My Boyfriend Is a Dead Billionaire

The hospital corridors always smelled of antiseptic and quiet despair. Celeste Harper sat on a plastic chair outside Room 307, clutching a folder of unpaid medical bills so tightly that the papers had begun to wrinkle beneath her fingers. $48,320. The number stared back at her like a death sentence. Her mother had been inside that room for two weeks now, and every single day the bills grew higher while Celeste’s bank balance crept closer to zero. Being a university student with a part-time job at a café barely covered rent and food. Hospital bills were something she could only stare at helplessly and pray would somehow disappear. Her phone buzzed in her hand. Celeste frowned. Unknown number. For a moment she considered ignoring it—most unknown numbers meant spam calls or relentless debt collectors—but something compelled her to answer. “Hello?” “Miss Celeste Harper?” a calm male voice asked. “Yes… who is this?” “This is Attorney William Carter from Carter & Finch Law Firm. I’m calling regarding the will of your late boyfriend, Mr. Adrian Blackwood.” Celeste blinked. “…I’m sorry,” she said slowly. “My what?” “Your boyfriend, Miss Harper. As you know, Mr. Adrian Blackwood passed away last month. It is now time for his inheritance to be distributed. In most cases, the deceased’s family receives the estate. However, Mr. Blackwood left behind a will stating that all properties under his name—estimated to be worth approximately $150 billion—along with the Blackwood Estate, a 105,000-square-foot modern mega-mansion, now belong solely to you.” William spoke in a flat, professional tone, as if he were simply reading the weather forecast. Celeste felt her body grow cold. $150 billion? Boyfriend? In her twenty-one years of life, she had never even had a boyfriend. She had spent most of her time grinding through part-time jobs and university classes just to keep the bills paid. When exactly would she have found time to date a billionaire? What kind of ridiculous scam was this? She knew about the death of Adrian Blackwood—the heir to the Blackwood Empire. How could she not? The Blackwood family was one of the richest dynasties in the country, a clan whose ancestral wealth could practically buy nations. They were like untitled kings. His sudden death had shaken the entire country. News channels had covered it nonstop. People had mourned the young billionaire’s passing as if they had personally known him. These scammers sure knew how to spin a convincing story. “I’m sorry. You have the wrong person,” she said softly before ending the call. She barely had time to lower her phone and sigh when it rang again. The same number. Celeste declined the call and silenced her phone. She already had enough problems to deal with; she didn’t have the energy to entertain some elaborate scam. Her mind drifted back to the bills in her lap. She tried to think of ways to arrange the money, but nothing came to mind. For a moment she considered asking her only friend, Elora Quinn, for help—but that didn’t seem right either. Though Elora’s family was comfortable, they were still middle class. How could she possibly ask for such an enormous amount? Still… something was better than nothing. Celeste sat there in silence, lost in her thoughts, until the door of Room 307 finally opened. The doctor stepped out. Just looking at the grave expression on his face made her heart race. “Is everything okay, doctor?” she asked softly. The doctor looked at her with quiet pity. “I told you before, dear. The surgery we performed on your mother three years ago would eventually have consequences.” Celeste felt her stomach twist. She swallowed hard, forcing back the rising bile in her throat. “What consequences?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Her kidneys have completely failed. Your mother will need a transplant to survive. Dialysis is no longer effective.” The words struck her like a hammer. “The cost of a kidney transplant is very high,” the doctor continued gently. “But it is the only way to save her. If you agree, we will begin searching for a donor. Unfortunately, you are not a match.” He gave her shoulder a brief, sympathetic pat before walking away, leaving her standing alone in the corridor. Celeste slowly sat back down on the chair, rubbing her face as she tried to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. How was she supposed to arrange that kind of money? With trembling hands, she picked up her phone and began dialing every number she could think of. Her maternal uncle. Her aunt. Her friends. Her father’s relatives. Her grandparents. She asked each of them for help, promising over and over that she would return the money as soon as possible. Most agreed to help—but their voices carried doubt. They sent small amounts. By the end of it all, she still couldn’t even pay the current hospital bills, let alone afford a transplant. Exhausted, Celeste stood and walked into the hospital room. Her mother lay unconscious on the bed, looking small and fragile against the white sheets. A wave of guilt washed over her. Her mother’s life had never been easy. She had fallen in love with Celeste’s father as a teenager, and the two of them had Celeste while they were barely adults themselves. Both families had opposed the pregnancy, urging them to give the baby away. But her parents had refused. They never went to college. Instead, they worked tirelessly to give Celeste the life they never had. When Celeste turned eight, her father died in a road accident. He left behind only a grieving wife and a young daughter. Her mother had barely had time to mourn before the responsibilities of survival forced her back onto her feet. She worked day and night, sacrificing everything for Celeste. Maybe those years of endless exhaustion were the reason she was lying in this hospital bed now. Celeste walked up to the bed and gently kissed her mother’s forehead. Her fingers brushed softly across the woman’s hair. “Don’t worry, Mama,” she whispered quietly. “I won’t let you die.” She forced a small smile before leaving the room. Outside the hospital, she wandered aimlessly along the nearly empty road, desperately thinking of ways to make money. The more she thought, the more hopeless she felt. The sky had already turned dark. Finally, unable to bear it anymore, she sat down on a bench outside the hospital and buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook as she cried. Suddenly, a cold gust of wind swept past her. It seeped through her clothes and into her bones. She shuddered. It was summer. Why was the air so cold? She lifted her face and looked around, confused. Then she froze. A strange sensation brushed against her cheek. Her entire body stiffened. It felt like a touch—cold, icy, almost unnatural. The freezing sensation spread across her skin, making her heart skip a beat. It felt as if the very air around her carried something… something dark. Before she could make sense of the strange feeling, a voice suddenly called out her name. She jolted. “Miss Celeste Harper. Nice to meet you.” She looked up to see a well-dressed man standing in front of her. “I’m William Carter,” he continued politely. “I thought it would be better to discuss things in person.” He gave her a small professional smile. “Shall we?”