His Unwanted Fiancé Is A Genius Heiress

A dead, suffocating silence gripped the balcony. Earl's fingers tightened around Karmen's wrist. The pressure was excruciating, grinding her fragile bones together. A sharp gasp of pain escaped Karmen's lips. In her desperate scramble to remove the scar and wig, she had torn the micro-voice modulator patch from her throat without realizing it—the adhesive giving way as she clawed at her overheated skin. It lay somewhere on the stone floor, a small, dark square lost in the shadows. Without the modulator, the sound was soft, distinctly feminine. But Earl's brain was misfiring too violently to process the pitch of her voice. His mind was rapidly connecting the visual data in front of him, forming a grotesque, horrifying conclusion. The missing scar. The wig on the floor. The oversized men's suit. The beautiful, flawless face. The shock in his eyes violently morphed into pure, unadulterated revulsion. He released her wrist so fast it was as if her skin had burned him. He shoved her backward. Karmen stumbled, her spine slamming hard against the marble railing. She gasped for air, her chest heaving against the tight binder. Earl took a step toward her, his massive frame radiating a murderous heat. "Kem Bartlett," Earl spat the name like it was poison on his tongue. Karmen's brain stalled. Kem? He still called her Kem. She stared at him, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. He hadn't realized she was a woman. He thought... Earl kicked the male wig across the stone floor with the toe of his shoe. "What kind of sick, twisted fetish is this?" Earl's voice was a low, vibrating growl that sent shivers down her spine. "You dress up like a woman? You wear a fake scar to play the victim, and then you take it off to play some deranged cross-dressing fantasy?" Karmen opened her mouth, but her throat was completely paralyzed. What could she say? No, I'm actually a woman pretending to be a man? That would destroy everything. Her silence was the only weapon she had. She lowered her head, letting the long blonde hair fall forward to hide her face, playing the part of the guilty, exposed degenerate. Her compliance acted like gasoline on Earl's rage. The fact that he had felt a momentary spark of attraction-that his heart had actually skipped a beat looking at this pathetic, cross-dressing parasite-made him want to vomit. It was an insult to his intelligence and his sanity. Earl reached out and grabbed her jaw. His fingers dug painfully into her cheeks, forcing her head up to meet his furious glare. "Listen to me, you freak," Earl whispered, his face inches from hers. "If you think this sick little game is going to seduce me, you are out of your mind. I don't care how pretty you make yourself look. You are disgusting." Every word was a physical blow, but beneath the crushing humiliation, Karmen felt a hysterical wave of relief. He didn't know. The secret was safe. Earl shoved her face away in disgust. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a pristine silk handkerchief. He aggressively wiped his fingers, scrubbing the skin that had touched her jaw. When he was done, he dropped the expensive silk onto the floor, right at Karmen's feet. "Pick that garbage up," Earl commanded, pointing at the silicone scar on the ground. Karmen's hands were shaking violently. She slowly crouched down, her knees trembling, and picked up the piece of silicone. The glue was covered in dust from the floor. As she rose, her fingers brushed against something small and square near the railing—the discarded voice modulator, its adhesive side coated with grit. She palmed it quickly, slipping it into her trouser pocket before Earl could notice. "Put it back on," Earl ordered, his voice devoid of any human empathy. "I would rather look at that ugly piece of rubber than look at your real face." Karmen bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood. She raised the dirty silicone to her face and pressed it against her raw, inflamed skin. The pain brought tears to her eyes, but she forced them back. She picked up the wig, shoving her long hair haphazardly beneath it, pulling it down over her scalp. Her hand slipped into her pocket, retrieving the fallen modulator. With practiced, surreptitious movements, she pressed the small patch against the side of her throat, just below her jaw. The adhesive was weak now, clogged with dust, but it held—barely. She adjusted it with a fingertip, feeling the faint vibration as the device powered back on. In less than a minute, the beautiful woman was gone. The scarred, pathetic Kem Bartlett stood in her place. When she cleared her throat softly, the sound that emerged was the familiar raspy baritone. The transformation was complete. Earl looked at her with absolute contempt. "Go to my study on the third floor," Earl ordered. "Wait there. I need to wash my hands before I even think about looking at whatever contract your father sent you here to push." He turned his back on her and walked off the balcony, the heavy door clicking shut behind him. Karmen collapsed against the railing. Her legs finally gave out, and she slid to the cold stone floor. She pressed her hands over her face, her whole body shaking violently as the adrenaline crashed. She had survived. But the cost to her dignity was agonizing. She took a deep, shuddering breath, pulled herself up, and headed for the third floor.