Hunting Down My Mysterious Doctor Wife

Cornelia slammed the front door shut and locked it. She sprinted into the living room, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor. "Mom!" Cornelia shrieked, waving the gold-embossed envelope in the air. Aleta looked up from her phone, her face pale and drawn from the bank's phone call. "What are you yelling about?" Cornelia threw the envelope onto the coffee table. "Look at the crest. It's the Vaughans. They think I'm the girl who saved their precious heir five years ago. They want me to marry him!" Aleta's eyes widened. She dropped her phone. She reached out and traced the gold foil of the Vaughan crest. The panic over their frozen bank accounts vanished, replaced by a sudden, vicious surge of hope. "If you marry Fidel Vaughan," Aleta whispered, her voice trembling with excitement, "we will never have to worry about money again. You'll be a billionaire." Cornelia grabbed her laptop from the side table and flipped it open. She typed Fidel Vaughan's name into the search bar. Images flooded the screen. Fidel on the cover of Forbes. Fidel stepping out of a private jet. His face was sharp, cold, and devastatingly handsome. Cornelia's mouth went dry. Her fingers traced his image on the screen. She wanted him. She wanted the power. Her cell phone rang. The caller ID was an unknown number. She answered it. "Hello?" "Miss Sanders," Julian's voice came through the speaker, crisp and professional. "This is Julian Chamberlain again. I am conducting the final background verification. I just need you to confirm a few details about the night of the fire at the estate." Cornelia's stomach dropped into her shoes. A cold sweat broke out across her forehead. She didn't know anything about the fire. She wasn't there. "Um," Cornelia stammered, her mind racing. "I'm sorry, the connection is really bad. Can you hold on for one second?" She pressed the mute button and tossed the phone onto the sofa. She ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. She sprinted down the hallway and threw open the door to the tiny storage room Eleanora had used as a bedroom. Cornelia dropped to her knees. She shoved Eleanora's thin mattress off the bed frame. She clawed at the wooden floorboards until she found the loose one. She ripped it up. Inside the hidden compartment lay an old, offline digital tablet with a cracked screen. Beside it was a folded piece of paper with a simple numeric passcode. Cornelia snatched it up, powered it on, and punched in the passcode. The screen unlocked to a sparse digital journal. Her eyes scanned Eleanora's sterile, precise text entries. August 14th. The fire started in the west wing. I used the plum-blossom needle to stabilize his pulse before dragging him through the servant's corridor. Cornelia memorized the words. She ran back downstairs, snatched her phone off the sofa, and unmuted the call. "Sorry about that," Cornelia said, her voice steady. "You were asking about the fire? I remember the west wing burning. I had to use a plum-blossom needle to keep his pulse steady while we escaped through the servant's corridor." There was a brief pause on the line. "Perfect," Julian said. The tension in his voice vanished. "The details match perfectly. Mr. Vaughan is very pleased and has prepared a significant gift for you. He would like to present it to you in person. However, as he is currently indisposed, he has authorized an initial comfort transfer of one million dollars to your account as a gesture of good faith, effective immediately. We will be in touch to arrange the formal meeting and discuss the engagement." "Thank you," Cornelia breathed. She hung up the phone. She looked down at Eleanora's tablet in her hand. This was the only piece of evidence that could expose her. Cornelia walked into the kitchen. she grabbed a long silver lighter from the drawer. She placed the tablet on the floor, raised her foot, and smashed the screen with the heel of her shoe until the glass splintered into a spiderweb of ruin. She then tossed the shattered device into the fireplace, flicked the lighter, and set the surrounding kindling on fire. She watched the flames eat the plastic and circuitry, turning Eleanora's digital footprint into unrecognizable black slag. Back at the Vaughan Group tower, Julian walked into the president's office. Fidel was leaning back in his leather chair, his eyes closed. A row of prescription painkiller bottles sat untouched on his desk. "Sir," Julian said softly. "The background check is complete. Cornelia Sanders knew the exact details of the medical intervention. It's her." Fidel didn't open his eyes. His chest rose and fell in a slow, pained rhythm. "Send her the money," Fidel rasped, his voice dripping with exhaustion and disgust. "And delay the meeting. Tell her I'm busy. I don't want to see her." Julian hesitated. "Sir, she seemed... very eager about the financial transfer." Fidel let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "They always are. Let her buy whatever she wants. Just keep her away from me." Two hours later, Cornelia's phone buzzed with a bank notification. One million dollars had cleared into her personal checking account. She grabbed Aleta's arm. "Mom. Get your coat. We're going to Manhattan." They walked into a high-end luxury boutique on Fifth Avenue. Cornelia pointed a finger at a glass display case. "I want that limited-edition bag." The sales associate looked at Cornelia's cheap, rain-spotted shoes and frowned. "Miss, that bag is forty thousand dollars." Cornelia pulled out her phone, opened her banking app, and shoved the screen with the million-dollar balance into the associate's face. The associate's eyes went wide. Her posture instantly folded into a deep bow. "Right away, Miss Sanders. Would you like champagne while you wait?" Cornelia looked at herself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. She smiled. She was untouchable.