My Husband Married Me For Ten Million Dollars

The warmth of the Barcelona sun did nothing to thaw the ice crawling up my spine. I clutched my phone so tightly, my fingers went numb. The photo and the woman in that hospital bed. It was my mother. Or someone who looked so much like her it made my chest seize. But my mother was dead. The car crash was reported. I saw her coffin lowered into the ground. Right?

“Catherine,” Alan said, nudging me as we stood by the taxi line. “You’re pale. What happened?”

I wanted to show him the message, the photo, everything. But something stopped me. Whoever sent that message didn’t want company. They wanted me alone. And deep down, something told me this wasn’t just about Louis anymore.

“Nothing,” I said, forcing a breath. “Just jet lag.”

Alan didn’t believe me, but he didn’t press. We rode the cab in silence, Barcelona’s bustling streets blurring past as my mind spiraled.

Why was Louis in that photo? Why was he with my mother—or someone who looked exactly like her? And why did I feel like my whole life was about to collapse all over again?

We reached the hotel, a sleek boutique building near Passeig de Gràcia. The front desk clerk greeted us warmly, handing over our room keys with practiced smiles. But I barely registered any of it. I had two hours before the meeting. I needed answers. And I needed to think.

The moment I entered my suite, I shut the door behind me, tossed my bag on the bed, and opened my laptop. I typed in every combination I could think of my mother’s name, the accident date, obituaries, funeral records. The same articles popped up. Same reports. Same blurry photo of the wreck. But then… I noticed something.

The accident report had a note: "Identified by personal belongings. Dental records unavailable due to fire damage."

I froze. No dental records? Couldn’t that mean the body was never properly confirmed?

I leaned back, breathing shallowly. My mother had always been quiet about her past. She kept secrets, even from me. Letters I wasn’t allowed to read. Boxes locked away in closets. She had a way of vanishing into herself, especially in the months before her "death."

Had she faked it? Was my father part of it?

My phone buzzed again. Another message.

“Six o'clock. Don't be late. And don't bring your lapdog.”

I checked the time. It's already 5:12 p.m.

I changed quickly, slipping into a plain blouse, jeans, and sunglasses. No makeup. No drama. I needed to look like a woman who could vanish into a crowd. I left Alan a note—just in case.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back by 7. Just needed a little air. —C” Then I left the hotel.

Café Dulce was tucked in a quiet alley off La Rambla. It was the kind of place tourists didn’t find, with worn wood signs and a row of outdoor tables under flowering vines. I spotted her instantly. The woman from the photo.

She was older than I remembered. Her hair, once dark and glossy, was streaked with gray and pulled into a low bun. But those eyes—soft, almond-shaped, and filled with a strange sorrow—I knew those eyes. My feet slowed. My breath hitched. It was her. My mother. She's alive!

Sitting calmly at a table, as if she hadn’t faked her death and disappeared from my life a decade ago. She looked up.

“Catherine,” she said softly.

I stopped in front of her. “You’re alive.”

She nodded. My throat burned. “Why?”

“Sit,” she said gently. “There’s so much you don’t know.”

I dropped into the chair, my hands trembling. “You left me. You died. I grieved you. I buried you.”

“I had no choice,” she said. “Your father… wasn’t who you thought he was.”

I shook my head. “He loved us. He did everything for us.”

“No,” she said quietly. “He controlled us. Me. And eventually, you.”

My mouth went dry. “He arranged my marriage—”

“—just like he arranged mine,” she cut in. “And when I tried to leave, he threatened to ruin me. He kept me locked in that house, Catherine. For years.”

I stared at her. “That doesn’t make sense. He was kind, strict, but never violent—”

“Because he didn’t need to be,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “He used money. Power. Guilt. He made me believe I owed him for everything. Just like he did to you.”

My heart pounded. “Then why fake your death? Why not take me with you?”

She looked away. “Because I tried—and he stopped me. I planned to leave with you that night. But he found out. There was a fight. The car crash wasn’t an accident. It was a warning. He let the world think I died. And I played along, because the alternative was worse.”

Tears pricked my eyes. “You left me alone.”

“I watched you grow from afar,” she said, her voice cracking. “Louis was never supposed to hurt you. He was supposed to be different. But your father promised him the company in exchange for marrying you. It was all business.”

I laughed bitterly. “So everyone around me has just been lying? Trading me like a chess piece?”

“No,” she said, grabbing my hand. “You’re not a pawn. That’s why I contacted you. It’s time you knew the truth. And it’s time you took back what’s yours.”

I stared at her, unsure whether to cry or scream. My whole life—every belief I’d held about love, family, loyalty—was unraveling.

“Why now?” I asked. “Why reveal yourself now?”

“Because I’m dying,” she said simply.

The words hit like a slap.

“What?”

She smiled sadly. “I have six months, maybe less. Cancer. I didn’t want to die without seeing you again. Without helping you break free.”

I couldn’t speak. I just stared at her, blinking rapidly as her words sank in. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small envelope.

“Take this. It’s a key. To a safety deposit box. Inside are documents, recordings, everything your father didn’t want you to see. Including his real will.”

I took the envelope with trembling fingers.

“You were meant to inherit the company,” she whispered. “Not Louis. Not anyone else. You.”

I sat frozen, my world spinning. She smiled through tears. “You’re stronger than both of them. Prove it.”

I stood slowly, clutching the envelope to my chest.

“I will.”

As I turned to leave, her voice stopped me.

“Catherine… I’m sorry I couldn’t be the mother you needed.”

I looked back, my throat tight.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” I said truthfully.

She nodded. “That’s okay. Just promise me you’ll survive them.”

I didn’t promise. I walked away.

BACK in the hotel, I locked the door behind me and collapsed on the bed.

My head spun with truths, lies, and unanswered questions.

My mother was alive. My father was a puppet master. And Louis was just one more pawn. I had to open that safety deposit box. I had to end this war once and for all.

My phone buzzed again. This time, it was from Alan.

“Emergency. You need to come down. Now.”

My heart skipped. I rushed to the lobby, heart hammering in my chest. Alan was pacing, frantic. When he saw me, he grabbed my arms.

“Catherine—someone just broke into our suite. They tore it apart.”

“What?”

“The staff said they didn’t see anyone. But whoever it was… they left something.”

He handed me a photo. A printed image of me sitting at Café Dulce with my mother. Scrawled across the bottom, in red marker…

“You’re in too deep. Walk away now. Or you won’t walk out at all.”

I stared at the photo, my pulse pounding. Someone was watching me. And they weren’t afraid to strike next.