Billionaire's Debt: He Despised Me, Then Desired Me

It all began under the harsh fluorescent lights of the ER.

Veronica Murphy burst in, a man soaked in blood on her back, her slight frame straining under the weight. She nearly collapsed, stumbling against the counter as she carefully lowered him onto it.

"He needs help-now!" she gasped, struggling for breath. "He passed out after an accident!"

The whole day had been a disaster. She'd been making a late-night delivery on her motorcycle when a truck blew a red light and slammed into a parked Ferrari. The impact had crumpled the sports car. Windows shattered, flames licked at the rear, and the threat of an explosion grew with every second. The driver was slumped inside, unconscious, his face streaked with blood.

An instinct she didn't understand sent Veronica sprinting toward the wreck. She sliced through the man's seatbelt, hauled him from the seat, and dragged him clear of the fire.

They had barely made it a few yards when a deafening blast shook the entire parking lot. The Ferrari exploded in a roar of flame. A cold dread washed over Veronica. One more second, and she would have burned with him.

The man, barely conscious, suddenly grabbed her wrist with a desperate strength, as if clinging to life itself. "Help me... get me to a hospital... I'll give you one hundred million dollars..."

She froze. A hundred million? Had she just pulled a billionaire back from the brink of death?

When the receptionist at the front desk asked for her name, Veronica opened her mouth to answer, but the woman suddenly looked up at her. Her face lit up, her voice instantly turning syrupy. "Oh my goodness! You're Tiffany Larson, aren't you? Our hospital director's daughter! A doctor will be with you right away, Miss Larson. Please, just wait a moment..."

A bitter smile formed on Veronica's lips. She and Tiffany shared the same face, but their lives couldn't be more different.

Abducted at birth, she was shuffled from one foster home to the next until she was sold to a modest family who, against all odds, raised her with love.

Just last month, a terrible accident had left her adoptive parents in critical condition, burying the family under a mountain of medical debt.

That was when her biological parents-the wealthy Larson family-had reappeared as if out of thin air.

They had agreed to pay the medical bills... in exchange for a bone marrow donation to their younger son, who was battling leukemia.

There was one condition: she was never to show her face, a perfect copy of their precious Tiffany's.

Rachel Zimmerman, her biological mother, had sneered, her voice dripping with contempt. "Tiffy is one of the most admired women in Bloomstead. You are a complete nobody. Our family's reputation will not be tainted by your existence."

To save her adoptive parents, Veronica had swallowed her pride.

Usually, she hid herself under baggy, shapeless clothes and thick, unflattering makeup.

But that night, rushing for work, she hadn't bothered. And so, she'd been forced to use Tiffany's name to cover the five-thousand-dollar ER bill for the man she'd rescued.

Once she got home, exhausted, she took a quick shower. While emptying her pockets, she found a ring set with a single black diamond.

"It must have caught on my shirt when he grabbed me," she murmured, setting it absently on the table.

A moment later, someone pounded on the door.

She had barely opened it when Tiffany, tall and slender, slapped her hard across the face. "Are you out of your mind, Veronica? I told you never to show your face in Bloomstead! Are you trying to get your adoptive parents killed?"

Her cheek burning, Veronica struck back, her own slap landing even harder. She could endure humiliation when she had no other choice, but she refused to cower before Tiffany.

Tiffany let out a muffled cry, pressing a hand to her reddening cheek. "How dare you hit me?"

"And you? Did you think I'd just stand here and take it? I'm not your servant," Veronica said, her voice ice-cold.

Furious, Tiffany jabbed a finger at her. "You brought a stranger to my father's hospital and used my name! If someone had recognized you, can you imagine the humiliation? My father got an anonymous call this morning! Who knows what other trouble you'll cause!"

Veronica let out a short, bitter laugh. The irony was suffocating. She was born with Tiffany's face, yet she didn't even have the right to exist in the light of day.

As they stood in a tense standoff, Tiffany's phone rang. She answered, her body still rigid with anger.

"Mom?"

