Chapter 1
I woke up in a hospital, my head full of memories that weren’t mine.
I’m Zoe Caldwell, sole heiress to the Caldwell Corporation–and now the villain in a cliché novel.
My scripted fate was fighting our housekeeper’s daughter over a man, ending in disgrace and ruin.
I touched the gauze on my forehead, then saw the zeros in my bank account.
Give up this fortune for a guy? Was I insane?
From then on, the story derailed.
Innocent Luna crying? I don’t do passive–aggressive–I read bank statements.
Ethan in love? Love’s exhausting. Here’s five million–go learn a lesson.
Guilt–tripping relatives? Meet my lawyers. Let’s talk “equal before the law.”
They said I had money, not soul.
I said, “Perfect. Love hurts. Money’s my armor.”
This is a rich woman crushing every snake in her path–brutally and simply.
Don’t reason with me. It costs too much.
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I opened my eyes to a stark white ceiling.
The air hung thick with the sterile scent of antiseptic.
A figure in a white coat hovered over me, his mouth moving.
“Miss Caldwell, you’re awake. Are you feeling any discomfort?”
The
I ignored him, my mind replaying a trashy TV drama on a loop. The show was called The Billionaire’s Contract Bride.
The heroine was Luna Hayes, the daughter of the housekeeper my mother had hired. True to her name, she was the picture of frag- ile innocence, the kind of girl who looked like a strong breeze could knock her over and whose eyes would well up at a harsh word.
The hero was Ethan Vance, the man I’d been engaged to since we were kids. He was handsome, wealthy, and completely blind.
And I, Zoe Caldwell, was the villainess. The one who relentlessly framed Luna to win Ethan’s affection, only to be driven to bankrup- tcy by him and die a miserable death under a city overpass.
I digested all of this with a blank expression.
The doctor was still rambling beside me. “Miss Caldwell, you fell down the stairs. You have a mild concussion and will need to stay for a few days of observation.”
A middle–aged woman threw herself at my bedside, grabbing my hand as tears streamed down her face on command.
“Zoe, you scared me to death! Why do you have to pick on Luna? She’s Mrs. Hayes’s daughter! How could you push her down the stairs? And look at you, you’re the one who got hurt the worst!”
This was my mother, a quintessential high–society wife whose universe revolved around flower arranging, spa days, and–most importantly-“not embarrassing the family.”
I pulled my hand free.
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“I didn’t push her.”
My mother froze, then her brow furrowed. “It was all on camera! Are you still going to deny it? If Ethan hadn’t shielded Luna, she’d
be the one lying in this bed!”
Oh, right. That’s how the script went.
In the original story, I’d seen Ethan and Luna having an intense moment in the stairwell. I went to confront them, Luna lost her foot- ing, and Ethan didn’t hesitate, diving to become her human cushion. In the process, they knocked me over, and I was the one who
tumbled down the flight of stairs, becoming a laughingstock.
The doctor tried to mediate. “Mrs. Caldwell, the patient has just woken up. It’s best to avoid any emotional distress.”
My mother toned it down slightly, but she was still muttering, “Ethan has already made it clear. He wants to call off the engageme-
nt with our family. Honestly, Zoe, why are you such a disappointment?”
Her voice was a grating noise in my ears.
My father, the chairman of the Caldwell Corporation, was standing a short distance away, his voice low as he spoke on the phone. But I could still catch keywords like “Vance,” “the project,” and “merger.”
See? These were my parents.
One cared only about appearances, the other only about profit.
Whether their daughter was alive or dead, in pain or not, seemed to be a trivial detail.
Fine by me.
It made things simpler. No need to pretend there was any real affection between us.
I pushed myself into a sitting position, my head still spinning.
“My phone.”
My mother handed it over, her face a mask of disapproval. “What are you planning now? I’m warning you, Zoe, don’t you dare go
harassing Ethan again!”
I said nothing, unlocking the screen and dialing a number.
The call connected almost instantly.
“Zoe? How are you?”
It was Ethan’s voice–magnetic, but laced with an undeniable thread of impatience and distance.
“I’m fine,” I said, my voice a little hoarse. “Ethan, where are you?”
He paused. “I’m with Luna. She’s shaken up. The doctor said she needs someone with her.”
“Oh,” I nodded. “I need you to come here. We’ll talk in person.”
“Talk about what? Zoe, I have nothing to say to you. Our engagement is over.” His voice turned to ice.
“Exactly. That’s what we need to talk about,” I said calmly. “Come over, and we’ll sign the annulment papers.”
Dead silence on the other end of the line.
My father had finished his call and was now staring at me, his expression grim. My mother looked at me like I’d grown a second
head,
“Zoe, what nonsense are you talking!”
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Ethan’s voice finally came through again, thick with disbelief. “What did you say? Sign papers?”
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“That’s right,” I said. “It’s mutual. A clean break. You come here, I sign, and we go ou
me bothering your precious little flower ever again.”
separate ways. You won’t have to worry about
He sounded like he was choking.
After a long moment, he said, “Fine. I’ll be there.”
The line went dead.
My mother pointed a trembling finger at me. “Zoe, did you hit your head too hard? Do you have any idea what breaking this engag-
ement will do to our family?”
My father strode over, his face livid. “This is absurd! Call Ethan right now and apologize!”
I looked at them and found the situation almost funny.
The impact? You mean the Southside Redevelopment Project? Is the Caldwell Corporation going to crumble without the Vances?”
My father was speechless.
“Apologize?” I continued. “For what? Because he protected another woman and sent me flying down a flight of stairs? Dad, Mom,
did you forget? I’m your daughter.”
They both just stared, stunned. Perhaps because I had never, ever spoken to them in that tone before.
I couldn’t be bothered to look at them anymore. I leaned back against the headboard and closed my eyes.
The concussion was starting to kick in, a duli throb behind my eyes.
But my mind was crystal clear.
To hell with the scumbag hero, to hell with the saintly heroine, and to hell with the villainess script.
I was rich, beautiful, and the future heiress to a multi–billion–dollar corporation.
Chase a man?
Please.
A man would only slow down the speed at which I could spend my money.
