My Husband Married Me For Ten Million Dollars

I stumbled back.

“No,” I whispered. “You’re dead. You—”

“Died?” my father said coolly, stepping into the light. “That’s the story, isn’t it? Drowned during a storm. Body never recovered. The grieving billionaire mourned by the nation.” My knees almost buckled. The air thickened in my lungs.

“But you—there was a funeral. A coffin!”

He smirked. “A coffin doesn’t need a body. Just a lie and enough power to bury the truth.”

Frances placed a hand on my shoulder. “You were never meant to come back, Catherine. You were supposed to disappear—just like your mother.”

My vision tunneled.

“Why?” I asked, trembling. “Why would you fake your death? Why betray us?”

My father’s face hardened, like he was wearing a mask I’d never seen before. “Because survival is not a matter of truth, Catherine. It’s about control. I gave your mother everything—and she tried to ruin it. She wanted out. She wanted to ‘clean up’ the empire.”

I swallowed hard. “So you killed her?”

He didn’t deny it. “I protected what I built.”

I surged forward, fury burning through my veins. “You let Louis and Frances hunt me like an animal. You erased me! For what? More power?”

Frances blocked my path with a gun in hand, calm as ever. “We gave you a chance to walk away. But you chose war.”

My father looked at me with something like disappointment. “You’re my daughter. You could’ve ruled this kingdom.”

“No,” I spat. “I’d rather burn it down.” Silence. Then footsteps echoed through the hallway—quick, heavy. Alan burst through the side door, gun raised. “Step away from her!”

Frances turned to fire, but I slammed into her arm just as she pulled the trigger. The bullet flew past Alan’s shoulder and shattered a mirror behind him. Alan tackled my father. They crashed into the bookshelf with a deafening thud. I struggled with Frances, adrenaline roaring through me as we wrestled for control of the gun. She elbowed me hard, knocking the wind from my lungs, and I stumbled back—

But not before grabbing a shard of the broken mirror. I slashed. Frances screamed, blood spilling from her arm. She dropped the gun. I kicked it across the room. Alan punched my father across the face, but the old man didn’t go down easily. He fought dirty—jabbing a hidden blade into Alan’s side.

“Alan!” I shouted, diving to grab the gun.

Frances lunged for it too. My fingers closed around the grip first. I turned and fired. A single shot. Frances dropped. My breath caught. She lay there, eyes wide in shock, blood pooling beneath her. My hands shook. I had never shot anyone before. Alan groaned, clutching his side.

“I’m fine. Get him—he’s running!”

I turned—my father was already out the back door. I chased him into the overgrown garden, heart pounding, moonlight casting long shadows across the broken statues and dead rose bushes.

“Catherine,” he called, voice echoing. “This isn’t over.”

“You’re right,” I growled. “It’s just beginning.”

He disappeared into the trees beyond the fence. I stopped short of following him—if he wanted to run, I’d let him. I had something more powerful than revenge now. A proof!

AN hour later, the estate was crawling with people. Jacob had been listening in through a transmitter Alan wore. He showed up with two men in black, guns drawn, scouring the place. Frances was taken to a secure facility—barely alive. Alan was patched up in the back of a van, his side stitched with temporary field dressing. I stood by the window, watching them drag away the shattered pieces of my childhood.

“Are you okay?” Jacob asked.

“No,” I admitted. “But I’m still standing.”

He looked impressed. “You pulled the trigger.”

“I had to.”

“She would’ve killed you,” he said. “You did the right thing.”

“Then why doesn’t it feel like it?”

He didn’t answer.

TWO days passed. I stayed in a safe house provided by Jacob’s unit—hidden in plain sight in a beachside fishing village. It was quiet. Too quiet. Alan recovered slowly, wrapped in bandages and sarcasm.

“Can’t believe your dad’s still alive,” he said, sipping coconut juice while I stared at the sea.

“Me neither.”

“You know what this means, right?”

I nodded. “We’ve only scratched the surface.”

Frances had been the front—controlling the empire while my father pulled strings from the shadows. Louis was a pawn, too drunk on greed to notice he was being used. And I? I was the liability they failed to erase. A phone rang. It's Jacob’s phone.

He answered and nodded sharply. “Got it.”

He turned to us. “You’ll want to hear this. They traced Frances’s calls. There’s a hidden vault in the city. Coordinates just came in.”

“Vault?” I asked.

“Records. Blackmail files. Names. Offshore accounts. Maybe even proof of who really killed your mother.”

My chest tightened. “Then we’re going in.”

WE reached the building under cover of darkness—an old textile warehouse Louis once owned. The air inside smelled of mothballs and rust. Jacob and Alan scanned the perimeter while I found the staircase leading underground. It was sealed with a biometric lock. But Frances had once trusted me. I placed my hand on the panel. It beeped—and opened. The vault was massive—walls lined with steel drawers, boxes labeled in codes I didn’t recognize, papers wrapped in plastic. Files dating back three decades. Pictures. Bank transfers. I opened one. My mother’s name was at the top.

“Look at this,” I said, handing Jacob the folder. “It’s a report—she was planning to dismantle my father’s offshore accounts. These were her files.”

Jacob scanned it quickly. “That’s enough to issue a warrant.”

“Not just a warrant,” I said. “A trial.”

Alan whistled. “You could take down half the board of directors with this.”

I pulled out another file—this one marked with my name. Inside were surveillance photos of me, at school, at cafés and even sleeping in my apartment. Dozens of pages long.

“They’ve been watching me for years,” I whispered. “Since the funeral.”

Jacob tapped a wall safe. “Want to see the real dirt?”

He opened it. Inside was a single flash drive and an envelope. I took the envelope. Inside were photographs. Of my mother’s corpse. Not in a coffin. On a table. Bloodied. Bruised.

“Murder,” I breathed. “This proves it wasn’t natural. This was staged.”

Jacob inserted the flash drive into his tablet. A video popped up. Grainy footage. A heated argument. A man yelling—my father. Then my mother’s scream. A gunshot.

Alan leaned in, stunned. “He killed her himself.”

I stared at the screen, hands clenched. “We take this public. All of it.”

Jacob hesitated. “Catherine… doing that makes you the most powerful enemy in the country. They’ll come after you like wildfire.”

“Let them,” I said coldly. “I’m done hiding.”

Suddenly, the power went out. Blackness.

Jacob swore. “Someone cut the feed.”

A red light blinked near the entrance, then another.

“Lasers,” Alan said. “Security tripwire.”

“They’re here,” Jacob growled, drawing his gun. “We’ve been compromised.”

Footsteps echoed from above. A voice rang out through the speaker system.

“Catherine.”

My blood froze.

“I warned you,” the voice said. “You should’ve stayed buried.”

My father’s voice. And then—BOOM.

The floor shook. Smoke billowed through the vault door. An explosion.

Jacob screamed, “MOVE!”

But the exit was collapsing. And I was trapped inside.

The smoke choked my lungs. The walls crumbled. And just before the darkness swallowed me, I heard him again.

“You’ll die like your mother.”