When My Groom Planned to Inherit My Fortune by Killing Me

The silence in my phone buzzed like a warning. Three missed calls from Dad. I'd been ignoring his check-ins for weeks now, ever since our last argument about my engagement to Zane. "He's not good enough for you," Dad had insisted, his voice tight with that familiar disapproval. "You're a Montgomery, Victoria."

I'd hung up on him then, just as I had every time he'd questioned my choices. Now, as darkness crept into the edges of my vision, I wished I'd answered.

---

Across town, in the gleaming tower of Montgomery Pharmaceuticals, my father stood at his office window, phone pressed to his ear. The Manhattan skyline stretched before him like a kingdom he'd built for me—one I'd rejected.

"She hasn't responded to any messages in twelve hours," Carter Montgomery said, his voice carrying the weight of command that had shaped empires. "That's not like her."

The security chief on the other end hesitated. "Sir, Ms. Montgomery has expressed her desire for independence—"

"Independence doesn't include radio silence." My father's knuckles whitened around the phone. "Activate Protocol Phoenix."

The security chief's sharp intake of breath was audible even through the speaker. "Are you certain, sir? That's our highest-level intervention protocol."

"I'm certain." My father's voice dropped to a whisper. "Find my daughter."

He ended the call and stared at the family portrait on his desk—me at sixteen, before I'd learned to hide my wealth, before I'd met Zane. Before I'd convinced myself that love required sacrifice.

"Where are you, Victoria?" he murmured, activating the GPS tracker he'd secretly installed in my phone months ago.

---

"Four minutes until irreversible brain damage begins." Zane's voice sliced through the fog of my consciousness. "Fascinating how the body prioritizes breathing over other functions."

I lay on the cold floor, each labored breath a desperate battle. The black spots in my vision had merged into a dark halo, narrowing my world to pinpricks of light.

"Will it hurt?" Katalina asked, not looking at me as she scrolled through her phone. "Brain damage, I mean."

"Initially, yes." Zane's pen scratched across his notepad. "Then a blessed release as consciousness fades."

Katalina laughed, the sound bouncing off the sterile walls. "God, you're morbid. But I guess that's why I love you."

She leaned against him, her dark hair falling across his shoulder. "So, the penthouse—I'm thinking we should redo the master bath first. That clawfoot tub is so last century."

"Whatever you want, darling." Zane's voice carried the same tender tone he'd once used with me. "Consider it our wedding present."

I tried to speak, to beg, but my lungs betrayed me. Each breath was a knife twisting deeper.

"Oh, and those terrible paintings she has in the living room," Katalina continued, her voice growing distant as my consciousness wavered. "All those old landscapes? So boring. I found this amazing modern artist who does these gorgeous abstracts in blood red and black..."

"Perfect," Zane murmured, his eyes never leaving his notepad. "Victoria would have hated them."

---

The security team's efficiency was matched only by my father's growing dread. Within minutes, his computer screen glowed with my location—Manhattan General Hospital.

"Medical emergency?" he asked sharply.

"No, sir." The security chief's voice crackled through the speaker. "Ms. Montgomery appears to be in the private ward of Dr. Zane Parker."

My father's jaw tightened. "Hack the hospital's security system. I want eyes on my daughter now."

The keyboard clattered as his elite team worked their magic. Seconds stretched into eternity before the hospital's surveillance feed blinked onto my father's screen.

"Sir..." The security chief's voice faltered.

My father leaned forward, his face illuminated by the screen's harsh glow. What he saw transformed him from a concerned parent into something primal—a father facing his worst nightmare.

"Victoria!" The name tore from his throat as he saw me writhing on the floor, gasping for air.

"Sir, we need to alert hospital security—"

"No." My father's voice turned to ice. "Get me to that hospital. Now."

He grabbed his coat, already moving toward the elevator. "Call the NYPD. Tell them there's an attempted murder in progress at Manhattan General."

The security chief's protests faded into background noise as my father charged toward the parking garage, phone clutched in one hand, car keys in the other.

"Driver!" he barked into his phone. "Manhattan General. Emergency entrance. Don't stop for anything."

The screen in his hand showed Zane leaning over me, writing in his notepad while I fought for each precious breath.

"Hold on, Victoria," my father whispered, his voice breaking. "Daddy's coming."