The Runaway Heiress

My father’s stare was a physical weight as I carefully wrote Diana Varley’s name on the marriage contract.

For a heartbeat, he went completely still, disbelief holding him captive, before he lunged forward and snatched the papers from my hand. He folded them with a frantic, almost sacred care, as if I might change my mind with a single breath.

“From the time I was a child until now, you’ve funneled five million into that woman’s daughter,” I said, my voice devoid of any warmth. “And what did I get? Less than fifty dollars. It looks like your little investment is finally paying off.”

He let out a laugh, too bright and too loud. “Oh, Ava, don’t be so dramatic. Diana is a respectable young woman. She and Liam are perfectly suited.”

His face then clouded over, a sudden storm. “And for God’s sake, stop calling her ‘that woman’s daughter.’ She is your sister.”

“She is not my sister.” I held his gaze, my own eyes like chips of winter ice, a silent defiance hanging between us. “She’s only a year younger than me. You were married to my mother for ten years, and you cheated for nine of them.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, the truth momentarily stealing his voice, but he recovered quickly, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“Fine. If you’re so eager to give up your place in this arrangement, I’ll go to the Valence estate immediately and rework the terms.”

“Wait,” I said, my tone level.

He whirled around, tension radiating from him in waves.

“You’re having regrets?!” he exclaimed, a note of panic sharpening his words.

“I never said I’d give it away for free.”

Understanding dawned in his eyes—the cold calculation of a dealmaker. There was no trace of a father’s affection.

“Fifty million. I can transfer it right now.”

I didn’t bother to haggle; it was useless.

The instant he took my silence for consent, he bolted from the room, contract clutched to his chest like a lifeline, fleeing as if from a fire.

I didn’t move, watching him disappear, a hollow, ironic feeling settling in my chest.

Pivoting, I walked upstairs, the click of my heels the only sound in the silent mansion.

Passing a full-length mirror, my reflection stared back—a cascade of fiery red hair, eyes a startling, vivid blue, my heart pounding with a wild, exhilarating beat.

Suddenly, my eyes stung, but these weren’t tears of sadness.

They were tears of release.

Finally, I could be who I really was.

I didn’t love Liam anymore.

I was young. I was rich.

Why would I trade my freedom to be a decorative wife for a man who had never seen me?

With a new resolve, I slipped into a daring leather mini skirt, marched out the door, secured an expedited visa, and headed straight for the hottest club in the city’s core.

The bass was a physical force, thrumming through the floor and into my bones.

Strobes sliced through the smoky darkness, painting everything in fractured neon.

Bodies moved in a seamless, unselfconscious rhythm.

The feeling of liberation was a tangible thing, wrapping around me like a warm cloak.

With a flick of my wrist, I sent a thick wad of bills fluttering into the air.

“Bring me your best-looking male models,” I announced, my voice cutting through the noise. “Every single one.”

The club manager looked like he might pass out.

“No, no, miss, absolutely not! The whole city knows you’re marrying into the Valence family! Liam is… well, he’s ice-cold, rigid, and traditional. He has protocols for his protocols! If he finds out you’re here… if you’ve ordered men… my business is over!”

I took a slow, deliberate sip of my drink, the liquor burning a path down my throat, making my eyes water; yet, the flavor of freedom made me smile.

“Relax. I already passed the engagement to someone else. From tonight on, I’m just another client with cash.”

“You… gave it away?” he stammered, incredulity written all over his face.

Then he chuckled, convinced I was pulling his leg.