Marrying The Crippled Billionaire For Revenge

"Two hundred thousand dollars."

Richard Blanchard slid the check across the polished mahogany desk. The paper made a dry, whispering sound against the wood, stopping exactly at the edge where Aurelia sat.

She didn't reach for it. She just looked at the number. The zeros seemed to stretch out, mocking her. It was a lot of money to most people. To the Blanchard estate, it was a rounding error. A tip. A disposal fee.

"It's a generous severance package, Aurelia," Richard said. He didn't look at her. He was busy cutting the tip off a cigar, the silver cutter snapping with a violent finality. "Considering the mess you've made of your career. And the family name."

Mr. Vance, the family lawyer who had known Aurelia since she was in braces, pushed a thick document toward her. He wouldn't meet her eyes either.

"The Non-Disclosure Agreement is standard," Vance mumbled, tapping a pen against the signature line. "It protects the family from any future... outbursts. Or claims regarding the medical board's decision."

Aurelia felt a cold weight settle in her stomach. It wasn't sadness. Sadness was warm and heavy. This was ice. It was the clinical detachment she used to feel in the trauma unit when a patient flatlined.

She picked up the document. The paper felt heavy, expensive. She flipped to page four.

Clause 4.2: The Signatory acknowledges full responsibility for the procedural errors leading to the medical board's decision and voluntarily surrenders any right to appeal or contest said decision.

"You want me to sign a confession," Aurelia said. Her voice was steady, surprising even herself. "So that if I ever try to tell the truth about the surgery, about who actually switched the charts, you can use this to discredit me."

"It's a safety net for Dominique," Richard said, finally lighting the cigar. Smoke curled around his face, obscuring his expression. "The merger with the Blackburns is fragile. We can't have your... baggage... spooking the investors. Dominique is the face of this family now. She needs a clean slate."

Aurelia reached into the pocket of her worn trench coat. She didn't pull out a pen to sign. She pulled out a red marker she used for grading interns' charts.

With a sharp, screeching noise, she drew a massive red 'X' over Clause 4.2.

Mr. Vance gasped. "Ms. Blanchard, you can't-"

"Actually, I can," Aurelia said. She flipped the page. "And Clause 5 is unenforceable in this state because it infringes on my right to earn a living. You know that, Vance."

Richard slammed his hand on the desk. The ash from his cigar scattered over the pristine surface.

"Enough!" he roared. "You sign it as is, or you leave with nothing. No money. No access to the trust. And I will cut off the payments for Genevieve's care facility by noon."

Aurelia's hand froze. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. Genevieve. Her grandmother. The only person in this house who had ever looked at