His Unwanted Fiancé Is A Genius Heiress

The blinding Manhattan morning sun sliced through the gaps in the heavy blackout curtains, hitting Karmen's face like a physical blow.

She flinched, her eyelids heavy with the toxic residue of cheap champagne and forced smiles. Her mouth tasted like copper and ash.

Without opening her eyes, Karmen shifted on the massive mattress. She reached out to stretch her cramped muscles. Her fingertips brushed against something solid. An unexpectedly warm expanse of skin.

It was a chest. Hard, rigid muscle wrapped in taut skin.

Her heart slammed against her ribs, a violent thud that sent a rush of ice-cold adrenaline straight to her fingertips.

Karmen's eyes snapped open.

Less than two feet away lay Earl Calderon. His face, usually a mask of terrifying corporate calculation, was relaxed in sleep. The sharp line of his jaw, the straight nose, the dark lashes resting against his cheek-it was a face that commanded boardrooms and destroyed rivals.

The memories of last night's engagement party crashed into her skull. The flashing cameras. The nauseating toasts. The forced proximity to maintain the illusion of this grotesque business merger.

Karmen immediately looked down at her own body. Panic clawed at her throat.

The oversized, custom-tailored men's dress shirt was still fully buttoned to her collarbone. Beneath it, the tight, suffocating compression binder gripped her ribs, flattening her chest into a masculine plane. Everything was intact.

She let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. Her lungs burned.

She needed to get out of this bed. Now.

Karmen shifted her weight, pressing her palms into the mattress to silently slide toward the edge.

A single mattress spring groaned. A microscopic sound.

Earl's thick eyebrows snapped together.

Before Karmen could freeze, his eyes opened. There was no morning haze in his gray-blue irises. Only absolute, freezing hostility. They locked onto Karmen like a predator calculating a kill.

Earl didn't move his body, but his gaze dragged across Karmen's face. A flicker of profound, somatic disgust instantly crossed his features, his throat bobbing as if holding back bile. His eyes then stopped abruptly on her left cheek. Right where the grotesque, jagged silicone scar stretched from her cheekbone to her jawline. The fake remnant of a car crash that defined her twin brother's ruined life only amplified his relentless contempt.

He threw the heavy duvet off his body and stood up in one violently fluid motion. He was fully dressed in his trousers and a wrinkled dress shirt. His massive height instantly swallowed Karmen in a dark, suffocating shadow.

"Don't flatter yourself, Kem," Earl's voice was a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated in the quiet room. "Last night was for the press. If you ever think about crossing that line, I will break your neck."

Karmen's fingernails dug so hard into her palms that she felt the skin break. The humiliation burned like acid in her stomach.

But she couldn't be Karmen right now. She had to be Kem. The useless, scarred, degenerate playboy.

She forced her facial muscles to relax into a lazy, punchable smirk. She reached up, subtly pressing two fingers against her throat to ensure the micro-voice modulator patch was flush against her vocal cords.

She let out a slow, mocking whistle.

"Relax, Calderon," Karmen drawled, the modulator twisting her voice into a raspy, arrogant baritone. "You're acting like a terrified virgin. I have standards, too."

A muscle feathered violently along Earl's jawline.

Before Karmen could blink, Earl lunged. His large hand clamped into the collar of her dress shirt, twisting the fabric tight. He slammed her backward.

Karmen's shoulder blades hit the solid oak bedpost with a bone-jarring thud.

The air was knocked from her lungs. Earl leaned in, his face inches from hers. The sharp, cold scent of cedarwood and expensive scotch invaded her nostrils. Her stomach plummeted. She fought the physical urge to tremble, locking her knees to stay standing.

"Listen to me, you piece of trash," Earl whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "If you do anything to stain the Calderon name, I will personally ensure your trust fund is drained to zero. You won't have a dime left to fund your pathetic European vacations."

A sharp, authoritative knock echoed from the suite door.

The sound shattered the tension. Earl's upper lip curled in revulsion. He released her collar, shoving her slightly as he stepped back. He wiped his hand against his trousers, as if touching her had physically contaminated him.

Karmen leaned against the bedpost, her chest heaving as she quickly smoothed down her crumpled collar, hiding the terror shaking her hands.

Earl stalked to the door and yanked it open.

