The Cold Heiress And Her Billionaire Patient

he next morning, the library smelled of aged leather and expensive cigars. Theodore sat behind his massive desk, looking exhausted as he reviewed a list of second-tier private schools.

"I've pulled some strings," Theodore said, rubbing his temples. "A few places are willing to grant an interview. Assuming I write a very generous check to their endowment."

Catherine hovered near the bookshelves like a vulture waiting for something to die. "Don't coddle her, Dad," she sneered. "These are safety schools, and even they will balk when they see her GPA. Is she really worth the humiliation?"

Scarlett leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed. "Save your money, Grandpa," she said smoothly. "I've already decided where I'm going."

Both adults stopped and stared at her.

"Northwood Preparatory," Scarlett stated. She said it with the same casual inflection one might use to order a coffee.

The silence stretched. Northwood wasn't just a school; it was an institution. It fed directly into the Ivy League and had an acceptance rate lower than Harvard's.

Then, Catherine threw her head back and laughed. It was a harsh, grating sound. "Northwood?" she gasped, wiping a tear from her eye. "Oh, Scarlett, you've lost your mind. They wouldn't let you onto the campus to empty their trash cans."

Even Theodore looked pained. "Sweetheart... let's be realistic. Northwood doesn't care about money. They only take the elite."

Scarlett met her mother's mocking gaze without blinking. "Whether I walk through their doors or not is my business," she said, her voice dropping to a low, absolute register. "It requires zero input from you."

In the hallway, Ashley paused, eavesdropping. A wicked smile bloomed on her face. Northwood? Scarlett was setting herself up for the most spectacular, public humiliation imaginable. It was almost too good to be true.

Back in her room, Scarlett's encrypted phone vibrated.

Simon Foster: Miss M. The 'Four Pillars' consortium has reached out. They want to bypass the auction. They are requesting a private sit-down to purchase the Serum directly. Blank check.

The Four Pillars. The apex predators of Wall Street. A summons from them was considered an act of God in the financial world.

Scarlett didn't even hesitate. Her thumbs flew across the screen.

Miss M: No private meetings. They bid at the auction like everyone else. Tell them to get in line.

She tossed the phone onto the bed. Downstairs, her family thought she was a delusional failure. Out in the real world, billionaires were begging for five minutes of her time. The irony was almost exhausting.