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Marrying The Crippled Billionaire For Revenge Novel Cover

Marrying The Crippled Billionaire For Revenge

I was the top trauma surgeon at the city’s busiest hospital until my family decided I was nothing more than a disposal fee. I stood in my father’s mahogany-lined study, staring at a two-hundred-thousand-dollar check that was meant to buy my silence and my dignity. "Sign the confession, Aurelia," my father demanded, the silver cigar cutter snapping with a violent finality. They wanted me to take the fall for a medical error I never committed, all to protect my sister Dominique’s image before her high-profile merger with the Blackburn family. When I refused to sign my life away, the betrayal turned lethal. My sister planted a priceless sapphire heirloom in my bag and called the security team to search me in front of my ex-fiancé. My mother watched with cold indifference as I was branded a thief, and my father threatened to pull the plug on my grandmother’s nursing home payments by noon if I didn't vanish. I was thrown out into a freezing rainstorm with a revoked medical license, a battered suitcase, and exactly forty-two dollars to my name. Even the man I once loved looked at me with pity, believing I had stooped to grand larceny because I was jealous of my sister’s success. I stood at a bus stop, shivering and broken, wondering how my own blood could trade my truth for a corporate PR stunt. They had taken my career, my home, and my reputation, leaving me with nothing but the clothes on my back and a burning need for justice. Desperate to protect my grandmother, I sought out the one man they all feared: Avery Blackburn, the "monster" CEO rumored to be a brain-damaged vegetable. But the man I found in the shadows of the VIP wing wasn't a victim; he was a wolf waiting for the right moment to strike. "I need a shield, and you need a wife," he rasped, sliding a titanium card across the desk. I didn't hesitate to sign the marriage certificate. The Blanchards think they’ve discarded a liability, but they’re about to find out what happens when you give a desperate surgeon a billionaire’s scalpel.
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Chapter 4

Aurelia held the phone up. The screen was small, but the resolution was 4K.

On the video, Mrs. Higgins walked into the coat closet area. She looked terrified. She was holding the ring in a tissue. She knelt by Aurelia's tote bag, unzipped the side pocket, and dropped the ring in.

Then, Dominique's voice came through the phone's speaker, tinny but unmistakable.

"Hurry up! Leave the zipper open a bit. Make it look sloppy."

The silence in the foyer was heavy, suffocating.

Preston stared at the phone. The color drained from his face. He looked at Dominique. It wasn't a look of love. It was a look of horror.

"It's a deepfake!" Dominique yelled, her voice shrill. "She's good with computers! She faked it!"

"It's a cloud stream, Dominique," Preston said quietly. "You can't deepfake a live cloud log in thirty seconds."

Mrs. Higgins collapsed onto the floor, sobbing. "She said she'd fire me! She said she'd make sure I never worked in this town again!"

Catherine stepped forward, her hands fluttering. "Preston, darling, it was just a prank! A sisterly joke! Dominique is just... she's under so much stress with the wedding..."

Aurelia laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound.

"A prank?" she said. She put her phone away. "It's a felony, Mother. Grand larceny and framing someone? That's prison time."

She looked at Preston. "This is what you're marrying. A liar and a criminal. But hey, the merger looks good on paper, right?"

She knelt down and started throwing her clothes back into the suitcase. She didn't fold them. She just shoved them in. She felt dirty just being in this room.

Preston took a step toward her. "Aurelia... I..."

"Don't," she said without looking up.

"I'll drive you," he said. "Let me get you out of here."

"I don't want your ride," Aurelia said. She zipped the bag shut and stood up.

Dominique saw Preston's attention shifting. She let out a small moan, her hand fluttering to her forehead.

"Oh god," she whispered. "I feel... faint..."

She crumpled toward the floor. It was a graceful fall, practiced.

"Dominique!" Catherine screamed. "Her heart! Someone call 911!"

Preston turned, instinct kicking in, reaching out to catch her.

Aurelia didn't even blink. She walked past her sister's prone form. She paused for half a second, looking down.

"Her color is fine," Aurelia said flatly. "And her eyelids are fluttering. That means she's conscious and fighting the urge to blink. It's a textbook case of factitious disorder. Or, in layman's terms, a poorly executed tantrum."

She walked to the door. The security guards stepped aside this time, looking at their shoes.

Aurelia pushed the heavy doors open. The sky outside was dark, bruised purple and gray. A storm was coming.

She walked out. The air was cold, biting at her exposed skin. She didn't have a car. The bus stop was two miles away down the private drive.

She started walking. The wheels of her suitcase crunched loudly on the gravel.

Behind her, she heard shouting. Then, the roar of an engine.

She didn't turn around. She just kept walking, head down against the wind.

The silver Aston Martin pulled up beside her, moving at a crawl. The window rolled down.

"Get in, Aurelia," Preston said.

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