Substitute Bride: Healing The Ruthless Heir

Serena did not wait for Giselle to respond. She shoved past Sylvia, her shoulder hitting the other woman hard.

She walked straight toward the grand staircase.

Giselle yelled after her, demanding she show some respect.

Serena tuned her out. She marched down the second-floor hallway and stopped in front of Trevor's study.

She did not knock. She pushed the heavy oak doors open, the hinges groaning loudly.

Trevor was sitting behind his desk, holding a phone to his ear.

He slammed the receiver down. He shouted at her for barging in like a wild animal.

Serena walked right up to his desk, her face devoid of emotion.

She planted both hands flat on the polished wood. She leaned over, staring down at her so-called uncle.

"If you want me to marry that cripple, you pay me first," Serena said. "I want my five million dollar trust fund released today."

Trevor laughed in her face. He called her a trailer park rat who had no right to demand a single cent.

Serena reached into the pocket of her damp jeans. She pulled out a scratched USB drive.

She tossed it onto Trevor's leather desk pad. It landed with a dull thud.

She recited the last four digits of three offshore bank accounts. She named the shell companies the Sterling family used to evade federal taxes.

The color drained from Trevor's face. He stared at her, his mouth hanging open. Beads of cold sweat formed on his forehead.

"If the money isn't in my account in five minutes," Serena said softly, "this drive goes straight to the IRS."

Trevor ground his teeth together. His hands shook as he pulled his laptop closer.

He logged into the offshore banking portal.

The rapid clacking of the keyboard filled the silent room.

Five million dollars was wired directly into Serena's private account.

Serena felt her phone vibrate. She looked at the screen. The deposit confirmation was there.

The tight knot in her shoulders finally loosened.

She snatched the USB drive off the desk. She turned her back on Trevor's murderous glare and walked out of the room.

Back in her cramped, dusty attic bedroom, she opened her laptop.

She wired the entire sum directly to Presbyterian Hospital's billing department.

She stared at the screen until the receipt confirmed Simon's medical care was covered for the next three years.

She collapsed backward onto her hard mattress, staring at the ceiling.

The next morning, a steady drizzle fell from the gray sky.

A massive, black bulletproof Lincoln pulled up to the front gates of the estate.

Serena walked down the stairs. She wore a cheap but clean black suit. She carried a scuffed suitcase with a broken zipper.

Giselle and Sylvia stood on the second-floor balcony. They watched her leave with looks of utter disgust.

The Beaumont family driver stood by the car. He kept his hands clasped in front of him. He made no move to help her with her bag.

Serena didn't care. She hoisted the heavy suitcase and shoved it into the trunk herself.

She opened the door and slid into the back seat.

The Lincoln accelerated smoothly, pulling away from the cold, loveless house.

The scenery outside the tinted windows shifted. The modest suburbs gave way to the ultra-exclusive enclaves of Long Island.

Serena rested her head against the cold glass. She watched the trees blur past. Her eyes were sharp, calculating the risks ahead.

The car turned onto a private road. A sprawling, castle-like estate loomed in the distance.

Massive black iron gates slowly swung open. The heavy metal hinges shrieked in the damp air.

Armed private security guards flanked the entrance. Their eyes scanned the vehicle like searchlights.

Serena noticed their stances immediately. The way they held their rifles, the way they distributed their weight. They were top-tier ex-mercenaries.

The Lincoln rolled onto the Beaumont estate.

The iron gates slammed shut behind her with a deafening clang, cutting off her only escape route.