The Heir Who Refused to Pay

Chapter One: Bones Shattered in the Mansion

After my husband ordered his men to break eight of my ribs, the first sound I heard was Vanessa Monroe’s hidden smile. The sound was exceptionally delicate. So soft it could almost be swallowed up by the sound of thunderstorms pounding against the windows of our Chicago mansion.

But it was sharp enough to cut open my body more cleanly than a knife blade. I lay at the foot of the mansion’s grand spiral staircase, one hand pressed against my shattered ribs while the other slipped helplessly through my own blood. Above me, the crystal chandelier scattered brilliant light, as though nothing ugly could ever happen beneath such luxury.

Just ten minutes ago, Vanessa was standing on the third step wearing a silver dress, a hand painted with red nail polish resting gently on the carved handrail.

“Claire,” she whispered. In fact, no one touched her at all, but her eyes were already filled with tears, “you really don’t need to hate me because Nathan chose me.”

I’m exhausted. Three years of swallowing my anger in this house have long since exhausted me to the point where I have drained all my acting skills of maintaining a superficial peace.

“Get out of my sight, Vanessa.”

Her red lips slightly raised. Then she fell straight down the stairs. She had no slippage. She didn’t hit the mark either. She stared straight into my eyes, smiled like a demon whose plot only I could see through, and let her body fall backwards.

With an exaggerated scream, she fell heavily at my feet and hugged her ankle tightly before the echo dissipated. Almost at the same time, the heavy double doors were suddenly pushed open.

Nathan Crane burst in wearing a black wool coat and a scowl on his face. Behind him were two personal bodyguards and his mother, Patricia, who wore an expensive pearl necklace around her neck and had the cold pleasure on her face that she had been waiting for three years to finally say “I told you so.”

“Vanessa!” Nathan shouted.

He rushed past me, bumping his shoulder so hard that I staggered. I almost fell over, but luckily I held on to the shelf in the entrance hall and watched helplessly as he knelt down next to the woman he had justifiably brought into our marriage.

Vanessa lay on his chest and cried loudly.

“Don’t blame Claire. Please. She’s just sad because you took me to the charity gala last night instead of her.”

I opened my mouth.

“There are surveillance cameras everywhere, Nathan. Go set up the surveillance cameras.”

He looked up. That look completely brought an end to what had started three years ago. The man I loved so much has completely disappeared. In other words, he never existed at all.

“You pushed her,” he said.

“I didn’t.”

Patricia walked over on high heels, the diamonds on her body sparkling.

“You always have those dark eyes full of jealousy. I have warned my son a long time ago. Women who climb up from the bottom will never learn true elegance.”

I sneered. Broken and desolate.

“Climb out from the bottom?”

Nathan slowly stood up.

“I gave you a family. I gave you my last name. When everyone in the circle was ashamed to accept you, I still let you stand by my side.”

This sense of absurdity made me dizzy.

Three years ago, Crane Development was close to insolvency. Major banks shunned him, and investors laughed at his grand plans in conference rooms. At that time, I flew back to New York alone, knelt outside my father’s estate in the heavy rain, and begged him to quietly save Nathan’s company, because I thought I was protecting my husband’s poor pride in this way.

Nathan knew nothing about it. He believed the sudden rescue funding had arrived because of his own reputation as a business genius. He thought I was Claire Bennett, an orphan he had randomly married during a period of emotional vulnerability.

Little did he know that my real name was Charlotte Kingsley.

“I didn’t push her,” I repeated again. “Use your brain and think about it, why did she fall down at the moment you entered the door?”

Vanessa let out a frustrated whimper.

“Nathan, I don’t want to make a big deal out of it. My ankle hurts, but I’m fine. Please don’t be too harsh on her.”

Too harsh. These three words hang lightly in the air, like dry firewood poured with gasoline and waiting for sparks. Nathan turned to look at the two bodyguards.

“Teach her a lesson. Make sure she understands what happens when she reaches for things that are not hers.”

My stomach dropped into an ice cellar.

“Nathan.”

He didn’t even blink.

“Eight times.”

One of the bodyguards hesitated.

“Boss?”

“Eight broken ribs,” Nathan said grimly, “Vanessa almost broke her neck just now. My wife will pay for it with eight ribs.”

Patricia didn’t stop him. Vanessa buried her face in Nathan’s chest, but I caught her gaze precisely through the gap in his shoulder. Bright. Greed. Full of the thrill of victory. When the first foot stepped on me and cut off my breath, the severe pain had not even had time to reach my brain.

When the fourth kick landed, I couldn’t even scream. After the eighth kick, a warm and fishy sweetness filled my mouth. When I couldn’t help coughing, bright red blood spattered on the white carpet that Patricia had specially imported from Italy.

Nathan watched with cold eyes the whole time. Then he wrote a check. Forty million dollars. Five million for one rib. He threw the check carelessly in my face.

“Take the money,” he said, “and get out of my sight.”

Through the blood and the dazzling light of the crystal chandelier, I stared at the string of numbers. Then, somewhere inside me, I became quieter than ever before.