From the very beginning, Emily understood one truth: beauty is currency, and marriage is the most lucrative contract. While her mother tried to teach her recipes for preserves, she would look at her with pity. Her parents lives, consumed by penny-pinching worries, were the ultimate cautionary tale to her.
Listening to her mother cry at night, the girl swore to herself: *My home will smell of expensive perfume, not pickles. Ill have a grand flat and a housekeeper.*
Emily knew her family couldnt afford private education, so she studied diligently and chose a degree that promised upward mobilitylaw. It was a profession that paid well and, more importantly, granted access to wealthy clients.
She never hid her views on love. By her first year at university, she made it clear she dreamed of a rich husband. *Love isnt romance, its a smart investment,* shed say.
Her friends teased her:
*”Emily, millionaires dont grow on trees!”*
*”No,”* shed retort, *”but theyre always suing over money. And until then, there are art exhibitions, business seminars, and fine dining. Why waste my life in a kitchen when nature gave me the means to win the jackpot?”*
She admired herself in the mirrortall, poised, with long chestnut hair and striking eyes. No doubt, she was beautiful, and she intended to use it to the fullest.
Men around her fell into two categories: those who stuttered nervously and those who saw her as a prize. Naturally, she chose the latter. She wasnt looking for loveonly a profitable venture.
By her third year, Emily switched to part-time studies and became a secretary at a law firm. *”I need experience and the right connections,”* she told her mother, who begged her to reconsider.
Her opportunity came quickly.
A client in his fiftiesdistinguished, wealthynoticed not just her looks but her sharp mind. After the case, he offered her a job as his advisor.
Her life became a whirlwind of negotiations, cocktail parties, and high-society events. She was his secret weaponcharming clients, easing tensions, remembering every detail. For a while, she hoped hed leave his wife for her. But he was unmovable.
*”Family is the foundation, Emily. Youre my penthouse,”* hed say, adjusting his cufflinks.
So she changed tactics. She studied his circleand found a new target. His business partner, Richard Whitmore. Owner of a luxury car dealership. Unattractive, balding, with sad eyes. Perfect prey.
She orchestrated their meeting*”accidentally”* bumping into him, *”forgetting”* her scarf, asking clever questions at his speeches. Of course, he took the bait.
Their first date lasted five hours. Richard spoke of business, loneliness, his weariness of empty flattery. Emily nodded, listened adoringly, while thinking: *How dull. But how promising. Ill endure it.*
Within a year, she had a car. Two years, a penthouse in Mayfair. She wasnt trappedshe was a skilled lawyer, proving useful in deals. After each success, she indulged in designer clothes, spa treatments, anything to polish her image. She loved being his most expensive accessory.
When her mother lamented her wasting her youth on empty companionship, Emily smirked. *”Relax. Hes mine. Hes just stalling.”*
She was certain. Until five years passed, her thirtieth birthday loomed, and still no proposal. She hintedgently. Richard only laughed. *”Why bother with paperwork, darling? Were happy as we are.”*
Then came the blow.
He took her to their favourite restaurantthe site of their first date. She wore a new dress, expecting a ring.
*”Emily, Im married,”* he said, sipping wine.
*”What? To whom?”*
*”Margaret. From accounting. Shes different. Bakes perfect pies. Makes pickles like my mums. Its peaceful with her.”*
The world shattered.
*”Youre joking. Some plain, pickling housewife stole my future?”*
*”Your place cant be stolen, darling,”* he said, stupidly sincere. *”Youre the most beautiful woman Ive ever known. But a wife she must be kind. Domestic. Thats not you, my rose. Surely you agree?”*
It was worse than a slap. It was over. In a heartbeat, she knew shed been used and discarded. Somehow, she kept her composure, didnt throw her drink in his face. No. She played her role flawlessly. And left with one thought: *He picked the wrong woman.*
She stopped taking precautions. A reckless gamblebut her last chance. Two months later, the test was positive. Weeks after, she marched into his office, radiant.
*”Richard, were having a baby. Your heir.”* She handed him the ultrasound.
She expected tears of joy. He paled.
*”What have you done?”* he hissed. *”Blackmail?”*
*”This is your son!”*
*”I thought you were smarter than greedy girls. Did you really expect me to fund you forever?”*
*”Richard, I love you,”* she lied.
*”I wont raise a bastard with my mistress,”* he snapped. *”Two choices: end it, or”*
*”Too late. Ive planned everything.”*
He stared, hatred flashing, then said coldly:
*”Fine. Have the child, disappear, and take a one-time paymentenough to live comfortably. But one condition: no one ever knows hes mine. Break that, and youll be penniless.”*
The sum was staggering. Enough to buy not just a flat, but a whole life. He wasnt just buying her silencehe was erasing his child. Her heart lurched. He was sharper, crueler than shed imagined.
But even in defeat, she bargained.
*”Increase it by twenty percent,”* she demanded. *”And structure it as a giftlegally airtight. So you and your *cosy* wife cant claw it back later.”*
His gaze chilledalmost respectful. *”Deal.”*
Two weeks later, the money arrived. Payment for silence. Disappearance.
It wasnt the life shed dreamed of, but shed sold her youth dearly.
Before the birth, she moved awaybought a modest flat. The money meant no panic, no scrambling for work. She could think.
When her son turned six months, she hired a nanny. Office work was impossible with a baby, so she started smallonline consultations, freelance cases. She spent sparingly, investing in education: international law courses, English tutors. Suddenly, she needed to prove she wasnt just a pretty face.
It was a slow, gruelling climbsleepless nights, exhaustion, guilt whenever she looked at her son. Victor resembled his father, a man hed never meet. She clenched her teeth. *”But we have a head start. This money is ours.”*
Years passed.
Emily now runs a boutique law firm, specialising in remote business services. She has a name, a reputation, security. She no longer hunts for a millionaire husbandshe became what she sought: strong, independent, wealthy.
Only the path wasnt through a bedroom. It was through cold calculation, hard work, and a brutal lesson life taught her.
