Once a Doormat, Now Married to a Tycoon

Every child in the orphanage dreamed of being adopted into love, into a family.

I was adopted too, into a nightmare. All my family wanted was my body.

When the Davenports' real daughter fell sick, they didn't ask for my help. They took half my liver before I was old enough to understand the word no.

Freya lived, but I was discarded, like a bloody bandage, sent to the countryside to my Grandmama Bethel.

Now my grandmother lay dying, and she wants me to go back to that house. She calls it returning to my family.

I call it returning to the people who used me for spare parts and dumped me like a spare wheel.

Third person POV

Elizabeth Davenport gripped her sick grandmother's hand, desperately praying the old woman would cling on to life.

As the old woman trembled on the bed, a part of Elizabeth knew she was losing her.

Bethel Davenport struggled to lift her head. Liz, you have to go back to your family.

Shock hit Elizabeth like a blow. She froze. Elizabeth shook her head and uttered in disbelief, Grandma?

Why would you ask me to do that? Why would you send me to that hellhole?

Bethel coughed and pressed her hand weakly against Elizabeth's. You belong there, my dear.

It's your house too.

Elizabeth's heart twisted as she stepped back and looked away. I don't.

I don't belong there. Her chest burned as old memories resurfaced.

The Davenports. That name carried weight, power, influence. Everyone in New York City knew it.

Years ago, Evelyn Davenport and Stephen Davenport struggled to have a child. They visited doctor after doctor. Each one told them there was nothing wrong with them.

They had given up, until someone suggested that a fortune teller in the countryside could give them a solution.

The fortune teller studied them and gave one simple answer. Adopt a child, and you will have your own.

An orphan? Such dirty blood, Evelyn had sneered. We have no option. We can take her in, and then...

Stephen Davenport had said, sealing Elizabeth's fate all those years back.

So the blue-blooded, socially arrogant Davenports went to an orphanage and found a quiet, shy little girl.

Soon after, Evelyn gave birth to her own daughter, Freya Davenport.

Everything changed. Elizabeth swallowed hard and forced the memory down. That place was never my home.

Bethel turned her head. It was meant to be.

Elizabeth clenched her jaw. Then why did they abandon me?

Bethel tightened her grip with the last of her strength. Because fate is never easy.

Elizabeth scoffed. Was it fate that they threw me away like a bag of trash?

Tears filled Bethel's eyes, and Elizabeth regretted her words. She grabbed Bethel's hand.

Why would I ever go back to them?

Bethel coughed hard. Her frail body shook. She pressed a trembling hand against her chest and fought for breath. My sweet child.

I do not know how much time I have left. And after all, they are your parents.

Bethel held on to Elizabeth's hand and refused to let go. Sweetheart, everyone needs a family. You cannot live alone forever.

You cannot waste your life like this in this small town.

Elizabeth tried to pull her hand away, but Bethel held on with surprising strength. Elizabeth let out a sharp scoff. And why would they take me back?

They called me the jinx on Freya's life, didn't they?

Bethel drew her brows together. Elizabeth, you saved that child. How could you ever be a jinx for her?

Let the bygones be bygones. Enough, said Elizabeth.

Bethel's voice gentled with quiet insistence. You deserve everything Freya has received.

You deserve that life. You are both my grandchildren. Elizabeth stepped back, shaking her head. If it weren't for you, they would have sent me back to some orphanage. You are the only one who cared for me.

Bethel lifted her hand and brushed Elizabeth's cheek. Liz, they will take you back.

She tightened her fingers around Elizabeth's hand.

I made sure of it. My son will not go against my word. You will go to the Davenport House.

The next day, Elizabeth walked in with a bowl of soup and stopped by the bed. Grandma, I brought you soup.

The room felt too quiet, too still. Bethel lay there with her eyes closed. She didn't move.

Elizabeth whispered desperately, even as she knew the answer, Grandma?

She reached out and placed her hand on Bethel's wrist, checking her pulse. Her stomach dropped. Grandma?

