Chapter 1 A Bitter Deal

"If you value your mother's life, Isla, you'll marry Theodore and do exactly as you're told!"

Staring daggers at her phone screen, Isla Wright felt rage simmer as her father, Archie Wright, grinned in that infuriating way of his.

On the video call, Isla watched her mother Skylar Palmer lying powerless-her oxygen tube yanked away, every machine that might have saved her switched off. Skylar's heart monitor screamed a flat, deadly line while Archie stood by, his face set in cold indifference. He didn't care in the slightest.

Murder didn't even begin to cover it.

Fingers curling tight, Isla fought the urge to launch her phone across the room. In her mind, she plotted a dozen ways to make Archie pay.

"I'll do it! I'll marry him!" Isla replied, every word trembling with anger. "But if Mom gets hurt, you'll never see a dime from me!"

Sleeping in a hospital bed, Theodore Harris, from the wealthiest family in Asophia, hadn't woken since a car crash. The Harris clan promised a billion dollars to anyone who could give them an heir.

Archie had dollar signs in his eyes. There was no way he'd send Leah Wright, his younger daughter, into the fire. Instead, he went so far as to snatch Skylar from her hospital bed, using her as leverage to force Isla into marriage.

That was the kind of father Isla had been given.

Just to twist the knife, Leah decided they would both get married on the same day. She wanted to see Isla humiliated.

While Leah was going to marry Aaron Carter-Asophia's local heartthrob and golden child-Isla found herself promised to a man who lay silent, locked in his own body.

Laughter and music burst from Leah's celebration, bridesmaids and groomsmen crowding around as Aaron whisked her away in a limousine that gleamed in the sunlight. Every eye followed, green with envy at their picture-perfect happiness.

Meanwhile, Isla lingered at the curb in front of the Wright family's house. There was no crowd, only a solemn butler and a driver from Harris Mansion waiting to escort her.

From the limo window, Leah caught Isla's eye and tossed her a mocking wave, her lips curled in a taunting smile.

The moment struck hard, dragging Isla back to that awful day when this girl Archie had out of wedlock and her mother first showed up, forever shattering the family she'd known.

Unrelenting pressure pushed Skylar over the edge, resulting in a stroke that left her partially paralyzed and tethered to hospital machinery.

A searing look passed between Isla and Leah, Isla's stare sharp enough to cut glass.

Inwardly, Isla muttered, "Leah, marrying into the Carters is going to be your undoing," as determination solidified in her chest.

Without another glance, Isla slid into the backseat, shoving away the bitterness. During the ride, the Harris family butler delivered the terms with cold clarity. "Ms. Wright, you've got a three-month deadline. Either carry Mr. Theodore Harris's child or snap him out of his coma. Succeed, and the Harris clan will throw a wedding fit for royalty. No one will question your title as Mrs. Harris."

A silent nod was Isla's only response, though her mind spun with calculations.

Rumors flew in the city-countless women had tried to win that one billion when the offer had just been made public, but no woman dared to try after just three months.

One by one, they ran for their lives. Some lost their minds, while others simply vanished. Nobody dared tempt fate for riches they would never live to claim.

Nobody except Archie, who sold Isla out for a shot at that jackpot.

With a deep breath, Isla shut her eyes and forced her grief into the background.

Arrival at Harris Mansion came swiftly. Stepping over the threshold, Isla felt a wall of opulence threaten to swallow her whole.

Silence dominated the grand halls. The butler ushered Isla up the sweeping staircase. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, a sleazy figure drifted into her path, hovering far too close, his arm nearly encircling her waist.

"Some guys have all the luck," Kolton Harris said, voice thick with insincerity. "Theodore's out cold, and he still lands a knockout like you."

A wandering hand brushed against Isla's side while Kolton's gaze dripped with intent.

Kolton's reputation preceded him. He was Theodore's cousin and a vicious playboy who had toyed with countless young men and women. Some ended up dead, others maimed-all brushed aside with a payout. Total scumbag.

With a glimmer in her eye, Isla let her fingers curl around the small pouch of powder hidden in her sleeve, ready for whatever came next.

This moment was ideal for putting her homemade irritant to the test.

Kolton caught the flicker of her smile and took it as an invitation. Disregarding the butler's protests, he reached boldly for Isla's shirt.

The next second, a sharp yelp burst from him. "You bitch-!"

No one could say exactly what went down. Kolton had swagger one second, then in a flash, he was clutching at his face, sputtering curses that trailed off as he lost his voice. Blind and voiceless, he flailed, a pitiful mess.

A quiet chuckle escaped Isla. The powder performed better than she'd hoped.

Confidence surging, she brushed past the stumbling Kolton, making her way to her suite. Before entering, she whirled, tossing him a wicked grin. "Save your envy for someone else. You'll never measure up to your cousin. You're just a pathetic loser."

Rage twisted Kolton's features, and he lunged, intent on payback.

His pride couldn't handle being bested, not by Isla and definitely not when he already lived in Theodore's shadow. Being called pathetic was a wound he couldn't let go.

Swift as a cat, Isla darted into the suite, snapping the lock before Kolton could lay a finger on her.

Some people were born to lose.

Her gaze roamed the lavish suite until it landed on the centerpiece-a sprawling, extravagant bed.

Stretched across the covers, a stunning man slept on, his features sharp and defined, skin almost translucent from months away from sunlight. Plush lips, a sculpted body, and a jawline that could make anyone do a double take. Isla felt her steps falter.

Suspicion crept in as she eyed the open pajamas revealing hard muscle underneath.

How did someone spend a year in a coma and still look like a marble sculpture?