When I tried to leave, he had my lawyer disbarred and locked me in our mansion, a prisoner in a gilded cage. He held me against a wall and told me I was his property forever.
After he subjected me to a terrifying medical procedure just to remind me of who was in control, I knew the man I had saved was a monster.
He hadn't just betrayed me; he had murdered my mother and stolen my body.
So I made a deal with his greatest rival. I sold my controlling stake in his company for five hundred million dollars and a plan to disappear. On the deck of the superyacht he named after me, I faked a miscarriage, set off an explosion, and threw myself into the sea.
Brayden Quinn would believe I was dead. He would believe he had driven his wife and his precious heir to suicide.
Let him live with that.
Chapter 1
"You were the angel who saved him from the gutter. That' s the story everyone knows, Amelia."
Elliot Jefferson sat across from me, his expensive suit perfectly tailored, his expression a mixture of curiosity and caution. We were in a private room at a restaurant so exclusive it didn't have a name.
"The woman who ran a food truck and stood by the great Brayden Quinn for three years while he was nothing. A modern-day fairy tale."
I stared at the untouched glass of water in front of me. The story was true. I had done all that. And now I was Brayden Quinn' s wife.
"I want to make a deal, Elliot."
He leaned forward slightly, his eyes sharp. He was Brayden' s biggest rival in the tech world, a man who would do anything to get an edge.
"I' m listening."
"I' ll give you my thirty percent stake in Quinn Industries."
His composure cracked. A flicker of shock crossed his face. Thirty percent was a controlling stake. It was enough to dethrone Brayden.
"What do you want in return?" he asked, his voice low.
"Five hundred million dollars. And you help me disappear."
I watched him process it. The money was nothing compared to the power I was offering. But the second part was the problem.
"Disappear?"
"I want you to help me fake my death."
Elliot Jefferson stared at me, his mouth slightly open. The pragmatic, opportunistic CEO was, for the first time since I' d met him, speechless. The air in the room grew thick and heavy.
He finally found his voice. "Mrs. Quinn... Amelia. Are you in some kind of trouble? There are other ways to leave a marriage. Divorce lawyers exist for a reason."
He was trying to be reasonable, to talk me down from a ledge he couldn' t see.
"A divorce won' t work," I said, my voice flat. "He will never let me go."
The words tasted like ash. I thought about the last few months. The constant surveillance. The way his eyes would darken if I spoke to another man for too long. The possessiveness that he disguised as love.
I thought about the positive pregnancy test on my bathroom counter, a test I took two days ago. I thought about the blinding joy on Brayden' s face, a joy that felt like a cage closing around me.
And I thought about my mother.
Her face, pale and thin in a hospital bed. The frantic calls I made to Brayden, begging him to use his influence, to get her the specialist she needed. His dismissive reassurances.
"She' s getting the best care, Amelia. Don' t worry."
She died a week later from what the doctors called "unforeseen complications," a result of medical neglect. The specialist was never called. Brayden had been too busy launching a new product. Too busy with Katharina Christensen.
I thought about walking in on them. Brayden and Katharina, my high school tormentor, the woman whose family' s corporate greed had driven my own father' s business into the ground, leading to his suicide years ago. They were in our bed. My bed.
The memory was a physical blow, stealing my breath.
"He will find me anywhere on this planet, Elliot," I said, my voice shaking slightly before I forced it steady. I looked him directly in the eye, letting him see the abyss inside me. "The only way I can be free is if he thinks I' m dead."
I pushed a document across the table. A preliminary stock transfer agreement.
"This is a limited-time offer. Yes or no. If it' s yes, I want the money in an offshore account by the end of the day. And I want a plan. A yacht, an explosion, a staged miscarriage. Untraceable."
Elliot picked up the paper, his eyes scanning the text. The silence stretched.
Then, a quiet ping. He glanced at his phone. He looked back at me, his expression unreadable.
"The transfer is done," he said. "Five hundred million. The account details are on this burner phone." He slid a small, black phone across the table. "My team will be in touch to coordinate the rest. They are the best. No one will ever find you."
I stood up, taking the phone. I didn' t say thank you. This wasn' t a favor. It was a transaction. My soul for my freedom.
As I walked out, leaving him with the power to ruin my husband, I heard him ask his assistant, "Why the miscarriage? Why add that detail?"
I didn' t wait for an answer. I knew why.
Because the child I was carrying wasn' t mine.
I got into my car, my hands shaking so hard I could barely grip the steering wheel. I managed to drive a few blocks before pulling over into a dark, empty street.
The carefully constructed walls I had built around my heart crumbled. A sob tore from my throat, raw and agonizing. I slumped over the wheel, the pain of the last year, the last decade, crashing down on me.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
I remembered the first time I saw him. Brayden wasn' t a tech mogul then. He was just a man, bleeding in an alley behind my food truck, beaten and left for dead by loan sharks. He had lost everything. His company, his fortune, his fiancée.
That fiancée was Katharina.
I cleaned his wounds. I gave him hot soup and a place to stay. I listened as he told me his dreams of getting it all back. His eyes burned with an intensity that pulled me in. He was brilliant and broken, and I fell in love.
For three years, I worked double shifts, pouring every penny I had into supporting him while he rebuilt his empire from my tiny apartment. He was ruthless, relentless. He saw enemies everywhere.
