Buying My Revenge From My Biological Father

1 On the eve of the engagement gala, the world I had known for twenty-three years shattered. I was not a Beaumont. I was a "placeholder." And now that the real biological daughter had been found, my adoptive parents gave me two choices. I could leave with nothing and rot in the slums I supposedly came from. Or, I could lower my pride and stay—as the secret mistress to the man who was supposed to be my husband. "Evelyn, be reasonable," my adoptive mother, Eleanor, said, smoothing her Chanel suit. "You don't have a drop of Beaumont blood in you. Bennett is being incredibly generous by letting you stay on as Vivian’s... companion once they’re married. It’s more than you deserve." They all sat there, looking at me as if I were a charity case that had overstayed its welcome. I looked across the marble coffee table at Bennett Harrison—my fiancé, the man I had loved for seven years. "You want me to be the side piece?" I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm. Bennett wouldn't look me in the eye. He pushed a thick legal folder toward me. "Evelyn, I still care for you. But you don't have the status to be Mrs. Harrison anymore. Besides, you’ve lived Vivian’s life for two decades. You owe her this." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a persuasive silk. "If you sign, I’ll provide for you. You’ll have the penthouse, the black card, the jewelry. Everything but the name." I wanted to laugh. I wanted to slap the smugness off his face and walk out into the rain. But then, my phone buzzed in my lap. It was a text from a restricted number in Hong Kong. My biological father—Arthur King, the titan of King Global. “My dearest daughter, if you refuse to come home and claim your inheritance one more time, I will personally short-sell every asset the Beaumonts and Harrisons own until they are living in a cardboard box. Come home. The empire is waiting.” I stared at the screen. A slow, cold smile spread across my face. "Fine," I said, looking up. "I’ll sign." The tension in the room snapped like a dry twig. Eleanor and my adoptive father, George, let out synchronized sighs of relief. Vivian, the "real" daughter sitting next to Bennett, tightened her grip on his arm. Her eyes flashed with a predatory triumph. "Evelyn, I know this is hard," Vivian cooed, "but we’re sisters now. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of." Bennett’s chest puffed out. He looked relieved that I had finally "seen reason." "You’ll see, Evelyn. This is the best possible outcome for you." I looked at him, truly looked at him, and felt a wave of nausea. This man was a relic, a small-minded coward wrapped in an Italian suit. But I couldn't blow my cover yet. My real father needed a little time to dismantle their lives, and I wanted a front-row seat to the carnage. I lowered my head, forcing my eyes to well up with fake, shimmering tears. "Okay. I’ll do it. As long as I can be near you, Bennett, I’ll do anything." A flicker of ego danced in Bennett’s eyes. He loved the idea of me pining for him. "However..." I tapped the contract. "No public outings, no children, no interference with the 'official' marriage, and a fifty-million-dollar penalty if I leave early? This reads like a prison sentence. What’s the compensation?" Bennett frowned. "You get the West Side apartment and a ten-thousand-dollar monthly stipend." I crossed my legs and let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Ten grand? Bennett, don't be insulting. Are you hiring a mistress or a dog walker?" I held up a finger. "If we’re doing this, we’re doing it by corporate standards. I want a full executive benefits package. Tier-one health insurance and a 401k match. That’s the baseline." They stared at me like I’d grown a second head. I didn't care. I was just getting started. "One hundred thousand a month, tax-free. That doesn't include the 'gift' budget for bags or jewelry. A four-day work week. Triple pay on federal holidays." Vivian gasped, her voice shrill. "Evelyn, have you lost your mind? You’re a mistress, not a CEO!" I shrugged, looking perfectly innocent. "You’re the ones who insisted I stay. If Bennett can't afford the market rate for a high-end mistress, he should probably stop trying to play 'big spender.' It’s embarrassing." Bennett’s face turned a mottled shade of purple. George Beaumont slammed his fist on the table. "Don't push your luck! Bennett is being kind. This isn't an opportunity for you to extort his family." I turned my cold gaze to George. "A moment ago, you were telling me to 'know my place.' Now I’m talking business, and you want to talk about feelings? You can't have it both ways. Either I’m family, or I’m a vendor. Pick one." Bennett stood up abruptly. "Fine! I’ll pay it!" "Bennett!" Vivian shrieked, clutching his sleeve. "You can't give her that much!" Bennett shook her off, his ego bruised. "I want to see if you’re still this arrogant once you’re living on my dime, Evelyn." That night, my things were moved from the master suite to a cramped, windowless maid’s room on the first floor. I shut the door, curled up under the thin duvet, and pulled out my phone. I sent a message to the restricted number. “Don't bother waiting. Start the liquidation. Hit them hard.” The next morning at the hotel where the engagement gala was being held, the air was thick with the scent of lilies and desperation. Bennett was in the dressing room, fuming over his wardrobe. When he saw me, he tossed a silk tie at my head. "Evelyn, fix this. Vivian