Married for Money

I'm the real heiress.

Day one of the reunion. My biological mother slides a black card across the table.

One million a month. You don't have to actually think of me as your mother. Just act the part in public. Don't embarrass me.

I freeze for half a second.

Then I drop to my knees. I wrap my arms around her legs and refuse to let go.

"Mom! Why are we negotiating? We're a match made in heaven! Anyone who tries to separate us deserves bad karma!"

She frowns. "Stop talking nonsense."

I flip the switch instantly. "Got it. Low profile. Let's just call it a... family stipend. I'll take it."

Twelve million a year.

Forget playing the loving daughter.

For that kind of money, I'd call the fake heiress my dearest sister.

I'd call her whatever she wants. And I'd say it sweeter than anyone else.

Chapter 1

My knees ache. The marble floor is unforgiving.

But my smile doesn't falter. Not even a twitch.

Eleanor, my newly acquired biological mother, clearly hasn't dealt with someone like me before.

"Get up," she says, her voice clipped. "You look ridiculous."

I scramble to my feet instantly.

"Yes, Mom. Whatever you say."

"Let's get one thing straight." She settles back into the velvet sofa, crossing her legs with practiced elegance. "Arabella has lived in this house for twenty-two years. She has a heart condition. She's fragile. She cannot handle stress."

She fixes me with a cold stare.

"To the public, you are twins. She is the older sister. You are the younger one. I don't want to see any jealousy. I don't want any drama."

I take the card with both hands, reverence in every finger, and slide it into my pocket.

"Don't worry." I stand straight, practically saluting. "As long as the money clears, Arabella is my dearest sister. If she wants water, I won't give her soda. If she wants to walk, I won't let her use a wheelchair. Wait, no. I mean I'll carry her on my back."

Movement catches my eye.

A girl is gripping the railing on the second floor, looking down.

There she is. The fake heiress who occupied my spot for twenty-two years. Arabella.

Her eyes are rimmed with red. She looks at me, and before she even speaks, a single tear rolls down her cheek.

"Mom... is this... Miss Rowan?"

In a typical drama, this is the part where I point a finger at her and scream "thief."

But I'm built different.

She's not my enemy. She's my cash cow. My golden ticket. My ATM with a pulse.

Would Eleanor be paying me a salary this high if it weren't to protect this girl's fragile feelings?

Arabella bites her lip, looking like a kicked puppy. "Miss Rowan, I'm so sorry. I stole your life... If it bothers you, I can move out..."

Eleanor's expression darkens. She's about to speak.

"Sis! What are you talking about?!"

I widen my eyes. I summon every ounce of sincerity I used to use when selling knockoff handbags to tourists at the train station.

"Stole? That's such an ugly word! For twenty-two years, you've been suffering in this mansion!"

Arabella freezes. The tear hangs on her eyelash, unsure whether to fall or retreat. "Huh?"

I lunge forward and grab her hands, squeezing them tight.

"Sis, look at you! You're so thin! The food here must be terrible, right? So many rules? So much pressure? I heard rich people have to learn piano, equestrian, and etiquette, and socialize every single day. That sounds exhausting!"

I shake my head sympathetically.

"Not me. I was feeding pigs and chopping wood in the village. I'm strong as an ox. I eat like a horse. Only a rough person like me can handle that kind of hardship. I feel so guilty that you had to suffer through all this luxury in my place!"

Arabella's mouth opens. No sound comes out.

I don't give her a chance to reboot. I turn to Eleanor.

"Mom, look, Sis is being too polite with me. From now on, I've got her back. No one's gonna bully my sister. Sis, you just stay right here. Live exactly how you've always lived. I won't say a word. I won't cause trouble. I won't make you guys worry about a thing."

Eleanor sighs. "Enough. Since we're all on the same page, let's eat."

I pick up my fork.

A middle-aged man walks in.

My biological father. Archibald.

"Biological father" is a technicality. He married into the money. The family wealth belongs to Eleanor. He was just the handsome poor boy who snagged the heiress back in the day.

"Is this the one... from the village?"

Chapter 2

He hands his coat to the maid, undoing his cufflinks as he approaches the table. "Why are you dressed like that? And sit up straight. No posture at all."

I glance down at myself.

Temu clearance rack. Sure, it's not Chanel, but everything important is covered.

Archibald sits down. He ignores me completely, immediately placing a piece of fish onto Arabella's plate. "Arabella, eat up. You look pale. It breaks my heart."

Arabella glances at me, her voice small. "Thanks, Dad. But... Dad, Rowan just got back. You should give her some too."

What a manipulative saint. Playing the victim while painting a target on my back.

Predictably, Archibald slams his fork onto the table. "Her? She's eaten everything imaginable in the countryside. She doesn't need me to serve her."

He turns his glare on me.

"Since you're back, you follow our rules. Scrub that peasant smell off you. Don't embarrass your mother in public. And that name. What was it? Rowan? It sounds like a weed."

He waves his hand in disgust. "Change it tomorrow. I've already decided. You'll be called Cecilia."

