for the girl he used to know. But she was gone. Hardened by betrayal.

He unlocked the door.

Aurelia grabbed her bag and got out. The rain was falling harder now, soaking her coat instantly. She dragged her suitcase out of the trunk.

She didn't look back. Each step was a deliberate severing of a tie, a final, painful cut. The sound of her suitcase wheels on the wet asphalt was the only reply she offered.

He looked up, but she was already walking toward the bus shelter, her head held high, disappearing into the gray curtain of rain.