Rachel's voice buzzed with excitement on the other end. "Tiffy! I just heard! You saved Matthew Kings! The Kings family just sent word. They want you at Mythpoint in a week."

Tiffany's head snapped toward the table. Her eyes locked onto the ring. She'd seen it before. It was the ring Matthew Kings, heir to the most powerful family in the country, was said to wear.

The pieces clicked into place. The truth struck her: it wasn't her, but Veronica, who had pulled Matthew from the fire. And it was her name that Veronica had given at the hospital.

A flicker of greed crossed her face.

"I'll call you back, Mom," she said, hanging up abruptly.

In one swift motion, she snatched the ring from the table and pocketed it. She leaned in close to Veronica, her voice a low threat. "Pull a stunt like this again, and you can say goodbye to your adoptive parents for good."

She slammed the door on her way out.

Exhausted, Veronica tried to get a few hours of sleep before dawn. When she woke, she rushed to the hospital to find the man she had saved.

A hundred million dollars... It was enough to change her entire life.

But the nurse at the desk just gave her a flat look. "He was discharged during the night, after he regained consciousness. He didn't leave anything."

A wave of pure rage washed over her.

"Liar! That absolute jerk!"

She clenched her fists, her whole body trembling. "That five thousand dollars was my budget for two months!"

And as if that weren't enough, the delivery app had fined her over a hundred dollars for the orders she'd missed. Her days off, along with her pay, had just gone up in smoke.

She collapsed onto a bench in the hallway, tears stinging her eyes. She was too young to carry so much hardship.

What a brutal world.

Over the following days, she threw herself into work with a fierce, desperate energy. After her shift at the club, she'd race off to make meal deliveries, then head to the hospital to feed her adoptive parents.

Now, in her security uniform, Veronica slouched in front of the monitors at the Twilight Bar, her mind a million miles away as her coworker chatted beside her.

She grumbled, "If it wasn't for that ungrateful bastard I saved, I could at least afford to eat twice a day. Now I'm starving."

Ever since the accident, her adoptive father had been in a coma, and her adoptive mother rarely left his side at the hospital. The medical bills were covered by her biological parents, but their charity didn't extend to daily living expenses. Veronica had already drained her savings-the last of her five thousand dollars-on her father's surgery. Her wallet was as empty as her stomach.

"You're always going on about that guy, 'Big Ron'," Cody Bowman said. "Do you even know his name? Or what he looked like?"

"I remember his face, but he was unconscious," she answered, then trailed off, her eyes fixed on the bank of monitors. "How was I supposed to know his name?" Suddenly, all the color drained from her face. She pointed a trembling finger at one of the screens. "Him!" she gasped. "Look! It's him!"

She slapped the table and shot up from her chair. "I finally found you, you ungrateful bastard!"

"Whoa, hold on, Veronica!" Cody grabbed her wrist, stunned. "Are you absolutely sure?"

"Of course!" she replied, already heading for the exit. But Cody stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

"Calm down. That man is Matthew Kings." He lowered his voice. "He's the heir to the Kings family, one of Bloomstead's four most powerful dynasties. The man is ruthless-he stops at nothing." Cody's grip on her arm tightened. "If he wanted to thank you, he would have done it by now. If he never bothered to find you, it means he isn't going to give you a damn thing. Your life is worth more than five thousand dollars. Just consider it a handout you tossed to a stray and let it go."

Cody's words froze her in place. Matthew Kings?

The Twilight Club was a playground for the city's elite. Even Veronica knew his reputation. Cody was right, but something in her refused to let it go.

She waited until one in the morning. When she saw Matthew leave a private lounge and head for the elevator, she slipped in right behind him. The first eight floors of the club were a sprawling bar, while the upper levels were exclusive hotel suites.

Inside the elevator, she studied him discreetly. He was a full head taller than anyone else, reeked of alcohol, and his handsome, almost unreal features were flushed an unnatural red. He looked like he was burning up with a fever, tugging at his tie as if his throat were bone dry.

The elevator dinged. The thirty-eighth floor. He stumbled out. She followed.

