My Husband Married Me For Ten Million Dollars

I stood frozen, staring at the last frame of the video—my face in crystal-clear high definition, caught mid-breath, eyes scanning the forged will.

“They were inside this room…” I whispered.

Alan rushed over, jaw clenched. “Let me see that again.”

I replayed the video, hands trembling. There was no audio, but the clarity was enough. Someone had planted a camera in here—recently. They weren’t just following me. They were in the room with me—watching.

“Where the hell did this come from?” he asked, yanking open drawers, scanning corners, pulling the desk lamp apart.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I checked everything when we arrived.”

Alan pulled a pen out of the wall socket. A camera lens glinted at the end.

“Son of a—”

“Turn it off,” I said. “Now.”

He smashed it with the heel of his shoe. Paranoia curled around me like smoke. I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly feeling exposed, vulnerable, hunted.

“I should’ve seen this coming,” I murmured. “The threats, the break-in, the message… it’s not just intimidation. They’re documenting everything I know. Tracking my moves. Probably listening to this conversation right now.”

Alan grabbed a notepad from the desk and scribbled…

Pack. We’re leaving now. Say nothing. Don’t react. Just nod.

I nodded. We packed silently, deliberately, like actors in a scene we couldn’t afford to mess up. Within ten minutes, we were in a cab, heading to another hotel Alan booked through a private contact. No ID. No names. Paid in cash. By the time we entered the tiny room above an old tapas bar, I was shaking. Alan locked the door and slid his phone into a faraday bag.

“We’re clean here,” he said. “They won’t track us.”

“Not unless they’re using someone on the inside,” I said darkly. “Louis said this goes deeper than him. If that’s true, then we can’t trust anyone—not even his enemies. Especially not them.”

Alan hesitated. “There’s someone we can talk to. But it’s a risk.”

“Who?”

“My brother.”

I blinked. “The one who works for the intelligence unit?”

He nodded. “He’s off duty now, but if anyone can verify the chain of corruption—discreetly—it’s him.”

“Will he help?”

Alan sighed. “Depends on whether he thinks you’re worth betraying protocol for.”

I looked him in the eye. “Then let’s make sure he does.”

WE met Jacob the next morning in a busy café near the port. He was tall, sharp-jawed, and cautious—like Alan, but colder. Military posture. Quick eyes.

He didn’t shake my hand.

“So this is her,” he said flatly. “The billionaire’s ghost-wife.”

I ignored the jab. “Nice to meet you too.”

Alan slid him a flash drive wrapped in a napkin. “Just look at the files. You’ll see why she needs help.”

Jacob plugged it into a burner laptop. His face didn’t change as he scrolled through. Line after line of forged documents, audio threats, and offshore banking records filled the screen.

He whistled low. “You’re sitting on a bomb.”

“No,” I corrected. “I am the bomb. I’m the sole legal heir. Once this hits the right court, Louis loses everything.”

Jacob closed the laptop and leaned back. “And if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not.”

He watched me for a long moment. “Let’s say I believe you. What exactly do you want from me?”

“I want names. I want connections. I want to know who’s backing Louis—and who’s sending these threats. Because someone else wants this empire just as much as he does. And they’re willing to kill for it.”

Jacob scratched his jaw. “This kind of power doesn’t stay in family lines. It breeds vultures. If you take him down, you’ll inherit not just the empire—but the enemies that come with it.”

I nodded. “Then I’d rather know them before they know me.”

He looked at Alan. “You always bring me the fun ones.”

Alan smirked. “She’s the real deal.”

Jacob finally extended a hand. “Alright. Give me two days. I’ll run this through back channels, see who’s watching who.”

I shook his hand. “Two days. And if something happens to me before that—”

“I’ll burn them myself,” he said.

WE left separately. Alan and I circled the city for hours, switching cabs, staying in crowds, avoiding patterns. I didn’t sleep that night—not really. Every creak made my heart race. Every shadow outside the window looked like a gun. By the next afternoon, Jacob called.

“You need to see this.”

He met us in a hidden garage under a mechanic shop. A laptop was waiting on the hood of a car.

“I traced the email address that sent the threat video. It bounced through fifteen VPNs and three private servers—but I caught a pattern.”

He opened a video. A security feed from Manila. It's Louis. In a sleek suit. Meeting with a woman in a gray coat. My heart stopped.

“That’s… that’s my father’s old lawyer. Frances Arellano.”

Jacob nodded. “She went dark after his death. No law firm. No records. But she’s been helping Louis quietly—burying documents, transferring assets, and erasing files.”

“Why would she do that?” I asked. “She was loyal to my mother…”

Alan whispered, “Unless your mother trusted the wrong person.”

Jacob clicked again. The next image hit me harder. A bank transaction. Millions. Moved from a shell company in Dubai to a numbered account. And it's under Frances’s name.

Alan leaned over. “She’s financing the threats?”

Jacob nodded. “Likely coordinating them too.”

I sat back, stunned. “This… this wasn’t just Louis. He’s a puppet.”

“Exactly,” Jacob said. “And the puppet master is a woman who knows every weakness your family ever had.”

I clenched my jaw. “Then it’s time she saw me as a threat.”

THAT evening, I arranged a meeting with Frances. I used the name she wouldn’t ignore—my mother’s. I sent a message through an old private channel my mother used for emergencies. Within minutes, a response came.

Tomorrow. 9 p.m. The old estate. My mother’s abandoned house. The one Louis promised to tear down after the funeral.

Alan looked concerned. “This could be a trap.”

“I know.”

“But you’re still going?”

“I have to,” I said. “I need to see her face when she realizes the daughter she helped erase is still alive—and not going anywhere.”

THE night air was thick as I stepped onto the cracked marble steps of my childhood home. The windows were dark. The gates wide open.

Alan waited two blocks away, armed and ready. Inside, the air smelled of dust and old secrets. And then—footsteps. Frances entered from the hallway, older now, but no less sharp. Her eyes scanned me coolly.

“I didn’t think you had it in you,” she said.

“I got it from my mother.”

Frances tilted her head. “You shouldn’t have come alone.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Neither should you.”

She smiled thinly. “Oh, but I’m not alone.”

And that’s when I heard it. The unmistakable sound of a safety being clicked off—behind me. I turned slowly. And my blood ran cold. Standing in the shadows was someone I never expected to see.

“Hello, Catherine,” the man said.

It wasn’t Louis. It was my father. He's alive. He stepped forward, face aged, eyes hollow.

“I hear you’ve been digging,” he said. “It’s time we had a family reunion.”