No response. Panic set in. Elizabeth gripped her shoulder and shook her gently. Grandma, wake up. Please just say something, anything.

Bethel's arms slipped off the bed and fell to the side.

Lifeless and heavy. Elizabeth stared at it and her vision blurred. She pressed a hand over her mouth and fought the tears.

Grandma. She collapsed beside the bed and clutched the sheet, her body trembling.

Bethel was gone, and Elizabeth was orphaned again.

Clear water. The little countryside where Elizabeth had lived with her grandma stood as a beautiful place, a quiet fishing village hugged by the sea.

Waves brushed the shore. Boats swayed with the tide, all very peaceful, except the storm in Elizabeth's heart. Bethel Davenport had died, and the Davenports had all come for her funeral.

At the graveyard, Elizabeth stood far away from the Davenports, a veil covering her face.

She would not let them see her tears. When she had called the family with the news, she had half expected them to dismiss her.

But then they had agreed to hold a funeral the next day. The funeral seemed much grander than she'd thought. It wasn't just the Davenports, but most of the prominent families who were close to the Davenports were there.

Offering their condolences. Elizabeth looked at the Davenports and mumbled a promise to her grandma. Fine, I'll do as you wanted.

I'll go to the Davenports.

Lost in her thoughts, she failed to see him. The man in the wheelchair at the edge of the mourners, his eyes locked onto her still form.

Elliott Blackwood sat in his wheelchair while Connor Steele, his best friend, said, Elliott, what the hell are we doing out here?

Elliott pursed his lips, exploring the countryside.

Elliott wore cargo pants and a black T-shirt. Even in a wheelchair, the loose clothes could barely hide his sinewy muscles.

Dark sunglasses covered most of his face, only his sharp jawline showed. Elliott Blackwood would easily be one of the most handsome men anyone had ever seen.

With his almond-shaped eyes, sharp nose and chiselled jawline, he looked as if he had been carved with great care.

He was famous in New York. After all, he was the third son of the elite Blackwood family, but that wasn't what he was known for.

He was the New York cripple, a cruel name the paparazzi had given him.

Connor was the eldest son of the Steele Corporation. He was also Elliott's close friend.

In fact, everyone knew he was the only friend Elliott had. Elliott knew that nobody wanted to get close to him ever since the accident.

Lucky for him. He liked it that way. Connor rolled his eyes. Seriously, Elliott, you want to explore this dead countryside?

He started pushing Elliott toward the family. Elliott ordered, Not now, not here. He did not truly care what these so-called high society folk thought of him. But a funeral was not the place.

To make his presence felt. But Connor would not let him off so easily.

Why don't you want to greet your fiancée? Elliott searched his memory, then spoke with indifference.

Victoria Davenport. Connor stopped in his tracks and stared at him, disbelief flashing across his face.

Victoria? Who is Victoria? The Davenport girl is Freya. Elliott shrugged. Oh.

Connor let out a sharp breath and ran a hand through his hair. Elliott, how do you not remember your own fiancée's name?

That word hung in the air.

Fiancée. Elliott's lips curved just a little. So what?

But Connor stared at him, stunned. He threw his hands up and glared at Elliott. Dude, everyone in New York City would kill to be in your shoes, and you act like you do not care at all?

He let out a sharp breath and shook his head. You cannot even remember her name.

Freya Davenport stood at the center of it all. Talent, beauty, grace.

People called her the Davenport Diva. Even with an engagement in place, admirers surrounded her.

And then there was Elliott, a ruined leg, a temper that pushed people away. No education, no sense for business.

Everyone called him the Blackwood Black Hole, useless and sucking all their energy.

Connor was still chattering away, but Elliott had muted him out. He had muted the world out.

All he could see was a slender figure at the back, leaning against a tree. Every line of her body called to him in a way nothing had before.

For a moment, he wondered what she looked like, as if answering a prayer. The wind blew her veil off her face.

Elliott blinked once, but nothing could take his eyes away. She was a goddess.

And he knew his world had changed forever.