The Runaway Asset: Betraying My Billionaire Father

Elodie Jimenez stared at the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the penthouse suite of the Plaza Hotel. The reflection staring back was flawless, a vision of bridal perfection that cost more than most people earned in a decade. The silk of the couture engagement dress clung to her ribs like a second skin, white and pristine. But inside that expensive casing, her stomach rolled. A wave of nausea climbed up her throat, tasting of bile and panic. She swallowed it down. She was good at swallowing things down. Fear. Anger. The truth.

Her mother, Mrs. Jimenez, swept into the room. She did not knock. Privacy was a luxury Elodie had lost the moment she turned eighteen and became marriageable.

Stand up straight, Elodie, her mother said, her eyes scanning the hem of the dress for imperfections rather than looking at her daughter's face. You are slouching. The photographers will be here in twenty minutes.

Elodie pulled her shoulders back. The bones in her spine cracked audibly. She felt like a doll being arranged in a box.

Is Kade here yet? Elodie asked. Her voice sounded thin, reedy.

Her mother waved a hand, dismissing the question as if it were a fly.

It does not matter when he arrives, as long as he is on the podium by eight. The Senator is already downstairs with the press. Do not embarrass us.

Mrs. Jimenez adjusted a stray lock of hair on Elodie's forehead, her fingers cold and dry. Then she turned and left, leaving the scent of expensive lilies in her wake. It smelled like a funeral parlor.

Elodie needed air. The walls of the suite, covered in silk wallpaper, felt like they were closing in. She walked to the balcony doors and pushed them open. The November air of New York City hit her face, biting and cold. It should have felt refreshing. Instead, it felt like a warning.

Below, the hum of the city was drowned out by the noise of the engagement party starting on the terrace beneath her. Jazz music floated up, cheerful and oblivious.

Then she heard a voice. It was a baritone rumble she knew better than her own heartbeat. Her father. Hazen Jimenez.

She froze. She pressed her back against the cold stone divider of the balcony. He was on the adjacent terrace, just out of sight.

The merger is solid, Senator, Hazen said. His voice had that smooth, shark-like quality he used in boardrooms.

I am worried about the girl, another voice said. Senator Clay. Kade's father. She seems... hesitant.

Hazen laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound.

Elodie does what she is told. She understands her role. This marriage is not a union, Clay. It is an acquisition. She is the final asset needed to seal the port deal. Once the papers are signed, the infrastructure contracts are ours.

Elodie stopped breathing. Her lungs seized.

Asset.

Not daughter. Not bride. Asset.

She had known, deep down, that this marriage to Kade Clay was advantageous for the families. Kade was her childhood friend. She had convinced herself that they could make it work, that there was some affection there. But hearing it spoken aloud, stripped of all romantic pretense, shattered the glass floor she had been standing on.

She was currency. She was a bargaining chip for a port deal.

She looked down at her hands. They were trembling. She gripped the stone railing until her knuckles turned white.

A notification pinged on the phone she had left on the balcony table. She picked it up, her movements jerky. It was an Instagram notification.

Alden Soto.

The name sent a fresh spike of pain through her chest. She tapped the screen. It was a photo of him at a tech summit in Las Vegas. He looked devastatingly handsome in a charcoal suit, smiling that half-smile that used to be reserved for her.

He was not here. He was not coming to save her. He had not even sent a text.

The contrast between the cold reality of her father's words and the silent rejection of the man she actually wanted snapped something inside her. The nausea vanished, replaced by a cold, hard clarity.

Elodie turned and walked back into the suite. She moved with a sudden, frantic energy. She went to the back of the walk-in closet and pulled out a nondescript black duffel bag. It was her emergency bag, packed weeks ago during a bout of insomnia she had refused to analyze.

She reached behind her back and unzipped the couture dress. It fell to the floor in a puddle of white silk. She stepped out of it and kicked it aside.

She pulled on a pair of dark jeans and a gray hoodie. She looked in the mirror. The heiress was gone.

She reached into her purse and took out her primary phone. She disabled the GPS. Then she turned it off and left it on the vanity table, right next to the diamond earrings her mother had laid out.

From the duffel bag, she took out a burner phone she had bought with cash at a bodega in Queens.

She slipped out of the suite, bypassing the main hallway. She took the service elevator. It smelled of cleaning chemicals and old food.

The lobby was a zoo of guests and staff preparing for the party. No one looked at the girl in the hoodie. They were looking for Elodie Jimenez, the princess in the tower.

She pushed through the revolving doors and hit the sidewalk. She raised her hand. A yellow cab screeched to a halt.

JFK, she told the driver.

She climbed in. The leather seat was cracked and smelled of stale tobacco. It was the best thing she had smelled all day.

As the cab merged into traffic, she typed a single text to Kade on the burner phone.

I can not breathe. Do not look for me.

She hit send. Then she pulled the SIM card out of the burner phone and dropped it onto the floor mat of the taxi.

She was not Elodie Jimenez anymore. For the next few hours, she was Maria. And she was going to Las Vegas.

The plane touched down at Harry Reid International Airport with a jolt that rattled Elodie's teeth. She had spent the entire five-hour flight staring out the window, watching the darkness of the country scroll by, waiting for the police to be waiting at the gate.

They were not.

She stepped into the jet bridge. The air was different here. Even through the climate control, she could feel the dryness of the desert. It sucked the moisture right out of her skin.

She navigated the terminal, her head down. The noise was an assault. Slot machines chimed and rang in every corner. Tourists in flip-flops dragged massive suitcases. It was chaotic, tacky, and loud. It was perfect. No one looked twice at a girl in a hoodie here.

She walked to the passenger pickup zone. The heat outside was still oppressive, even at night. It wrapped around her like a heavy blanket.

