Substitute Bride For The Fake Cripple

Beatrice stepped over the plush Persian rug, completely ignoring the white bandage wrapped tightly around Grace's ankle. She stopped inches from Grace, her face stretching into a grotesque, forced smile.

"Since you've already ruined your arrangement with the Hayes family," Beatrice said, her voice trembling with desperate excitement, "you can take Ashly's place. You can marry Hudson Turner."

The words dropped into the room like a live grenade.

In the corner, Grace's mother, Eleanor, let out a choked gasp. She scrambled up from the sofa and threw herself in front of Grace, acting as a physical shield.

"Are you insane?!" Eleanor screamed at Beatrice, her hands shaking violently. "You want to throw my daughter to that monster? The man is a cripple! He's paralyzed from the waist down, and everyone knows he's a violent psychopath who was exiled by his own father!"

Beatrice's face hardened into a vicious scowl. "It's about saving this family, Eleanor! Do you know what the penalty clause in the Turner contract looks like? If we default tomorrow, they will liquidate everything we own. We will be on the street!"

Grace reached out and gently squeezed her mother's trembling shoulder. She stepped around Eleanor, placing herself directly in front of Beatrice.

"I am not cleaning up Ashly's mess," Grace said. Her voice was terrifyingly calm. Every syllable was a block of ice.

Beatrice's face flushed purple with rage. "You ungrateful little bitch! You eat from this family, you live in this house! It is time you paid us back!"

Grace let out a short, sharp laugh. She crossed her arms, her nails digging slightly into the fabric of her sleeves.

"Paid you back?" Grace repeated. "For the last three years, I have been the only one running the operations of Albert Industries. I increased our profit margins by twenty percent while Ashly was maxing out corporate cards in Paris. I don't owe this family a damn thing."

The hard, undeniable facts hit Beatrice like a physical blow. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Defeated, she spun around and looked at Conrad, who was still slumped in his chair.

"Conrad, do something!" Beatrice shrieked.

Conrad let out a heavy sigh. He gripped the armrests and forced himself to stand. He puffed out his chest, trying to summon the patriarchal authority he had used to control the family for decades.

"Grace, this is not a request," Conrad commanded, pointing a thick finger at her. "You will do as you are told. My heart cannot take the stress of a bankruptcy. You need to think about your father."

Grace stared at the man. Her stomach churned with a sickening wave of disgust. There was no love in his eyes, only the desperate panic of a man about to lose his money.

She took a step back, physically distancing herself from him.

"I am a financially independent adult," Grace said, her voice dropping an octave. "You do not own me."

Conrad's face twisted into an ugly snarl. The facade of the loving father vanished.

"Independent?" he mocked. "If you walk out that door, I will freeze every bank account with your name on it. I will drain your trust fund before the sun comes up."

Grace didn't blink. She held his gaze, her eyes completely dead.

"Do it," she challenged. "But let me remind you of one minor detail, Father. I own fifteen percent of Albert Industries' voting shares. Independently."

Beatrice scoffed from the sidelines. "Those shares will be worthless when the Turners bankrupt us!"

Grace unclasped her clutch. She pulled out her phone. Her thumb swiped across the screen, the bright light illuminating her pale face in the dimly lit room. She opened her brokerage application.

She walked over to Conrad and shoved the phone directly into his line of sight.

On the screen, glowing in bright green text, was a pre-set block trade order. It was an order to dump her entire fifteen percent stake on the open market at the opening bell.

"If I press this confirm button," Grace said, her voice a soft, lethal whisper, "a massive block of shares will flood the market tomorrow morning. It will trigger a panic sell-off. Albert Industries' stock will crash before the Turners even finish their morning coffee. I will bankrupt you myself."

Conrad's eyes bulged. He stared at the glowing green numbers. His breathing hitched, turning into rapid, shallow gasps. His hand shot up, his fingers trembling violently as he pointed at the phone.

Beatrice screamed and lunged forward, trying to snatch the phone from Grace's hand.

Grace didn't move her arm. She simply shifted her gaze to Beatrice. It was a look so cold, so full of violent promise, that Beatrice froze mid-step.

"Touch me," Grace warned, her thumb hovering a millimeter above the screen, "and the order goes through right now."

The living room descended into absolute terror. Uncles and cousins began shouting at Conrad, begging him to calm down, begging Grace to put the phone away.

Suddenly, Conrad let out a choked, agonizing groan.

He clutched the center of his chest, his fingers digging into his shirt. His knees buckled. He collapsed backward, hitting the leather sofa with a heavy thud, his body writhing in pain.

A sudden jolt of ice shot through Grace's veins, a primal, deeply buried fear she hadn't felt since she was a child. Her breath hitched in her throat, a physiological response she couldn't immediately control. But within a microsecond, she ruthlessly crushed the feeling down. She forced her racing heart to slow, her face hardening back into an unreadable, impenetrable mask.

"Conrad!" Eleanor screamed, throwing herself onto her husband. "Call an ambulance! Get his pills!"

The room exploded into chaos. The butler ran toward the landline, dialing frantically. Family members scrambled around the sofa, shouting and crying.

Grace stood perfectly still in the center of the madness. Her hand gripped the phone so tightly her knuckles were stark white. Her heart pounded against her ribs, but her face remained an unreadable mask.

She looked down at her father gasping for air. She knew the truth. Threatening them wasn't enough. As long as the Turner family's threat hung over them, they would never stop coming for her.

She had to cut the head off the snake. She had to go to the source.