Alistair Finch, the Calderon family's chief butler, stood in the hallway. His posture was impeccably straight, his expression entirely blank. He held a silver tray bearing a single cup of black coffee.

Alistair ignored the suffocating hostility radiating from Earl.

"Good morning, sir. Good morning, Mr. Bartlett," Alistair said smoothly, his eyes never meeting Karmen's. "Madam Augusta has issued a new directive regarding the upcoming quarter."

Earl snatched the coffee cup. "Speak."

"To stabilize the fluctuating stock prices following the engagement announcement, Madam Augusta requires a public display of unity," Alistair pulled a thick, cream-colored itinerary card from his breast pocket. "You are mandated to have a private, four-hour meeting with Mr. Bartlett every two weeks. No exceptions."

Earl's grip on the porcelain cup tightened until his knuckles turned stark white.

"Tell my grandmother I don't have time to play house with a disfigured parasite," Earl spat.

"The board has already approved the measure, sir," Alistair replied, his tone polite but laced with titanium. "Madam Augusta implied that if you refuse, the budget for your Aegis AI project will be immediately frozen."

The temperature in the room plummeted. Earl's eyes darkened to the color of a storm, locking onto Alistair with lethal intent.

Standing by the bed, Karmen's breath hitched. Aegis AI.

The name sent a jolt of electricity down her spine. That was the core. That was the exact system she needed to infiltrate to save Nexus Dynamics.

Earl ground his teeth together. The sound was audible in the quiet room.

"Fine," Earl snarled. "Tell her I agree to her ridiculous terms."

Alistair bowed perfectly. "I will inform her, sir. Have a pleasant morning."

The door clicked shut. The silence that followed was deafening.

Earl slowly turned his head. He looked at Karmen like she was a rotting carcass on the side of the road.

"Get out of my sight," he commanded.

Karmen didn't say a word. She grabbed the tailored men's suit jacket draped over the sofa. She slung it over her shoulder with practiced, careless arrogance.

She walked toward the door, her leather shoes clicking against the hardwood floor.

Just before she turned the brass handle, Karmen glanced back over her shoulder. She flashed Earl a perfect, hollow smile.

Her heart was still racing, but her mind was already calculating. Two weeks. Four hours. It was a death sentence, but it was also the exact key she needed to break into his life.

She pulled the door open and stepped into the hallway.

Karmen walked out of the hotel lobby, her face set in a hard, unapproachable scowl.

The heat of the Manhattan pavement radiated through the soles of her shoes. A black, armored SUV idled at the curb, its engine a low, menacing purr.

The driver stepped out and opened the heavy rear door. Karmen slid into the backseat without looking at him.

"Home," she ordered, her voice deepened by the modulator.

The heavy door slammed shut, sealing her in a soundproof vault. The moment the SUV pulled into traffic, Karmen hit the button on the armrest. The thick privacy partition slid up, completely blocking the driver's view.

She collapsed back against the leather seat. The arrogant posture drained from her bones, leaving behind a crushing, physical exhaustion.

She reached up to her collar and her fingers found the silk tie that had been cinched tight around her throat since she had dressed that morning-a suffocating emblem of the role she was forced to play. She ripped the silk tie from her neck. Her fingers fumbled with the top three buttons of her dress shirt, pulling the fabric apart to let the air-conditioning hit her overheated skin. The compression binder underneath felt like a vice crushing her ribs.

Karmen reached under the passenger seat and dragged out a sleek, titanium briefcase. It was heavy, anchored to a track on the floor.

She pressed her thumb against the biometric scanner. A green light flashed. The latches popped open with a sharp hiss.

Inside lay a surgical-grade makeup kit, rows of high-polymer solvents, and medical adhesives.

Karmen grabbed a glass bottle of solvent and soaked a thick cotton pad. She turned her face toward the tinted window, using her faint reflection in the glass.

She pressed the soaked cotton against the jagged edge of the silicone scar on her left cheek.

The chemical solvent was harsh. It burned her skin, a sharp, stinging sensation that made her eyes water. She gritted her teeth, peeling the edge of the prosthetic back.

The adhesive fought her, pulling at her sensitive flesh. She ripped it off in one swift, agonizing motion.

Karmen tossed the grotesque piece of silicone into a biohazard incineration bag on the floor.

She grabbed a wet wipe and scrubbed the remaining glue from her face. When she finally looked back at the window, the scarred, ugly playboy was gone.

