The Billionaire's Medicine: His Silent Obsession

"Is there really no other way?" Bella Miller asked. Her voice was barely a whisper, swallowed instantly by the drumming of rain against the reinforced glass of the limousine. She gripped the strap of her canvas backpack until her knuckles turned the color of bone.

Charla Miller didn't look up from her compact mirror. She was applying a fresh coat of crimson lipstick, her mouth open in a grotesque 'O' shape. The interior of the car smelled of expensive leather and Charla's cloying perfume, a scent that always made Bella's stomach churn.

"Don't be dramatic, Bella," Charla said, snapping the compact shut. The sharp click sounded like a pistol hammer cocking in the quiet cabin. "Your father left a mess. A crater, really. You are the only asset remaining with enough liquidity to plug the hole."

Asset. Not daughter. Not stepdaughter. Just inventory.

Bella looked out the window. The world outside was a blur of charcoal and black. They were winding up a road that felt less like a driveway and more like a path to the gallows. The trees bent under the wind, clawing at the passing car.

"He has a reputation," Bella said. The words tasted like bile. "They say he breaks things. People."

Charla turned then. Her eyes were cold, assessing. She looked at Bella the way a butcher looks at a side of beef, checking for marbling.

"Then don't be breakable," Charla said. "If you get returned, the Miller name is dust. We lose the house. We lose the accounts. I end up on the street, and your senile grandfather ends up in a state facility."

The car lurched to a halt. Bella's body jerked forward, the seatbelt cutting into her neck. Through the rain-slicked windshield, a massive iron gate loomed. It was topped with gargoyles that seemed to be screaming silently into the storm.

The driver's door opened. A moment later, the rear door on Bella's side was yanked open. The wind howled into the warm car, carrying freezing needles of rain.

"Out," Charla commanded. She didn't look at Bella. She was already checking her phone.

Bella stepped out. Her velvet heels, the ones Charla had forced her to wear, sank immediately into the mud. Cold water seeped through the fabric, chilling her toes. The driver hauled her suitcase from the trunk and dropped it onto the wet gravel with a heavy thud.

"Good luck," Charla said. Her window was already rolling up. "Make yourself useful."

The taillights of the limousine flared red, two demon eyes in the darkness, before the car swung around and vanished down the winding road. Bella stood alone. The rain soaked through her thin dress in seconds, plastering the fabric to her skin. She shivered, her teeth beginning to chatter.

The intercom on the stone pillar crackled.

"Identity," a mechanical voice demanded.

"Bella," she said. Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Bella Miller."

The iron gates groaned. The sound of metal grinding on metal echoed through