THE BILLIONAIRE'S RELUCTANT WIFE

THE INHERITANCE OF DEBT...

“ Miss Carter?

Abigail hardly looked up from the pile of receipts she was calculating behind the diner's counter. Her bone was so worn out that it made it hard for her to focus, but the voice cut through her blurred state.

A man in a dark suit stood before her, too polished for a shabby place like this. He held a sleek black folder, his expression unreadable.

Who’s asking? She replied, brushing away a loose strand of hair.

I'm Oliver Moore, your late father's attorney.

The word felt like a slap to her. Abigail tensed up, a shiver going through her body. Her father? He had died months ago, and she had nothing to do with him anymore.

I think you have the wrong person. She grabbed the coffee pot and turned away, eager to end the conversation.

I don't, I need to speak with you about his estate.

Estate? Abigail almost laughed. Her father had left nothing behind but pain and unpaid rent.

I'm working, she said, forcing calm into her voice.

Then I suggest you take a little break. Moore replied sharply, this is urgent.

Something in his tone made her hold back. The last time that someone had called about something urgent to her, was when her father died.

With a sign, she gestured towards the empty corner booth with a slight move of her head, five minutes.

Moore slided into the seat across from her and placed the folder on the table. Your father left a huge amount of debt behind; since you're his next of kin—

No, Abigail cut in. I don't want to have anything to do with him.

Moore’s expression remained indifferent. I'm afraid this isn't a choice; the debt exists, and the creditors want their money.

Her stomach turned as he opened the folder and slipped a piece of paper in her direction. Abigail’s breath stuck in her throat as she saw the figures.

$100,000!

It was not only terrible, but also impossible. There has to be a mistake somewhere, she murmured.

Moore shook his head. Your father borrowed from the wrong people, miss Carter. This isn't just a bank loan; these are private lenders, and they don't forget.

Her finger clenched, turning into a fist. Her father has been so many things—a liar, a gambler—but this? This was unthinkable.

I don't have this kind of money, she said, her voice barely a whisper.

They don't care; all they want is repayment, and soon.

Her chest tightened as if invisible hands were squeezing the air from her lungs. She could barely afford her rent, let alone clear this impossible debt.

And if I don't pay?

Moore hesitated, then closed the folder.

Then you should be ready for whatever happens next." The words sent a chill through Abigail. Her fingers clenched around the paper, her knuckles white. Her pulse pounded in her ears.

What happens next? Her voice barely carried over the diner's low bustle.

Moore met her gaze, unreadable. These people don't send reminders, they collect.

I don't have this kind of money!! She almost yelled at Moore .

Then you need to find a way.

A sharp knock on the counter made her flinch.

Abby? We have an order. Theodore’s voice cut through the tension.

She rose to her feet, her hand shaking, I have to work.

Moore didn't move. Miss Carter?

I can't do this right now. She pushed the paper at him. I don't have a penny for anything.

For the first time his expression softened.

Then find someone who does. Abigail's breath caught; she already knew what he meant.

Clara.

Her stomach tightened, a slow, creeping cold spreading through her veins.

I will figure it out. The word felt empty. Moore stood up, adjusting his collar. Do it fast.

Time is not on your side, and then he left.

Abigail was staring at the paper, her world crashing down.

A sharp knock on the door startled Abigail. She froze. No one knocked this late.

Another, louder— heavier.

Miss Carter, a smooth, firm voice shouted, Open up.

Her pulse pounded. No, this couldn't be happening. Boom! The doorframe sounded. For the last chance?

Hand trembling, she opened the door. Two men with broad shoulders and cold stares came in.

Took you so long, the taller one said. Who are you? she murmured.

Your father's debt collectors, the short one said sharply. We're here for payment.

Cold shivers spread through her veins. I—I don't have it.

A slow chuckle followed, then a boot jammed against the door. That is not how it works, sweetheart.

A folded paper landed at her feet. She didn't need to open it; it burned into her mind.

Luke Jargon Vandell

One week the taller man warned, or he finds another way.

You won't like his method. The shorter one cut in with a smirk on his lips.

They turned and left. Abigail slammed the door, her hand shaking while locking it.

One week, no money and no way out, Abigail couldn't sleep. She sat curled up on her tiny couch, knees up to her chest, staring at the rough paper.

One week,

Luke Jargon Vandell

The weight of the name pressed down on her like a vice; she had nothing—no money, no family willing to help except..

Clara.

Her stomach twisted at the thought of her, but what choice did she have?

The next morning Abigail was on a bus, holding her worn-out coat against the morning cold.

The mansion stood behind her, its golden light shining mockingly. She had not stepped her foot here for years, but now she had no choice.

She banged on the heavy oak door, her breath shaky.

“Please open, please.”

The door opened, revealing Clara in an elegant silk robe. She held a glass of wine in hand; her sharp eyes went over Abigail, and then a slow smirk curved her lips.

Abigail, she called, stepping outside. To what do I owe this visit?

Abigail stumbled inside, holding the paper from the loan sharks. I need your help. Her voice shaked, but she pushed on. Please, I have no one else to go to.

Clara took a slow sip of wine, her face indifferent. Help you? She let out a short, mocking laugh. Your father was a fool, and now you're paying for it.

Abigail pulled back, I didn't know about the debt; I just need a loan just until I can—

Clara raised her hand and silenced her. You expect me to throw money at your shortcomings? Oh darling, that's not how the world works.

A tight knot formed in Abigail's chest, squeezing with every breath. I will pay you back, I swear.

Clara hissed as if bored, putting her glass down. There's only one way a girl like you can pay that kind of debt.

She snapped her fingers.

Immediately, two men emerged from the shadows, tall and imposing, their suits firm but their looks empty.

Abigail panicked, letting out an alarm.

Clara!!

Take her, Clara said, waving her hand. She starts tonight.

The men charged toward her. No! Abigail resisted, but their grip was intense; her feet scratched against marble as they dragged her towards the door.

“Clara please, you are my family.”

Clara leaned against the grand staircase, watching with amusement, and your father was my brother, yet here we are.

The night air hit Abigail's face as they dragged her outside; a shiny black car with its back open was waiting.

Don't do this!! She screamed, her voice shaking.

The last thing she saw before they pushed her inside was Clara's smile raising a wine glass in a mocking toast.

The door slammed shut,

The engine started.

The tires screamed against the pavement, and Abigail Carter was gone.