I thought Preston Hayes was faking a disability and bankruptcy just to get out of our engagement. So, I kicked his wheelchair and demanded cash. I figured he’d eventually drop the act. Years later, after Preston rebuilt his empire, a reporter asked him during a live interview: "Mr. Hayes, doctors said you had almost zero chance of walking again. How did you do it?" Preston leaned into the microphone, voice trembling with emotion. "It was all thanks to my fiancée." The reporter sighed, misty-eyed. "That is so touching. She stood by you at your lowest point. True love really exists." Preston gritted his teeth, a vein popping in his forehead. "No. She thought I was faking it and bullied me until I stood up!" Chapter 1 Unlike the "Old Money" crowd, my family is what they call "Nouveau Riche." My dad made his fortune in construction and waste management. We have money, but we’ve never had the pedigree. Growing up, the debutantes of the Upper East Side froze me out. I was too loud, too tacky, too new. They didn't want me, and honestly, I didn't care for them. But I had a chip on my shoulder. Everything changed when I got engaged to Preston Hayes. The Hayes family is practically American royalty. They aren't just rich; they are "building wings for museums" rich. Preston was the golden boy. Ivy League education, business prodigy. While other trust fund babies were partying in Ibiza, he was launching tech startups. Being his fiancée came with perks. The snobs who used to ignore me now had to kiss my ring. It was satisfying. Of course, I heard the whispers in the ladies' room. "Why is she so smug? Preston doesn't love her. It's just a business merger. Everyone knows Clarissa is the only one he ever loved." "I bet he dumps her before the wedding." I sipped my champagne and ignored them. So what if he had a "one that got away"? Preston was marrying me. 2 I was enjoying the high life until the rumors started. The Hayes Empire was crumbling. Bankruptcy imminent. And Preston? Reportedly paralyzed in a car accident. The vultures circled immediately. The socialites were having a field day. Tiffany, my arch-nemesis since prep school, smirked at me during brunch. "The Hayes dynasty survived the Great Depression, but it collapses the second they get involved with her family. Talk about bad luck." Her friend giggled. "Maybe it's fake. A desperate move to shake off the engagement." "I heard Clarissa is back in town." Their gossip was malicious, but it sparked a thought. Preston hadn't said a word to me. No warning. Just sudden ruin? It smelled like a setup. He wanted to dump me for Clarissa? And he was playing the "I'm broken, leave me" card to do it? Oh, hell no. I wasn't going to let him off that easy. I was going to cling to him like a leech. 3 I skipped lunch and drove straight to the Hayes estate. I heard the voices before I saw them. A group of trust-fund jerks—Preston's so-called friends—were gathered in the driveway. "Look at you, Preston. You used to be the King of New York. Now look at you. If I told you to bark like a dog, you couldn't even stand up to bite me." "Remember how you used to tell us to get lost? Who's worthless now?" "Brody, leave him alone. He's crippled. He can't run away." They roared with laughter. Preston sat in a sleek black wheelchair, his face void of emotion. His eyes were cold, staring at nothing, taking the abuse. I scoffed. What a performance. I show up, and coincidentally catch him at his most pathetic moment? It was too perfect. If he wanted to play the victim to scare me off, I’d play along. I slammed my car door shut and marched over, heels clicking loudly on the pavement. Brody turned around and whistled. "Well, look who it is. Bella Moretti. Here to return the ring?" I glared at him. "Get lost." Brody’s face turned red. "Don't talk to me like that, you trashy little upstart. You and the cripple deserve each other." Smack. I slapped him across the face so hard my hand stung. "Did that fix your hearing?" "You b*tch!" I grew up with construction workers and tough guys. I took self-defense classes while these guys were playing polo. I kicked Brody square in the knee. He crumbled to the ground. "Apologize to Preston," I ordered. "You're crazy! Your dad has a contract with my dad!" "I don't care. Apologize." Brody gritted his teeth, humiliated. "Sorry, Preston." He scrambled up, glaring at me. "You're just in it for the money anyway. Now that he's broke and broken, why bother?" There it was. The setup. They were trying to force me to break the engagement. I looked at Preston. "None of your business," I said loud enough for everyone to hear. "I don't love his money. I love his soul." "No matter what happens, I’m standing by my man." Behind me, Preston’s hand gripped his thigh so hard his knuckles turned white. 4 The jerks scrambled. Preston looked up at me, eyes dark. "You didn't have to do that. We barely know each other. They're right. I'm useless now." "The engagement... we should..." I slapped a hand over his mouth. "I told you, you're stuck with me. This is just a little setback." I looked at his legs. "What did the doctor say? Will you walk?" Preston looked down, a shadow crossing his face. "He said there's a ten percent chance." I grabbed his hand, squeezing it. "Ten percent is enough. I'll help you. You will walk again." I'm not letting you go to Clarissa that easily, buddy. He looked at me for a long time, as if searching for a lie. "Okay." The next few weeks were a masterclass in acting. I watched him in the rehab center. He would struggle to stand, fall, drag himself up, sweat dripping down his face, biting his lip until it bled. From the sidelines, I watched critically. Damn, he’s committed to the bit. To keep an eye on him (and his fake bankruptcy), I made him move into my penthouse. "I can take better care of you here," I lied. Preston looked at me with those deep, brooding eyes. I decided to treat him like he was actually disabled. I cooked (badly), I drove him to therapy, I acted like the saintly fiancée. It seemed to work. He was starting to trust me. One day, he tried to stand in the living room and collapsed. He punched his paralyzed leg in frustration. I walked over and stopped his hand. "Easy," I cooed. "Don't rush it." He leaned his head against my waist, exhausted. "I promise, Bella. I'll give you the life you deserve." It was the most sincere thing he'd ever said. I figured the prank was almost over. 5 On Monday, Preston had a "checkup." I pretended I was busy so I didn't have to watch him act. While scrolling Instagram in bed, I saw Tiffany’s story. "Saw Preston Hayes at lunch. He practically ran to Clarissa the second she landed at JFK." "Bankruptcy is definitely a fake. And the wheelchair? Please." "He's trying so hard to get the Trash Princess to dump him." So, he wasn't at the doctor. He was with Clarissa. I stared at the phone. Fine. Most guys in our circle had a "one that got away." I didn't marry him for love; I married him for the merger. I could tolerate a side piece. I couldn't tolerate being played. I sat in the dark living room, waiting. He didn't come home until sunset. He rolled in, saw me sitting in the dark, and frowned. "Bella? Why are the lights off?" I rubbed my temples. "Just thinking." Preston wheeled closer. He looked guilty. "I need to tell you something." Here it comes. "I'm a burden," he said, voice raspy. "I have nothing left. You should break the engagement. It's for your own good." For my own good? The audacity. I snapped. "Enough!" I stood up and glared down at him. "You’re faking a disability and hiding your assets just to run off with your high school sweetheart?" "You want to dump me for Clarissa? Dream on! Where's your money? Give it to me!" "You've been living here for free, eating my food. Pay me back!" Preston looked genuinely confused. "Clarissa? I... I'm not faking. The bankruptcy is real..." "Liar!" I screamed. "I want five million dollars in my account by tomorrow, or you're dead meat." He grabbed my hand, desperate. "Give me a week. Please." A week? If he was really broke, he'd need a lifetime. A week meant he had the money stashed somewhere. I shook him off. "Fine. One week."
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