Staring back at her was a woman. Flawless, pale skin, sharp cheekbones, and eyes that held too much exhaustion for her age. For exactly three minutes, she was just Karmen.

The silence in the car was shattered by a harsh, mechanical vibration.

It wasn't her primary phone. It was coming from the inner pocket of her suit jacket.

Karmen's stomach dropped. She pulled out an outdated, bulky flip phone. It had no GPS, no internet browser, and only one contact.

She flipped it open. The tiny screen glowed with a heavily encrypted text message. It was from her mother, Eleanor Vance.

Karmen's fingers flew across the physical keypad, punching in the 16-digit decryption key they changed every week.

The garbled text dissolved into plain English.

Kem's security clearance at the Swiss sanatorium has been elevated to Level 4. Guards at his door. He is in immediate danger. Stanislaw is moving the final Nexus Dynamics shares today. You must keep Earl engaged. Do whatever it takes.

A red timer appeared at the bottom of the screen. 15... 14... 13...

Karmen stared at the words until they burned into her retinas. Her brother was trapped in a Swiss facility, drugged and locked away by their own father.

3... 2... 1...

The screen flashed white. The message deleted itself, leaving the phone an empty, useless brick.

Karmen gripped the plastic phone so tightly the casing creaked. A wave of pure, violent hatred for her father washed over her, making her hands shake. Stanislaw was going to sell out Nexus Dynamics, destroy her brother, and leave them all with nothing.

She didn't have time to be tired. She didn't have time to be Karmen.

She opened the briefcase again and pulled out a brand-new, identical silicone scar.

She reached into the kit and extracted a tube of cooling repair gel, quickly applying a thin layer over her raw skin. The icy sensation provided a temporary, numbing relief against the burning throb, prepping the damaged tissue for the next round of torture. She unscrewed a tube of medical adhesive. The smell of harsh chemicals filled the small space. She smeared the glue directly onto her cheek. It burned even through the protective gel, a hot, searing pain that made her jaw clench.

She carefully aligned the prosthetic, pressing it firmly against her skin. She grabbed a sponge and rapidly blended the edges with heavy foundation until the seam disappeared.

She buttoned her shirt back up to her throat. She pulled the silk tie tight, choking off her own breath. She reached up, grabbed her long, ash-blonde hair, and twisted it tightly against her scalp, shoving it under the short, styled male wig.

She pressed two fingers against her throat, adjusting the modulator patch.

She cleared her throat. "Check." The raspy baritone bounced off the leather seats.

Karmen hit the button to lower the partition. The driver's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. He saw nothing but Kem Bartlett, staring blankly out the window.

The SUV slowed to a halt in front of the ultra-luxury apartment building that housed the Bartlett family penthouse.

The doorman rushed forward, pulling the heavy door open.

Karmen stepped out into the blinding sunlight. She shoved her hands into her pockets, slouching her shoulders into the lazy, entitled posture of a man who had never worked a day in his life.

Without breaking stride, she flicked a folded hundred-dollar bill from her pocket toward the doorman's chest-a careless, arrogant gesture befitting the man she pretended to be. The doorman caught it deftly, murmuring his thanks as she swept past him. She strode into the marble lobby.

She stood in front of the private elevator, watching the brass numbers tick upward. Behind those doors was her father. And she was walking straight into a war zone.

The private elevator chimed. The heavy oak double doors of the Bartlett penthouse slid open.

Before Karmen even stepped onto the marble foyer, the clinking of crystal champagne flutes and a high-pitched, grating laugh echoed from the living room.

Karmen kept her face entirely blank, striding into the massive, sun-drenched space.

Her father, Stanislaw Bartlett, was sprawled on the white leather sofa. He was a thick, imposing man whose tailored suits barely hid his expanding waistline. Sitting on his lap was Brandi McCoy, a woman barely older than Karmen, wearing a silk robe that left nothing to the imagination.

Brandi spotted Karmen first. She stopped laughing, her eyes narrowing with malicious glee.

"Well, look who it is," Brandi cooed, exaggerating her pout. "Did the great Earl Calderon kick you out of bed before breakfast, Kemmy?"

Stanislaw turned his head. The moment he saw Karmen standing there alone, the smug satisfaction vanished from his face. His features twisted into a mask of pure, ugly rage.

He shoved Brandi off his lap. She stumbled onto the carpet with a yelp.