doesn't even know I hate charcoal patterns." I caught the tie—a deep forest green—and looped it around his neck. "Green for an engagement?" he muttered, looking in the mirror. "It’s perfect," I whispered, tightening the knot. "It suits the atmosphere today. Very... envious." He didn't catch the barb. He just nodded, satisfied. The door swung open, and Vivian stood there, her eyes instantly welling with tears when she saw me touching his collar. "Evelyn? Why are you hiding in here with him? Today is our day..." Bennett stepped away from me immediately. "She was just helping with the suit, Viv. Don't overthink it." I held up my hands and backed away. "Relax, Mrs. Harrison. I have professional ethics. My relationship with your husband-to-be is strictly financial now. No feelings involved." Bennett’s jaw tightened, but before he could snap back, his phone rang. It was his father. As he listened, the blood drained from his face. "What? A hostile short-attack? From who?" He grabbed his jacket and bolted from the room without a word to Vivian. I watched his retreating back and smiled. My biological father moved fast. The gala was supposed to start in thirty minutes, but the VIP lounge was suddenly a war room. The Harrison Group’s stock was plummeting—down seven percent in the first ten minutes of trading. The Beaumonts weren't spared either. Credit lines were being pulled; property valuations were being challenged by anonymous auditors. Out on the ballroom floor, the engagement was a disaster. Bennett spent the entire ceremony on his phone, missing the ring exchange twice. When he finally stepped up to the champagne tower, his hands were shaking so badly he knocked it over. A cascade of expensive Moët drenched Vivian’s seven-figure custom gown. I sat at the very back table, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing into my cake. Vivian stood there, dripping and humiliated, forcing a smile for the cameras. "Bennett is just so busy with work," she chirped. "I don't mind at all." The gala ended early. The two families huddled in a private suite, the air thick with panic. George Beaumont paced the floor. "We can stabilize the stock, but we need the thirty-million-dollar bridge loan by the end of the month or we’re underwater." A knock at the door interrupted him. A courier handed George a note. He read it, his eyes widening. "Victor Rossi says he’ll renew our lines of credit... on one condition. He wants one of our daughters to join him for a private dinner tonight." The room went deathly silent. Victor Rossi was a predator. He was a billionaire with a reputation for 'collecting' women. He had tried to drug me at a gala three years ago; I had responded by shattering a wine glass over his hand. Vivian started sobbing. "Dad, no! I’m your real daughter! I just got back! He’s a monster, I’m terrified..." George and Eleanor rushed to her side, cooing and comforting her. Then, as if choreographed, every head in the room turned toward me. Bennett was the first to speak. "Evelyn, you’ve lived the high life on the Beaumont dime for twenty years. You owe them. Go in Vivian’s place. It’s just a dinner. I’ll be downstairs waiting for you." I felt a cold chill run down my spine. "You’re pimping out your mistress on day one, Bennett? That’s a new low, even for you." Bennett stepped closer, his voice a low hiss. "Don't be dramatic. If the Harrisons fall, your 'stipend' goes with us. You won't have a cent." George and Eleanor joined in. "Honey, Victor used to have a crush on you. It’s just a thirty-million-dollar dinner. Do this for the family that raised you." Vivian grabbed my sleeve, her face a mask of fake grief. "Please, Evelyn? Just this once? I don't want to lose everything just when I finally got home." I looked at these people—these vultures who were ready to sell me to a known abuser to save their stock portfolios. "No," I said. I turned to walk out, but Bennett grabbed my wrist, his grip bruising. "Rossi isn't going to kill you. You go in there, you have dinner, and I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes." I looked at his hand on my arm. Four years ago, this same hand had punched a man for even looking at me the wrong way. He had told me then that his fiancée would never have to compromise for anything. Now, he was sliding a hotel room key into my palm. The betrayal felt like a dull blade sawing at my heart. "You really believe he won't touch me?" Bennett looked away. "The company can't fail, Evelyn. Do this for us. For what we used to have." Eleanor snatched my phone out of my other hand. It was buzzing with calls from Hong Kong. My father was likely losing his mind. If he knew they were sending me to Rossi, he wouldn't just short their stock—he’d burn the city to the ground. Eleanor saw the screen, looked annoyed by the noise, and held down the power button until it went black. "The Beaumonts gave you twenty years of luxury," she said coldly. "It’s time to pay the bill. Guards, take her up." Two of the Harrison security team grabbed my arms. I fought, I kicked, but it was useless. Bennett stood there and watched. "Don't hurt her," he muttered, though he didn't move an inch to help. The suite door clicked shut behind me. Victor Rossi was draped across a velvet sofa, a half-empty bottle of Bordeaux on the table. When he saw me, a slow, predatory grin spread across his face. "Well, if it isn't the ice queen. Last time we met, you were throwing glass. Now, you’re being delivered to my door like a gift." I walked over to the table and sat down. "The