He once broke the hand of a man who catcalled me on the street. He looked at me then, his knuckles bloody, and said, "No one disrespects what' s mine."
At the time, I thought it was protection. I didn't see it for the possession it was.
He proposed a dozen times. On rooftops, in parks, in the middle of a crowded street. Each time with a bigger ring, a grander gesture. I always said yes.
We got married. The first year was a blur of happiness. He showered me with gifts, with affection. He called me his queen, his savior. He built a narrative for the world: the billionaire who never forgot the woman who loved him when he had nothing.
It was a perfect story. And he was its perfect author.
Then, the cracks appeared. His work trips grew longer. His phone was always angled away from me.
I found them a year ago. Katharina, in my house, wearing my robe. The look on her face was pure triumph. The look on Brayden' s was... annoyance. Not guilt. Annoyance that he' d been caught.
I tried to leave. So many times.
I packed my bags. He found me at the airport and carried me back home like a child.
I filed for divorce. He had the lawyer disbarred.
"You are my wife, Amelia," he' d said, his voice terrifyingly calm as he pinned me against a wall. "You are not going anywhere. Ever."
Then came the accident. A minor fall in the kitchen. I hit my head. At the hospital, they told me I was pregnant.
For a moment, I felt a flicker of hope. A baby. Maybe a baby would fix this. Maybe it would bring back the man I fell in love with.
Brayden was ecstatic. He became doting, attentive. He promised to end things with Katharina. He promised to be the perfect father, the perfect husband.
He was lying.
Two weeks ago, I overheard him on the phone with his doctor. I was in the garden, just below his office window.
"The IVF was a success," the doctor said. "The surrogate is healthy."
A cold dread washed over me. I kept listening.
"Just make sure Amelia never finds out the egg we used was Ms. Christensen' s," Brayden said. "She' s the perfect vessel. Strong. Healthy. She' ll carry my heir to term, and then... she' ll serve her purpose."
My purpose. To be a vessel for my husband and his mistress' s child.
The world tilted on its axis.
Then came the final, unforgivable blow. My mother' s illness. His casual cruelty. His refusal to help. It wasn' t just neglect. It was a choice. He let her die.
That' s when the love I had for him curdled into something cold and hard. That' s when I contacted Elliot Jefferson.
A sharp tap on my car window jolted me back to the present.
My blood ran cold.
It was Brayden.
I rolled down the window, my face a carefully blank mask.
He wasn' t smiling. His eyes, the color of a stormy sea, raked over me, searching.
"Where have you been?" His voice was low, laced with suspicion.
"Just getting some air," I said, my heart pounding against my ribs.
"You were supposed to be home an hour ago. I called you. You didn' t answer."
It wasn' t a question. It was an accusation. He saw everything as a betrayal. A year ago, I would have been frantic to soothe his possessive anger. I would have apologized, explained, reassured him.
Not anymore.
I thought of him breaking that man' s hand. I thought of him telling a disbarred lawyer that I was his property. I thought of my mother, alone in that hospital room.
I met his gaze and held it, my silence a form of defiance.
"Amelia." He softened his tone, a tactic I now recognized as pure manipulation. He reached through the window, his hand stroking my cheek. His touch felt like a brand. "Don' t do this. Don' t shut me out."
"I' m tired, Brayden."
"I know you' re still upset about your mother," he said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "And I know I haven' t been... present. But that' s all going to change. For you. For our baby."
He was trying to rewrite history, to smooth over the jagged edges of his betrayal with empty promises.
I felt a bitter laugh rise in my throat, but I choked it down. I had to play my part. Just a little longer.
I let him see a flicker of yielding in my eyes. I leaned into his touch, a gesture that cost me everything.
"Okay, Brayden," I whispered.
He smiled, a triumphant, possessive smile that no longer fooled me.
"Let' s go home, my love."
As I drove back to the gilded cage he called our home, one thought echoed in my mind.
I am leaving you. I am leaving this life. And you will never find me.
/0/90622/coverbig.jpg?v=367627ceb056c37914d1c04a179ed683)
View More Comments on App
/0/89213/coverbig.jpg?v=c48768381d82b76d4ea0f39656970b34)
/0/87315/coverbig.jpg?v=1c760290d9f514a53e27ef5624154c3d)
/0/88510/coverbig.jpg?v=7dd35ae32e267d9bda47a200bc473e45)
/0/89210/coverbig.jpg?v=3dc83d680241a5e99742657ac802fd4a)
/0/88677/coverbig.jpg?v=5290c11f0c45a86007a31c0a16b603fe)
/0/87966/coverbig.jpg?v=c39fd2a21a4f78c18137b5444375c0b1)
/0/86395/coverbig.jpg?v=55bb4b33b13d15db79b49aea662af755)
/0/65237/coverbig.jpg?v=e87f4c09444237b6798a00b1df411030)
/0/78786/coverbig.jpg?v=a10adcbae5545cbc22124cb9bb7d8acb)
/0/81650/coverbig.jpg?v=6e4487b5edd0ed017fe09f8ca0166339)
/0/81653/coverbig.jpg?v=a908e72c35ce94bbf62d266f661dbb47)
/0/60743/coverbig.jpg?v=78a035f3287c24e9198a74099d6c0a8b)