She had barely taken two steps out of the elevator when he stopped short. She walked right into his back.

"Ow!" "You-"

He spun around and grabbed her by the throat, his movements lethally fast. His voice was a blade of ice. "Who are you? Talk."

"It... hurts..." Veronica clawed at his arm, her vision already blurring from the lack of air. "Let go... I... can't breathe..."

Hearing her strangled, raspy voice, Matthew narrowed his eyes. He swatted the cap from her head, revealing her face. "You're a woman?"

"Y-yes..." she choked out. Her "male" voice was just a gruff affectation she used to avoid unwanted attention at the club. Only the staff knew the truth.

"Who sent you?" he snarled, his grip tightening. "Tell me!"

"I just wanted to-"

"You want to be my next wife, is that it?" he cut in coldly.

He'd sensed something was off all night, and he knew his drink had been drugged. Just another schemer trying to climb into his bed, he thought bitterly. Veronica's consciousness was fading. So this was how he repaid the person who saved his life.

"Fuck..." she swore, but his grip suddenly loosened.

She collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, her throat burning. Only then did she notice the corridor-a silent, silver-gray expanse of private suites, steeped in luxury.

Matthew was panting, his eyes bloodshot. "Do you know what I hate most?" he murmured.

She coughed violently, unable to answer.

"Since you're so eager to die... fine."

He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into his room, throwing her onto the bed as if she weighed nothing. Panic surged through her.

"Hey! W-what are you doing?"

He pressed a button on the wall. The heavy curtains snapped shut, plunging the room into total darkness. In the pitch black, she felt a rough hand tear at her clothes.

Veronica, a ninth-degree taekwondo black belt, lashed out, but her training was useless against his raw, overwhelming strength. "Let go of me, you psycho!" she shouted. "You dare play the innocent after drugging me?"

"You're delusional! I came here to get my money!" She fought back furiously. It was only when she felt the almost scalding heat radiating from his body that his words finally registered. Drugged. The pieces clicked into place far too late. She scrambled to her feet and tried to run, but he caught her without effort. Fed up with her screaming, he shoved his own tie between her lips. "Silence." That night, he brutalized her until her strength crumbled, leaving her to sink into darkness and surface in sobs, again and again. Veronica cursed him silently through the haze of pain. What the hell... Was he superhuman, or was that damn drug really that strong?

The next morning, when she finally opened her eyes, the sun was already high in the sky. She tried to shift and a wave of agony shot through her, as if her entire body had been crushed. The sticky feeling on her skin made her want to scream. Struggling upright, she saw that Matthew was long gone. A fresh set of clothes was laid out for her on the headboard. She stumbled to the bathroom, rinsed off as quickly as she could, and left the room without bothering to wipe away her smeared makeup. She had to find him. She needed answers.

But when she walked into the living room, she found a stranger sitting calmly on the couch. "Thomas Ritter, private secretary to Mr. Matthew Kings," he announced before she could even open her mouth. Seething, Veronica spat, "Where is that cowardly bastard Matthew Kings? Does he plan to just disappear after what he did?" The insult didn't even make Thomas flinch. He simply gestured to a small box on the coffee table. "My employer instructed me to give you this. Take the morning-after pill and leave Bloomstead. Or be prepared to pay the price."He paused, his eyes cold. "The choice is yours, Miss Murphy."

He already knew her name. The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. He's already had her investigated. Matthew's methodical cruelty sent a chill down her spine, deflating her rage into a knot of fear. "I... I want to talk to him," she said, her voice trembling. "I saved his life. How can he be so ungrateful?" Thomas sneered. "What a ridiculous story. You really think he'll swallow that?"

"I'm telling the truth! That day-"

"Miss Murphy," he cut in, his tone sharp with exasperation. "If you want to avoid trouble, I suggest you spare me the fabrications."

The elevator doors slid open with a soft whoosh. For a second, Veronica thought Matthew might appear. Instead, an older, silver-haired woman flanked by two assistants emerged. Her dignified stride and imperious gaze were instantly formidable. Thomas immediately rose and inclined his head. "Good day, Mrs. Kings." Elizabeth Hutchinson swept into the room, her sharp eyes landing on Thomas before glaring daggers at him. "What are you doing here?" "I'm handling a personal matter for Mr. Kings," he replied respectfully.

