The Heiress vs. The Bad Boy

"Mom, Dad, don't push me! I swear, I'll leave this house and never come back!" "Be my guest." I froze. It felt like someone had just dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. Excuse me? This wasn't part of the script. In my head, Dad was supposed to panic. He was supposed to say, 'No, sweetie, please don't go! I'll give you whatever you want!' But instead... he agreed? And he sounded so casual about it? I seriously need to get a DNA test. There is no way I’m actually related to this man. "Fine! I'm leaving then!" I snapped, spinning around to march back to my room. "Hold on." Gotcha. I knew it. He was bluffing. I turned back slowly, chin held high, ready to accept his apology. But Dad just stood up from the sofa, a faint, calculating smirk playing on his lips. He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at me coolly. "You can go," he said. "But you leave with nothing. No credit cards, no cash. And here's the deal: If you can earn two million in three years, on your own, I'll agree to your terms. But if you fail? I will drag you back to the Sinclair estate kicking and screaming. And after that..." He trailed off, his expression turning positively diabolical. That manipulative old fox! I was so furious I couldn't even speak. I just turned around and stormed out the door. Back in the cavernous living room, a beautiful woman watched the girl disappear, tears streaming down her face. "Honey," she pleaded, turning to her husband. "Why couldn't you just give Hazel what she wanted?" The man sank back onto the sofa. He let out a long, heavy sigh, staring into the silence, saying nothing. That stubborn old fossil! Two million? Please. Does he think I’m incompetent? I can make that kind of money in my sleep. Just wait. I’m going to make him eat his words. I stood there, taking one last look at the mansion that had been my home for fifteen years. A sudden, phantom chill ran down my spine, despite the blazing heat. Ominous much? They say poverty builds character. Well, I was about to get a whole lot of character. Oh, right. Where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Hazel Sinclair, fifteen years old, and currently the newest member of the homeless population. As for what exactly my father and I were negotiating about... Heh. That’s classified information. Top secret. For me to know and you to find out later. But you already know the result: I lost. Big time. Kicked to the curb like yesterday’s trash. And before you ask—yes, unfortunately, he really is my biological father. I’d swear on my limited edition handbag collection—if I hadn't left it behind—that we share the same stubborn DNA. But let’s talk about my current situation. It was noon. The summer sun wasn't just hot; it was aggressive. It beat down on the asphalt like it was trying to melt the city off the map. There were clouds, sure—fluffy, picturesque white ones that looked like spilled whipped cream—but they were doing absolutely nothing to block the heat. The sun was practically mocking me, hiding in the clouds for a second before blasting me with another wave of radiation. "So... hot..." I had been walking for three hours. I had successfully escaped the Sinclair territory, which was great news. The bad news? I was starving. Stupid, Hazel. So stupid. Why didn't I eat before I started the negotiation? Who starts a life-altering argument on an empty stomach? Can we please rewind and restart this morning? I was done for. No money, no food, and no shade. Suddenly, the world started to spin. The ground tilted sideways, and black spots danced in my vision. My knees gave out. The last thing I saw was the unforgiving pavement rushing up to meet my face...