The Jilted Stray Is A Zillionaire Heiress

The bulletproof window lowered another two inches. Eleanor Montoya's face appeared in the gap. Her skin was perfectly lifted and tightened by expensive surgeons, but right now, it was twisted into an ugly snarl.

"Did you not hear me?" Eleanor screamed at the guards outside. "Shoot her! She's a deranged beggar trying to extort us!"

Beside Eleanor, a younger woman draped in a Chanel shawl leaned over. Tess Logan covered her nose in disgust. "Nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars? That wouldn't even cover my weekly manicure. These street rats are getting desperate."

The PMC captain adjusted his grip on his rifle. He received the direct order from the family matriarch. His finger tightened on the trigger.

Before he could apply the final pound of pressure, a sound came from the deep shadows at the back of the cabin.

It was a cough.

It was incredibly weak, barely more than a ragged exhalation of air, but the moment it echoed through the truck, every single mercenary outside froze. The captain immediately pulled his finger off the trigger and lowered the barrel of his gun.

The interior motion-sensor lights flickered on, illuminating the back of the cabin.

A young man sat in a high-tech, motorized wheelchair. Camden Montoya's skin was the color of old parchment. A thick, gray cashmere blanket was draped over his lap, making him look frail enough to be shattered by a strong gust of wind.

His eyes were a striking, deep gray-blue. They held a terrifying emptiness, a profound exhaustion that looked right through the physical world.

Camden raised a pristine white handkerchief to his mouth. He coughed twice more. When he pulled the cloth away, a faint web of red blood stained the white cotton.

Eleanor's face instantly shifted from rage to cloying sweetness. "Camden, darling, please don't strain yourself. The cold air will worsen your condition."

Camden didn't look at his stepmother. He slowly turned his head, locking his gray-blue eyes onto Eloise standing in the rain.

Their gazes collided through the open window. For a fraction of a second, Camden felt a strange, violent stutter in his chest. His heart missed a beat.

"On what basis," Camden asked, his voice raspy but dripping with the heavy, crushing authority of an apex predator, "do you claim he is alive?"

Eloise stared right back at him. "The man in the pod, Barton Montoya, has a flat brainwave. But his heart meridian still holds a sliver of life force."

She leaned an inch closer to the glass. "He suffered a cerebral hemorrhage three days ago at exactly 3:00 AM. It was accompanied by a massive, retrograde blood flow-a total reversal of circulation."

Eleanor's face drained of all color. The blood reversal was a level-one classified Montoya family secret. Not even the hospital staff knew the full truth.

Tess panicked, grabbing Eleanor's arm. "She... she must have bribed the nurses! She's a corporate spy!"

Camden's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. He studied Eloise's posture, the way she stood perfectly still in the freezing rain, completely unfazed by the guns or the money.

Eloise glanced at her bare wrist as if checking a watch. "You have three minutes," she said coldly. "Once the reaper crosses the threshold, not even an archangel can drag your grandfather back."

Camden's index finger tapped once against the leather armrest of his wheelchair. It was a subtle, rhythmic tap.

He slowly turned his head toward his personal assistant standing by the door.

"Cole," Camden ordered, his voice devoid of emotion. "Open the intensive care pod. Let her try."