The Billionaire's Lie

Chapter 3

“How dare you force me to be a slave in my own father’s house and then deny me food?” I shouted, my voice trembling with rage.

Shock flashed across her face. She looked like she’d seen a ghost. I had never spoken back to her—not once in the three months since my father’s accident.

Without waiting for a reply, I stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind me.

That night, I went to my father’s room—now cold and clinical, like a private hospital suite. Just seeing him brought tears to my eyes.

Tubes ran in and out of his body, keeping him stable. His handsome face still shone beneath the pale light that slipped through the closed blinds. His long lashes twinkled in the dim glow, though his skin had grown ghostly pale from lack of sunlight.

He looked peaceful, like he was simply sleeping—if not for the machines and wires that betrayed the truth.

I stepped closer, my throat tightening.

“Dad… please wake up. I really miss you.”

As always, there was no reply. Just the steady rhythm of the machines.

I woke up on the floor—I must have fallen asleep there. Groggily, I reached around in the dark until I found my phone. The screen lit up: 2:03 a.m.

My stomach growled painfully. I hadn’t eaten all day. Quietly, I crept downstairs to the kitchen and found some leftover food in the fridge. I didn’t care what it was—I just needed something in my belly.

As I sat there eating in silence, a thought took hold of me. I can't keep living like this. Something has to change—and fast.

I didn’t yet know what I was going to do, but I knew one thing for sure: I couldn’t let my stepmother keep treating me like this. Not in my father’s house.

After I finished eating, I went back upstairs and fell into a restless sleep.

By morning, I was up early—back to doing my chores like nothing had happened. But something had changed.

This time, I had a goal.

I was going to drive my stepmother and her daughter out of this house—no matter what it took.

As I cleaned, the TV in the background began playing the morning news. A headline caught my ear:

“Heir to Lancaster Holdings Returns to New York—And He’s Looking for a Bride.”

I paused, my heart skipping a beat. I didn’t know how or why, but in that moment, I felt it deep inside:

He was going to be my ticket.

My way to make Mary Lockwood pay.

I sped up my cleaning, my heart racing with anticipation. I knew I wasn’t the only one making plans for the Lancaster heir—I had overheard Mary and Victoria whispering in the lounge earlier. Their plan was clear: Victoria was going to win his heart, no matter what it took.

And I was certain they weren’t the only ones plotting.

Luckily for me, the Lancaster family was throwing a grand party that night to welcome the heir back to New York—and for him to begin his search for a bride. All the wealthy, high-ranking families were invited. Ours included.

But Mary had made it very clear:

“You are not going,” she’d said with a smirk. “You’d only steal the spotlight from Victoria—and we can’t have that, can we?”

Well, she could try to stop me, but I wouldn’t let her stand in the way of my goal.

That afternoon, once I finished my chores, I quietly slipped out and headed to the city. If I was going to make an impression on the Lancaster heir, I needed to look the part.

My father had given me a credit card long before his accident, telling me to use it only in emergencies. I had guarded it carefully ever since—but today was an emergency.

I went straight to the biggest fashion center in the city. I’d been there before—back when life was easier—and they greeted me like an old friend.

One of the attendants walked up to me, smiling.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. How may I assist you today? Is there something specific you’re looking for?”

“Yes,” I replied. “I need a dress—something perfect for the Lancaster party tonight.”

She led me to the formal section, but I kindly asked to browse on my own. I wanted the dress to call me.

I walked through rows of stunning gowns—silks, satins, sequins—but none of them felt right. I was just about to turn and leave when I saw it.

A long, emerald-green dress shimmered beneath a beam of sunlight. It had an elegant thigh high slit and off-shoulder sleeves adorned with ruby-like embellishments. The hem flowed to the floor like ocean waves.

I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

The attendant noticed me staring and asked, “Would you like to try it on?”

“Yes,” I whispered, barely blinking.

When I stepped out of the dressing room, even I was stunned.

The dress hugged my waist perfectly, highlighting my slim frame. The rich green shade complimented my pale skin, and my long hair flowed down my back like silk. The ruby details caught the light just right, giving me an almost ethereal glow.

The attendant gasped softly. Other customers paused to look.

“You look… breathtaking,” she said.

And in that moment, I knew:

I had found the perfect dress.

While still in the dress, I got a call.

It was from the house.

My father’s condition had worsened.

Panic gripped me. I quickly changed out of the dress, paid for it without thinking, and rushed out of the boutique. As I hurried down the sidewalk, I collided with someone—hard—sending his coffee splashing all over his shirt and some documents he held.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” I gasped, pulling out my handkerchief to help clean the mess. But the more I dabbed, the worse I seemed to make it.

“I—just—let me—” I looked up to apologize properly… and stopped.

He was breathtaking.

Pale blue eyes like cracked ice stared at me, framed by soft brown hair. His jawline was so sharp it looked sculpted, and his golden-tanned skin glistened slightly under the afternoon sun.

He looked… perfect.

I snapped out of my trance. “I’m really sorry, but I’m kind of in a rush.” I handed him my card. “Please—call me, I’ll cover the dry cleaning, I promise!” And with that, I turned and ran.

When I got home, I tucked the dress safely away, then rushed straight to my father’s room. The hallway was filled with tension. Doctors were going in and out. Mary and Victoria were already there, whispering to each other.

“What’s going on?” I asked, breathless.

No one answered me. A nurse just gently told me to sit and stay calm.

It was the longest thirty minutes of my life.

Finally, one of the doctors approached us. “He’s stable now. It was a close call, but we’ve handled it. We’ll keep monitoring him closely this week to see if there are any significant changes.”

I sighed deeply, my body relaxing for the first time all day. Thank God. He wasn’t leaving me—not yet.