My million-dollar salary covers tolerating my biological mother's temper.

It does not cover tolerating her husband's bullshit.

I calmly chew on a rib, glancing up at Eleanor.

She acts like she's deaf.

Got it.

Mom didn't speak up. That means this is an add-on service.

I put down my fork. I wipe my mouth with the linen napkin.

"Dad, I can't change my name."

Archibald's eyes bulge. "What did you say? You just got here and you're already talking back?"

"It's not talking back." I look at him with earnest, puppy-dog eyes. "Rowan is a rustic name, sure. But my adoptive parents gave it to me. Even though they treated me like trash, beat me, and made me feed pigs, they raised me for twenty-two years. If I change my name the second I get back, how will that look?"

I lean forward.

"People will say this family is bullying the poor. They'll say I'm vain. That I forgot my roots."

I sigh deeply.

"I don't care about me. Let them gossip. But Mom is different. Mom is a business tycoon. The company has a reputation to uphold. If the media writes a headline like 'Billionaire Family Forces Real Heiress to Erase Her Past,' do you know what happens to the stock price? It freefalls."

I turn to Eleanor, radiating pure filial concern. "Right, Mom? Losing millions over a name? That's bad ROI."

Archibald points a shaking finger at me. "You... you're twisting logic! What does this have to do with stock prices?"

"Everything!" I gasp, feigning shock. "The internet hates the rich these days. Dad, don't you go online? Oh, right. You just drink tea and play golf. You don't manage the company. It makes sense you wouldn't know."

"Enough."

Eleanor finally speaks.

"Rowan makes a valid point. A name is just a label. Changing it is a hassle. Keep Rowan. It's grounded."

Arabella stares at me like I've just grown a second head. I flash her a grin and shove a piece of lobster thermidor into my mouth.

Rich people food. Delicious.

Some people choke on the soft life. Not me. I'm earning every cent.

After dinner, Eleanor calls me into the study.

"You're smart," she says.

Chapter 3

"Thank you, Mom." I stand before her desk, hands clasped, the picture of obedience.

"Do you know why I brought you back?"

"Blood is thicker than water?" I venture.

Eleanor scoffs. A sharp, ugly sound.

"Because Arabella's fianc only cares about bloodlines. We need to merge with the Damien family. Arabella is a fake, so the marriage is off the table. Besides, she's fragile. She can't handle that trust-fund brat. So..."

She locks eyes with me.

"You have to marry him instead."

Bingo.

I knew there was no such thing as a free lunch.

Here's the catch.

Arranged marriage. Billionaire heir. Being the substitute bride.

This isn't a family reunion. It's a business expansion.

"I'm gonna need more money."

The words leave my mouth before I can filter them.

Eleanor blinks. Then, a slow smile spreads across her face.

"Deal." She opens a drawer and slides another card across the mahogany. "This is a down payment on your dowry. An extra five hundred thousand a month for emotional damages. If you can handle the Damien family, half of my estate is yours."

"Mom, consider it done. I don't care if he's a billionaire or the devil himself. I'll have him tamed and eating out of my hand."

The next day at lunch, relatives gather to "celebrate" my return.

I sit down, ready to feast.

But before my fork can touch a thing, Archibald slides the platter of Wagyu beef directly in front of Arabella.

"Arabella, you're weak. You need the nutrition."

He slides another dish toward me.

It stops in front of me.

Steamed kale.

Archibald glances at me. "Rowan, your stomach is used to peasant food. Rich food will just make you sick. I'm doing this for your own good. Eat some greens. It cleans out the system."

Arabella looks distressed. "Dad, this isn't right... Rowan just got back..."

"What's not right?" Archibald raises his voice. "You don't feed caviar to a pig. It's a waste."

I stay silent. He takes my silence for submission.

He pours himself a glass of red wine, swirling it arrogantly. "Speaking of luck, Arabella really dodged a bullet. That marriage was meant for you, but thank god for your heart condition. That Damien... tsk tsk. Everyone knows. Drinking, gambling, women. He's got a temper. Heard he broke a model's leg just last month."

He sips his wine, patting Arabella's hand. "That kind of hellhole is only suitable for a tough, thick-skinned wild girl. Trash belongs with trash. It's a perfect match."

Tears well up in Arabella's eyes. "Dad, don't talk about her like that..."

"I'm telling the truth!" Archibald is on a roll now. "That rich kid is a scumbag. If it weren't for the business deal, who would want anything to do with him? Only someone like Rowan, who's seen nothing of the world, would treat him like a prize."

I glance at Eleanor at the head of the table.

She's silent.

Got it.

The face the mother can't rip off, the daughter has to rip off for her.

I stand up.

Archibald, mid-rant, pauses. "What are you doing? Going for seconds? No manners at all..."

I flash him a brilliant, dazzling smile.

Chapter 4

I grip the edge of the heavy marble table.

I inhale. Deep.

And I heave.

The table flips.

Wagyu, lobster bisque, red wine, white porcelain. It all launches into the air in a chaotic, ugly arc