world turns, Victor. Last time you were just a creep. Now you’re a creep with a checkbook." His smile faltered. "There’s thirty million dollars on the line. I’d watch your tone if I were you." He pushed an empty glass toward me. "Pour." I didn't move. "Still playing the Beaumont princess?" he mocked. "Word is, Bennett dumped you for the real deal. How does it feel, Evelyn? From the future Mrs. Harrison to the family's sacrificial lamb?" I gripped the table, my nails digging into the wood. Then, I reached for the bottle and filled his glass. Victor laughed, thinking he’d finally broken me. "That’s better. You keep me happy tonight, and maybe I’ll toss a few crumbs to your pathetic 'family.'" He reached out to touch my face. I stared him in the eyes and picked up the heavy crystal glass. "I should have used a bottle last time," I said. I smashed the glass over his head. Shards exploded. Victor screamed, clutching his forehead as blood began to seep through his fingers. The guards outside burst in instantly. One of them grabbed me by the hair and threw me against the coffee table. My vision blurred. My dress tore, and I felt the sting of glass cutting into my palms and the soles of my feet as I tried to scramble away. "Evelyn!" I stumbled out into the hallway, nearly falling into Bennett’s arms. For a split second, a pathetic spark of hope flickered in me—that he would see me bleeding and be the man he used to be. Instead, he shoved me aside and rushed to Rossi. "Victor! My god, I am so sorry. We can still talk about the financing—" The last of my hope died right there on the patterned carpet. Suddenly, the hallway was blinded by flashes. Reporters—dozens of them—had appeared out of nowhere, cameras clicking. They captured Rossi bleeding, Bennett groveling, and me, disheveled and bruised. The Beaumonts arrived a second later, their faces twisted in horror. Victor Rossi was shaking with rage. "I’m not lending you a cent, Harrison!" He pointed a shaking finger at me. "Unless... unless she gets on her knees in front of the press tomorrow and admits she tried to seduce me. If she takes the fall for this scandal, maybe I’ll think about the loan." "Otherwise," he spat, "you all go bankrupt together." George Beaumont didn't even hesitate. "She’ll do it." To ensure I wouldn't run, they locked me in a windowless guest room overnight. They didn't give me a bandage. They didn't give me water. They just left me there to listen to them planning the press conference through the door. I sat in the dark, my wounds throbbing. I wasn't listening to them, though. I was counting the minutes. My biological father had a rule: I had to check in every twenty-four hours. If I missed a window, his high-level security protocol went into effect. I looked at the door and whispered to the silence, "He's coming. And he's going to destroy you all." The door unlocked at 10:00 AM. Bennett walked in with a fresh dress and a typed statement. "Sign this. It says you were jealous of Vivian, you tried to seduce Victor to get back at us, and you attacked him when he rejected you." Bennett knelt in front of me, looking exhausted. "Once this is over, I’ll send you to Europe. I’ll keep paying the stipend. You’ll be fine." "Bennett," I whispered. "Do you know what would have happened if I hadn't hit him?" His lip trembled. "But you’re okay. Nothing... truly happened." The room went cold. "I see. Vivian’s reputation is a diamond. Mine is just collateral." Before he could answer, Eleanor burst in and slapped me across the face. "Enough! Just sign the paper! You’ve used our money for twenty years—the least you can do is take one for the team so Vivian doesn't have to grow up in a trailer park!" She grabbed my hand, forcing it toward the paper. My palms were still raw, and fresh blood smeared the legal document. I was shaking from the pain, but she held my fingers down like a vise. The press conference started at 11:00 sharp. Vivian was sobbing for the cameras. "I thought Evelyn just wanted to be near Bennett because she loved him... I never dreamed she’d go after Mr. Rossi like this..." The 'Mistress Contract' was leaked to the big screens. The room erupted. In one night, I had gone from a tragic "false heiress" to a desperate social climber and a predator. Victor Rossi sat on the stage, a bandage on his head, pushing a cup of tea toward me. "Kneel. Apologize for your lies." Bennett held the microphone to my lips, his eyes pleading. "Evelyn, just do it for the cameras. Do you want to see everyone ruined?" I looked at the lens. I looked at the people who had raised me and the man I had loved. I remained silent. George Beaumont signaled the guards. One of them kicked me hard in the back of my knees. My legs gave out, but I caught the edge of the podium, refusing to bow. "Evelyn!" George hissed. "We fed you for twenty years! Kneel!" I looked George in the eye. "I'm not a Beaumont. Why should I care if you starve? I’d rather buy fireworks to celebrate your bankruptcy." Bennett looked at me with a mix of pity and resolve. "I'm sorry, Evelyn. We have to survive." The guards moved in, their heavy hands slamming onto my shoulders, forcing me down. The pain in my feet flared as they pressed me into the floor. I looked for help in the crowd, but I only saw disgust. Just as my strength was failing, the heavy double doors of the ballroom were blown off their hinges. Dozens of men in black suits flooded the room. The lead security detail scanned the room and spoke into a lapel mic. "Sir, we’ve found the Princess."