Elizabeth's gaze shifted, landing on the box of pills on the table. Her eyes narrowed. "By 'personal matter, ' do you mean you're here to destroy a great-grandchild of the Kings family?" Veronica's mouth fell open. What? A great-grandchild? Her eyes followed Elizabeth's stare to the box. She finally understood what they were talking about. Wait... this was about what that bastard did to her last night, wasn't it? "It was Mr. Kings' direct order," Thomas murmured.

"Nonsense!" Elizabeth's voice was like ice. "Let that insolent boy dare come and repeat that to my face."

Elizabeth turned toward the voice, the hardness in her expression instantly melting into an almost tender smile as she approached Veronica. "You must be Veronica?" Though Veronica couldn't stand Matthew and felt nothing for his grandmother, she kept her tone polite. "What can I do for you, Mrs. Kings?"

The word "Mrs. Kings" seemed to delight Elizabeth, whose smile grew even brighter. "Your appearance may be unremarkable, but your wit certainly isn't." Veronica, who was naturally fair-skinned, had deliberately darkened her complexion, thickened her eyebrows, and dotted her face with fake freckles. The goal was to look plain and go unnoticed.

With an almost maternal gentleness, Elizabeth took her hand. "My dear, I'm getting older. My greatest wish is to know the joy of holding a great-grandchild. I've learned about your parents being hospitalized and how you're working part-time to support your family. You're a brave young woman. If you agree to carry a child for our family, you can set your own terms."

Veronica's eyes went wide. She snatched her hand back as if from an electric shock. "No. Absolutely not. I understand you want a great-grandchild, but that's a matter for your family. It has nothing to do with me." Was this woman serious? All this just because she had slept with Matthew one time? Now she was expected to become a surrogate for the Kings family? It was ridiculous.

Meanwhile, Tiffany arrived at the Hilton restaurant. Matthew didn't show up until a full half-hour later.

"Sorry I'm late."

He walked in wearing a black shirt under a silver-gray pinstriped suit. His handsome features were so perfect they seemed almost unreal, radiating a cold elegance. When he offered a simple smile, Tiffany's breath caught. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and for a second, her vision swam.

She had seen him on television, but seeing him in person-with that noble bearing and an aloofness that kept the world at arm's length-shattered her composure. Still, she forced herself to stand, smoothing her dress to quell the frantic fluttering in her chest. "It's no problem, Mr. Kings. I just arrived a little early."

Matthew sat across from her, his gaze sweeping over her for a brief moment before flicking away. "What would you like to eat?"

Tiffany wore a new Dior dress, light makeup, and limited-edition Gucci jewelry. She was radiant, but Matthew, long tired of polished beauties, saw only a superficial gleam.

"Please, order whatever you like, Mr. Kings. I'm not picky."

"Very well."

He pressed the call button, and a server appeared instantly. Matthew ordered the two most luxurious lunch sets and a bottle of red wine. He sat perfectly upright yet relaxed, then fixed a piercing gaze on Tiffany. "You're the daughter of the Floch Group's chairman. What were you doing in the suburbs that day?"

He had done some digging after he'd returned to his office.

A sudden tightness squeezed Tiffany's chest. She quietly folded her hands in her lap and offered a faint, resigned smile. "To be honest, my father wanted me to get a taste of the real world. He had me delivering meals to see if I could handle hardship before he would consider entrusting me with the company."

She'd been rehearsing the story for days. After Matthew's initial contact, she'd told her parents everything. They had meticulously constructed her cover, even visiting the accident site to understand the sequence of events and reviewing security footage of Matthew being taken away. To make the lie airtight, Tiffany had spent the entire week actually delivering meals, forcing herself to endure every moment of the tedious work.

Matthew nodded, a flicker of approval in his eyes for Floch Larson's methods. "A good lesson from your father. It teaches you a lot."