A vintage red convertible swerved to the curb, blasting Def Leppard.

Elodie blinked. Aunt Inez.

Inez Franco was wearing oversized sunglasses, despite the fact that it was midnight. She waved a manicured hand over the windshield.

Get in, fugitive princess! Inez shouted over the music.

Elodie threw her bag into the back seat and jumped in. The leather was hot against her legs.

Inez hit the gas before Elodie had even buckled her seatbelt. The car lurched forward, merging aggressively into the airport traffic.

You look like hell, Inez said cheerfully. She turned down the music. Does Hazen know you are here?

Elodie shook her head. No. I just needed a break.

Inez scoffed. She tapped the steering wheel with her rings.

You do not run from a billion-dollar merger because you need a break, honey. You run because you are suffocating.

Elodie looked out the window. The Las Vegas Strip was a ribbon of fire in the distance. The Luxor beam cut a hole in the sky.

They passed a massive digital billboard. Elodie's breath caught in her throat.

It was Alden.

His face was three stories high, advertising a keynote speech for the summit. Even in pixels, his eyes seemed to see right through her.

Inez caught Elodie staring in the rearview mirror.

He is in town, you know, Inez said. Her voice lost its joking edge.

Elodie stiffened. I do not care.

Inez hummed. A sound that meant she knew exactly how much Elodie was lying.

He is just Kade's cousin, Elodie said, forcing her voice to be flat.

Right. And I am just a soccer mom, Inez said dryly.

They pulled into a gated community twenty minutes later. Inez's villa was a sprawling stucco beast that looked like it had been decorated by a colorblind artist. The garage door opened to reveal a chaotic mess of canvases and paint fumes.

As Elodie climbed out, tires screeched behind them.

A neon-green sports car whipped into the driveway, missing Inez's bumper by inches.

The driver door flew open. A girl in a dress that was little more than a suggestion of fabric stepped out. She wore combat boots and had hair that looked like she had just rolled out of bed in the most fashionable way possible.

Sofia Franco. Elodie's cousin.

Elodie! Sofia screamed. She tackled Elodie in a hug that knocked the wind out of her.

Sofia smelled of expensive tequila and smoke. She pulled back, gripping Elodie's shoulders.

Did you bring the good purses? Sofia asked, her eyes wide. The Birkins? Tell me you brought the Birkins.

Inez rolled her eyes. Leave her alone, Sofia. She is tired.

Sofia leaned in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

Did you run away from the wedding?

Elodie froze. Sofia was wild, but she was not stupid.

Elodie gave a microscopic nod.

Sofia grinned. It was a wolfish, delighted smile.

Finally, Sofia said. Let us get drunk.

The kitchen was quiet, save for the hum of the oversized refrigerator. Elodie sat at the island, wrapping her hands around a mug of herbal tea Inez had forced on her.

Inez leaned against the counter, her arms crossed over her chest. She had taken off the sunglasses, revealing eyes that were too sharp, too knowing.

You did not just run from a wedding, Inez said. You ran to something.

Elodie took a sip of the tea. It tasted like sage and dirt.

I do not know what you mean.

Inez reached behind her and slapped a tabloid magazine onto the counter. The headline screamed about the delay in the Jimenez-Clay merger.

Your father called me, Inez said.

Elodie's heart hammered against her ribs. She stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the tile.

I have to go.

Sit down, Inez ordered. Her voice was not loud, but it carried the weight of authority. I did not answer him.

Elodie sank back into the chair. Her hands were shaking again.

Why? Elodie asked.

Because I hate him, Inez said simply. And because I need a favor.

Elodie stared at her aunt. A favor?

Sofia is out of control, Inez said, gesturing toward the living room where Sofia was shouting into her phone. She is mixing with the wrong crowd. Dangerous people. I cannot watch her twenty-four seven.

Inez leaned forward.

You keep Sofia out of jail. You keep her away from the sharks. And I will help you lie to Hazen.

Elodie weighed the options. If she left, Hazen would find her in hours. If she stayed, she had a base of operations to find Joshuah.

What is the lie? Elodie asked.

Hawaii, Inez said. A pre-wedding detox trip. No phones. Total isolation. It buys you a week. Maybe two.

Elodie nodded slowly. It could work.

And Alden? Inez asked softly.

Elodie looked at the dark liquid in her mug. He is not part of this.

Honey, Inez sighed. You look at that man like he is water in a drought. But fine. Have it your way.

Deal, Elodie said.

Suddenly, the kitchen door banged open. Sofia burst in, a whirlwind of energy.

We are going to OMNIA, Sofia announced. Now.

Elodie looked down at her jeans. I am not dressed for a club.

Sofia grabbed her hand, pulling her off the stool.

My closet. Let's go.

The next hour was a blur of fabric and hairspray. Sofia treated Elodie like a Barbie doll. She stripped her out of the safe, boring clothes and forced her into a dress that was terrifying.

It was black, covered in sequins that caught the light like oil on water. It had a plunging neckline and a slit that went up to her thigh.

Elodie looked in the mirror. She didn't recognize herself. The girl in the mirror looked dangerous. She looked like she belonged in Vegas.

She felt a strange sense of armor settling over her. If she looked like this, maybe she wouldn't feel like the scared girl on the balcony.

Sofia clapped her hands. Perfect. Now you look like a Jimenez.

They headed out to the garage. Elodie paused to send one last text on the burner phone, this time to Kade's personal number, hoping it would buy the alibi.

I am in Hawaii. Need space. Do not call.

She turned the phone off and tossed it into her clutch.

Sofia revved the engine of the neon sports car. The sound echoed in the garage like a gunshot.

Welcome to the jungle, cousin, Sofia yelled over the engine.