The Runaway Bride And The Disabled Billionaire

I was the illegitimate daughter of the Kirk family, treated like a disposable pawn and forced into an engagement with the abusive Cory Travis.

At a high-society gala, my half-sister orchestrated a trap, hiring a man to drug my champagne and drag me to Cory's suite, where a hidden camera waited to record my total ruin.

I managed to switch the glasses and fight my way out, but the retaliation from my family was brutal.

When my father found out I humiliated the Travis heir, he slapped me across the face and locked me in my bedroom.

"Then I will break your legs, and I will have you carried to the altar."

He froze all my bank accounts, leaving me with absolutely nothing.

I tied my bedsheets together and escaped into the night, only to be hunted down by Cory's men and cornered in a pitch-black garage.

I pressed my back against the cold brick wall, suffocating under the injustice of it all. Why did my own blood want to destroy me so badly? How could I possibly survive against two powerful dynasties?

Just as Cory lunged to tear off my clothes, a sleek black Bentley pulled up, and a man in an impeccably tailored suit stepped out to retrieve me.

The man waiting inside the car was Grant Carlisle, a ruthless, legendary billionaire confined to a wheelchair.

He didn't save me out of pity; he knew I was a neurosurgery prodigy, and he needed me to fix his crushed legs.

Realizing this was my only chance at survival, I looked at the devil in the wheelchair and proposed a deal that would make my family regret the day I was born.

——

The woman's body slammed hard against the edge of the sofa. She let out a sharp cry, then stared up at Ana in terror.

"Talk." Ana's voice was soft, but it carried a cold edge. "Who told you to do this?"

Ana hadn't expected it either.

She had only come to an alumni reunion, and the person who had drugged her was her closest friend from university.

When she'd taken the champagne from Faye's hand, she hadn't even drunk it yet before something felt wrong.

She tilted the glass, letting the rim touch her lower lip. Her tongue darted out, catching a single drop.

Faint. Nearly lost in the champagne's sweetness, but it was there.

A bitter, chemical tang.

Her pharmacology knowledge surfaced. Benzodiazepine. Fast-acting. Mixed with alcohol, the effect would be overwhelming.

Faye flinched, her head bowed. She said nothing.

"Nothing to say?" Ana swirled the champagne glass in her hand. "Did the person who sent you mention that what's in here is a controlled substance? If I hand this to the police, you'll go to prison. A year minimum. Ten years maximum."

Faye's pupils contracted sharply. "Impossible! She told me it was just a mild sedative..."

Ana seized on the words instantly. "Who is she?"

Faye dropped her gaze and fell silent again.

Ana's eyes narrowed. She pulled out her phone. "911, I'd like to report—"

"Don't!"

Faye threw herself forward, clutching Ana's leg, tears streaming down her face.

"Please. Please don't call the police. It was Constance. Constance Kirk. She told me it was only a mild sedative. She said—she said she just wanted you to relax enough to agree to the engagement. I didn't know about the drugs. I swear. I didn't know."

Ana went very still. Constance.

Of course.

"And after you drugged me?" Her voice was level, cold. "What then?"

"The suite," Faye was sobbing now, the words coming out in broken gasps. "Take you to Cory Travis's suite. Top floor."

"She said your fiancé was waiting. She said it was for your own good. That once you were with him, you'd understand. That you'd stop fighting the marriage. Ana, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. My mother is in the hospital. She needs surgery. Constance said if I did this, she'd cover the medical bills. I didn't have a choice. I'm sorry. Please don't call the police."

Ana's hands curled into fists. Her fingertips trembled—just slightly—before she stilled them.

Constance had gone to a great deal of trouble. The drugged champagne. The convenient hotel room. A fiancé waiting in the dark. All to force her into a marriage she would rather die than accept.

Faye wept into Ana's leg, her whole body shaking.

Ana looked down at her. This woman had been her first friend.

Before Switzerland. Before the years of silence from her father. Before she'd learned that trust was a currency no one in her world could afford.

And now here she was—sold out for hospital bills and a lie wrapped in good intentions.

Ana's face didn't soften.

She bent down, peeled Faye's fingers from her leg, and stepped back.

"Ana, please—"

The door closed behind her, cutting off the rest.

Ana's gaze was fixed on the glass doors leading back into the hotel.

Running wasn't an option.

Not anymore.

She was going to Cory Travis's suite.

The elevator ride was silent. Ana watched the numbers climb, her reflection a pale stranger in the polished brass doors. The fear from the terrace had burned away, leaving a cold resolve.

She found the suite easily. The door was ajar. An invitation.

A trap.

Instead of pushing it open, she retrieved a small, silver compact from her clutch and angled the mirror into the gap.

The reflection was clear. A spacious living area, all cream leather and dark wood. On the sofa, a man impatiently checking his Rolex. Cory Travis. Her "fiancé."

She took a slow, deep breath, tucked the compact away, and let her shoulders slump. She mussed her own hair and wiped all the hardness from her face, replacing it with confused vulnerability.

She pushed the door open and stumbled inside.