"Yes, I think he was right, too."

"Give me your account number. I'll have someone transfer you one hundred million dollars tomorrow."

Tiffany was stunned. "Pardon?"

"You saved my life. This is your compensation."

"P-please, don't worry about it. That's really not necessary."

The promise of a hundred-million-dollar reward was a staggering fortune, but Tiffany felt only a flicker of interest. It was Matthew, and Matthew alone, that she wanted. She tilted her head, a graceful smile playing on her lips. "Anyone would have stepped in during a situation like that. I would have done the same for anybody."

Matthew replied with his usual calm, "Since you refuse the compensation, have your father contact my secretary. I'll give the Floch Group priority on our upcoming projects."

The Floch Group was her father's company. A flash of satisfaction softened Tiffany's delicately made-up face. "I appreciate the thought, Mr. Kings, but I really don't want anything in return."

She had barely finished speaking when Matthew's phone vibrated.

"Excuse me."

He answered the call. The screen showed the name Thomas, his secretary.

"What is it?" he asked.

Thomas's voice came through, tinged with embarrassment. "My apologies, Mr. Kings. I was unable to follow your instructions. Your grandmother has taken Miss Murphy to the family estate."

He then recounted the events in detail.

Matthew frowned. "My grandmother? What is she doing getting involved?"

"I don't know." Thomas was just as confused about how Elizabeth had gotten her information so quickly. After a short silence, he added, "She made it quite clear she expects you to marry Miss Murphy."

A cold glint flashed in Matthew's eyes. "She can keep dreaming."

He ended the call, holding the phone in his hand, his expression pensive.

Across the table, Tiffany watched him, holding her breath. Her heart raced every time she met his gaze. The man's magnetic presence was overwhelming. Before she came, her friend Rachel had told her again and again to play hard to get, convinced it would spark Matthew's interest. Remembering that advice, Tiffany took a breath and said softly, "Mr. Kings, I'm just glad you're doing well."

"Glad?" he repeated.

"Yes." She nodded with carefully practiced innocence. "Helping people brings its own kind of satisfaction."

She gave the impression of a woman who had dedicated her life to others. In Bloomstead, her beauty and talent were widely acknowledged. She was the shining star of a family on the fringes of the city's powerful elite. Thanks to her, the Larsons enjoyed a visibility they could never have achieved on their own.

Just then, a knock sounded at the door as servers hurried in with their food.

"Enjoy your meal, Mr. Kings." Tiffany placed her napkin on the table. "I'm so sorry, but I have to be at the children's home by one-thirty. The children will be so disappointed if I'm late."

Since childhood, her parents had molded her into a flawless image-a model student, an accomplished artist, a philanthropist. She played the part diligently now, hoping to impress Matthew under the guise of charity work.

Though she projected an image of almost unreal purity, Matthew sensed a calculating mind working behind the flawless façade. The call from Thomas echoed in his mind.

"Miss Larson, since you're so generous, perhaps I could ask you for another favor?"

"A favor? What is it?"

"I'd like you to pretend to be my girlfriend."

"Your... girlfriend?"

Tiffany's heart began to pound so hard she was sure he could hear it. Maybe Rachel's strategy was actually working. She froze for a moment, her spoon suspended mid-air, before slowly setting it down.

"I don't understand."

Matthew explained calmly, "My family is pressuring me to get married. I have no interest in their plans. I need someone to play the part for a while. In exchange, you can ask for whatever you want."

"Why choose me? " she asked, her voice a carefully constructed neutral.

"You don't have to accept," he said, his tone level and detached.

"I..." She hesitated for a beat. Then, a surge of ambition swept away any lingering doubt. "If that's what you need... how could I possibly refuse?"

She had dreamed for so long of being connected to him. To refuse now would be to throw away the only opening she had.

A fleeting, almost invisible smile touched Matthew's lips, a shadow of satisfaction she didn't see.

Just like all the others, he thought.

Then, a sharp doubt pricked at him. Had she really saved him by chance... or was this entire encounter carefully staged?