Stanislaw marched across the room, his heavy footsteps vibrating through the floorboards. He stopped inches from Karmen, his eyes raking over her wrinkled suit and the scar on her face.

"What the hell did you do?" Stanislaw's voice was a low, dangerous rumble. "Why aren't you having breakfast with him? Why are you here?"

Karmen leaned her shoulder casually against the doorframe. She crossed her arms, using her thumbs to dig into her ribs to keep her hands from shaking.

"He's a boring workaholic," Karmen drawled through the modulator, injecting as much lazy indifference into her voice as possible. "I got tired of looking at his spreadsheets."

The air in the room snapped.

Stanislaw grabbed a heavy, solid crystal ashtray from the glass coffee table. He hurled it directly at Karmen.

The ashtray smashed into the thick Persian rug inches from Karmen's leather shoes, bouncing with a dull, heavy thud.

Karmen didn't flinch. She didn't blink. She just stared at her father with dead eyes.

"You useless, disfigured piece of garbage!" Stanislaw roared, spit flying from his lips. "You had one job! Keep him entertained! Keep him invested! You can't even keep a man in the room for twelve hours!"

Brandi picked herself up from the floor, adjusting her robe with a sneer. "I heard the Calderon legal team is already drafting papers to pull their capital injection. We're going to be ruined because of this freak."

Stanislaw lunged forward. He grabbed the lapels of Karmen's suit jacket, yanking her forward. The sudden violence jerked Karmen's neck, sending a sharp pain down her spine.

"Listen to me," Stanislaw hissed, his breath reeking of stale cigars and alcohol. "If this merger falls through, I will cut off Eleanor's medical trust fund in Europe by noon today. Your mother's treatment-the only thing keeping her alive-will be gone. And without her, you lose your only source of inside information. You'll be flying blind. "

A cold, paralyzing terror seized Karmen's heart. Her mother's medical care was non-negotiable. But worse-far worse-was the thought of losing the encrypted intelligence Eleanor fed her from that very sanatorium. Every warning about Kem's security level, every whisper about Stanislaw's financial moves, came through her mother's network. If that connection was severed, Karmen would be utterly alone in this war.

Karmen's hands balled into tight fists at her sides. Her fingernails sliced into her palms. The physical pain grounded her, keeping the panic from showing on her face.

She forced a scoff, rolling her eyes.

"Cut the trust fund, and the board finds out about the seventy million you embezzled from the R&D department last quarter," Karmen shot back, her baritone voice dripping with venom. "You need me to play the devoted son, old man. The heir who keeps Calderon invested. The smiling face of the Bartlett legacy while you strip it for parts. Don't push it."

Stanislaw's face turned a mottled, dangerous purple. His eyes bulged. He raised his thick hand, pulling it back to strike her across the face.

Karmen's muscles coiled. She shifted her weight, ready to dodge the blow and drive her knee into his stomach.

Suddenly, a sharp, piercing ringtone shattered the violence.

It was Stanislaw's private mobile phone resting on the coffee table. The specific ringtone he reserved only for the highest-tier corporate executives.

Stanislaw's hand froze in mid-air. He glared at Karmen, his chest heaving, before dropping his arm. He practically sprinted to the table and snatched the phone.

His posture instantly transformed. The raging tyrant vanished, replaced by a hunching, sycophantic coward.

"Yes? Yes, speaking," Stanislaw said, his voice dripping with honey.

Karmen slowly reached up and adjusted her suit jacket, her eyes locked on her father.

Stanislaw's face drained of all color. He looked like he had been struck by lightning. "Wait, what do you mean re-evaluating? We had an agreement! Hello? Hello!"

He pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at the screen in horror.

"The Calderon legal department," Stanislaw whispered, his voice trembling. "They just sent an email. They are pausing the capital injection."

Brandi let out a shrill scream. "My yacht! You promised me the yacht in July!"

Stanislaw lost his mind. He threw his phone onto the couch and grabbed the landline. His fingers violently punched in a number.

"I'm calling the lawyers," Stanislaw spat, glaring at Karmen with murderous intent. "I'm freezing Eleanor's accounts right now. You're both dead to me."

The blood drained from Karmen's face. He was actually going to do it. She had seconds to stop him.

"Wait!" Karmen shouted, her mind racing at lightspeed, preparing to spin the most desperate lie of her life.